THE EXILED WARLORD

Chapter 6: Old Flames, Colder Hearts

"You lied."

The words still echoed in Evelyn's ears as she sat on her vanity table, the black envelope resting silently on her lap.

Her fingers trembled slightly but she forced a giggle.

"Probably some prank" she muttered, tossing the envelope into the drawer.

"Who would dare send something so childish before my wedding?"

But the chill crawling up her spine said otherwise.

Damien walked in just then, fixing the cuffs of his expensive suit. "Everything okay, babe?"

"Yeah, just some stupid letter. Probably one of those disgruntled peasants jealous of our wedding" she replied with a smile.

But her eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt.

Once Damien left the room, Evelyn sighed and leaned back, eyes shutting. A memory forced its way to the front of her mind.

"Evelyn, you don’t have to wait up. I’ll be out late tonight securing the borders."

"I don’t care about borders, Adrian. I care about you" she had whispered, hugging him tightly. He smelled like steel and sandalwood.

"I’ll come back for you. I always will," he had replied.

Evelyn blinked away the tear threatening to fall.

"He was so stupid," she said aloud. "Too loyal. Too naive. What would I be doing with someone who can’t afford a private island?"

She stood up, straightened her robe, and stared at her reflection.

"I chose the life I deserve. Not one of suffering. Not with a man dragging me into war rooms and dusty barracks. I want yachts, diamonds and titles. And Damien Vale is all of that."

Across the city, in an abandoned warehouse bathed in shadows, Adrian sat alone.

His cloak was soaked from the rain but he didn’t move. His mind kept circling back to Evelyn.

"So... she was laughing with him," he muttered, jaw clenched. "She chose this. All this time..."

He dropped a dagger onto the table, its blade gleaming under the single hanging light.

"I gave her my loyalty. My blood. My life. For what? A seat next to some rich kid with a private jet and a plastic smile."

Adrian shook his head, and his voice cracked.

"I was a fool. A bloody fool."

His fingers gripped the dagger tighter.

"Did she ever love me? Or was I just a stepping stone?"

He paced now, muttering to himself.

"I trained killers for her. I protected her father’s name. I even begged the judge not to expose everything. And what did she do? She laughed. Laughed!"

He struck the wall with his fist. The pain was nothing compared to the storm inside.

"Never again."

Meanwhile, in a heavily-guarded estate up north, General Marcus sipped a glass of wine while looking through military reports.

Everything seemed normal until he turned to his side.

"Where is Dalton?" he asked a nearby guard.

The guard stiffened. "Sir... Dalton hasn’t reported in since the last week."

Marcus paused. "And no one thought to mention this?"

"We assumed he was on covert duty, sir."

Marcus’s brow furrowed. "Assumptions get men killed. Where’s Fenix?"

The silence was louder this time.

"Gone too, sir."

The glass of wine shattered against the wall.

"Every damn time I ask for someone, I find out they’ve disappeared! Do I look like a joke to you all?!"

The guards remained silent, eyes lowered.

"Call an emergency meeting. Now. I want everyone every commander, every spy, every puppet here before sunset."

Later, in a cold-lit underground meeting room, his top men gathered. Murmurs and tension filled the air.

"Speak!" Marcus barked. "What’s happening?"

One of the lieutenants stepped forward nervously. "Sir, earlier today, a small estate belonging to your associate Colonel Brandt... was blown to dust."

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. "How?"

"No signs of explosives or outside force. It was... precision. Like a ghost."

"A ghost doesn’t blow up a reinforced fortress," Marcus spat.

The man hesitated. "Unless the ghost was once the man who trained the elite unit guarding that estate."

Silence.

Another whispered, "Some say... he’s back."

"Who?" Marcus snapped.

"The Exiled. The Warlord. Adrian."

The room grew colder.

Marcus chuckled, though his face twitched. "Adrian is dead. I made sure of it."

"Or maybe, sir," said the bold lieutenant, "we only thought he died."

As the room fell into uneasy silence, a courier ran in, out of breath, holding an envelope.

"This just came, sir... addressed to you."

Marcus grabbed it, tore it open, and a thin white card fell out.

An invitation.

"Evelyn Blake & Damien Vale request the honor of your presence..."

Marcus stared at it, unblinking.

"She’s getting married... now?"

He looked around the room. The soldiers stared back, unsure.

He let out a low, bitter laugh. "We buried the wrong man."

"What if the ghost isn’t coming back? What if he never left?"