Taming Maximilian Cross

Chapter 6: Betrothal

The drive back to the Liroux estate was quiet. By the time the iron gates swung open, night had deepened. The mansion’s lights glowed softly through the darkness and as soon as the car stopped, Vincent Liroux was at the top of the steps waiting. His sharp figure was framed by the doorway, relief and reprimand written across his face.

"Evelyn!"

He descended the stairs quickly, shoes echoing against the stone.

"Mon dieu, où étais-tu?" (My God, where were you?)

"Calme-toi, papa. Je suis là." (Calm down, papa. I’m here.)

Vincent reached her and cupped her face briefly before his hands dropped to her shoulders. "You disappear without a word, your men report gunfire, and you say ‘calm down’?!"

Evelyn handed the box back to her father, who inspected it carefully. His fingers traced the intricate carvings of the Liroux crest with his brow furrowing deeper.

"C’est déjà ouvert… Someone has the key," Vincent said softly, completely intrigued. "Evelyn, où as-tu eu ça ?" (Evelyn, where did you get this?)

"Well… it was being auctioned," she admitted, her tone even but cautious. "It was… given to me. I thought it belonged in your shipment because it had our insignia."

Vincent ran a hand down his face, clearly worried but also filled with disbelief. "Oh my dear… our shipments are golden statues. Who… gave it to you ?"

Evelyn hesitated as the memory of that masked man flashed vividly behind her eyes. "He… he didn’t say his name. Just… handed it over."

Vincent’s gaze fell on the box again. Carefully, he lifted the lid, his fingers trembling slightly. Inside, the velvet lining gleamed faintly under the lamp, and nestled at its center was a single diamond ring, resting perfectly on a small pedestal of velvet foam, encircled by delicate rose petals.

Vincent’s breath caught. "Mon dieu…" (My God…)

Evelyn leaned closer, unable to take her eyes off the ring. "It’s… beautiful."

"Beautiful, yes," Vincent said as his tone shifted heavily with awe. He exhaled slightly, as if recovering memories long forgotten. "But this… this is a betrothal ring from your grandmother. Even your mother didn’t get to wear it after your grandmother passed away."

Evelyn’s eyes widened, and she leaned closer, sensing the gravity in her father’s voice.

"Our family… we’ve had a tradition for generations," Vincent continued, his gaze drifting toward the ring as though it held the echoes of a hundred years. "The eldest son, or eldest male of every generation, is the only one with the right to fight for this ring. It isn’t given. It’s won… through challenge, through strength, through proof that he is worthy of the family’s power and authority."

"When my mother’s turn came," Vincent said slowly, "I was young, too cautious, too… respectful of the rules. Your grandmother, bless her soul, insisted that the challenge could not be bypassed, that the ring would not go to any man who did not prove himself worthy. But I… didn’t fight for it. I didn’t seize it. I thought… I thought there would be time. That I would find another way. But there wasn’t."

He shook his head as a faint shadow of regret passed over his sharp features. "By the time I realized, she had passed, and the tradition had to be honored. No exceptions. The ring went into the vault. It waited. Empty. For decades, it waited. And your grandfather was no longer willing to give it away."

Evelyn felt a chill creep up her spine. "So that’s why… I never saw any pictures of mom wearing any ring."

Vincent’s fingers hovered over the velvet again, reverent and careful, as though touching it too roughly might shatter centuries of history.

"Yes," he whispered. "And that’s why… the man who won this, whoever he is, is staking a claim not just on the ring, but on everything it represents. Power. Authority. The future of this family…"

He paused, lifting his gaze to hers, piercing, heavy with incredulity. Evelyn felt the weight of his stare settle on her, pulling her into the moment like gravity itself.

"And you, my daughter…" he continued, his voice tight with emotion. "This man… he wishes to claim you. To marry you… in the name of our ancestors. He desires this… with such certainty, with such absolute intent…"

Vincent ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as though the thought alone threatened to break him. "To have made my father, your grandfather, hand over this ring…" His voice cracked slightly with both disbelief and admiration intertwined like fire and ice. "Do you understand, Evelyn? My father… who inherited this empire with a fist of iron… he did not part with this ring lightly. Not for anyone… not for decades…"

Evelyn leaned forward slightly, drawn to the intensity of her father’s words and the stories they carried.

Vincent’s voice dropped even lower in awe. "And yet… this man, whoever he is, might have forced him to yield. He made a choice my father might have never imagined he would make. He seized what no man in our family had dared to give away. He has... power, cunning, audacity… and he is not afraid."

Evelyn felt her chest tighten.

"And so, my daughter," Vincent said finally, his eyes burning into hers, "this man is not merely staking a claim on a ring. He is staking a claim on you… on our family’s legacy… on the very authority your grandfather fought his entire life to protect."

He leaned closer, almost confiding, his voice dropping to a whisper filled with awe.

"Quelqu’un qui pourrait être aussi puissant que cette famille… ou même plus." (Someone who could be as powerful as this family… or even more.)

Evelyn’s fingers lingered over the velvet while her heart thudded in her chest. The words seemed to echo off the walls of the mansion, carrying with them centuries of legacy and expectation.

Vincent’s eyes followed her movements, reading every shift, every hesitation. “So… if your grandfather truly did hand this over to the man who gave it to you,” he said slowly and deliberately, “then it is possible that he saw something in him… something extraordinary.”

Evelyn looked up with curiosity flickering in her eyes, mingled with skepticism.

“He must have seen… the strength, the audacity, the cunning. The kind of man who could not only claim this ring but also protect it, protect you, and perhaps… save our lineage if the time came.” Vincent’s gaze softened, almost wistful, as though he were speaking to the memory of a life he had never lived.

Evelyn felt her body tingle with an unexplainable feeling.

“This man…” Vincent continued, almost reverently, “he might be the man I could never be. He must be the man your grandfather… in his wisdom, in his foresight… wanted for you. The man he must have believed could carry our family, our legacy, and… you, my daughter… with the strength, the conviction, and the courage that even I may have lacked.”

Evelyn’s fingers trembled over the ring, brushing lightly against the velvet as if afraid to disturb its authority. The weight of her father’s words pressed down on her chest, a tangible force that made her breath hitch. The truth was undeniable that the man who had placed this ring in her hands was no ordinary figure. He had not merely defied centuries of tradition, he had claimed his place in a way her family had long revered, a boldness and cunning that left even Vincent awed and unsettled.

“But I know you only wish to marry someone who loves you,” Vincent continued, his voice heavy with both concern and caution. “I couldn’t possibly sacrifice something we are not yet certain of…”

Evelyn’s eyes snapped up, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. “I will marry him.” She answered almost immediately as if sealing a decision that had already taken root in her heart.

“If he wishes to have me… then I will have him too.”