Taming Maximilian Cross

Chapter 10: Lies

The morning sun spilled over the manicured gardens of the Liroux estate. It should have been a quiet morning, calm, and ordinary. But the rumble of engines approaching cut through it, announcing something anything but ordinary.

A convoy of black sedans wound its way up the long drive, moving in precise formation, every car polished to a mirror shine. Guards at the gates straightened, hands resting lightly on the rifles slung across their chests, but there was no panic. After all, this visitor was expected.

From the lead car, Maximilian Cross stepped out. His presence immediately commanded attention. Broad-shouldered, dark coat falling perfectly over him, heterochromatic eyes scanning the estate with measured precision. Even without a word, his aura suggested someone who had great authority.

Vincent Liroux stood by the entrance of the mansion with Evelyn at his side. The younger Liroux had not yet revealed much about this visitor, only that a man of importance had come for her and that Vincent should prepare for a formal introduction.

He stepped forward, a faint, polite smile on his face. “Good morning,” he said warmly, extending a hand. “You must be… Evelyn's guest. She has mentioned you, though I confess, she hasn’t told me much yet. Even your name. But pleased to meet you."

Maximilian’s gaze fell on Vincent, appraising but careful. “Good morning, Mr. Liroux,” he replied smoothly, taking the hand with a firm, confident grip. “The pleasure is mine. I’ve heard enough to know I would like to see it for myself.”

Vincent inclined his head slightly, still smiling, his demeanor cordial and welcoming, but not naive. He gestured toward the grand hall beyond the foyer. “Shall we go inside? I imagine Evelyn would like to join us.”

Evelyn stepped forward then, her posture casual, yet her eyes looked sharp and curious. She had dressed simply for the morning, a subtle contrast to the storm of personality the man beside her carried. “I'll sit with you,” she said.

Vincent smiled at his daughter, then turned to Maximilian. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I insist.”

Maximilian allowed a small, almost imperceptible nod, stepping inside with grace that suggested he had been here before, in another life. Vincent walked beside him, still polite, while his mind was already cataloging the man before him, not as a visitor, but as someone who might very well leave a mark on his family.

Evelyn trailed slightly behind, watching them both, sensing the subtle tension between the two. She smirked faintly, amused by how her father’s easy politeness slightly softened the air around the otherwise imposing Maximilian Cross.

As soon as they were seated, Max immediately spoke, addressing the matter at hand.

"I'd like to formally introduce myself. I am Maximilian Cross, you can call me Max. I am a first generation at the 10th to 12th district, now leading the Viper’s Den, once known as Serpentine."

Vincent flinched at the mention of the organization, unable to stop himself from glancing at his daughter as questions began piling up in his mind.

"You might be wondering why someone like me… who belongs in enemy territory… is here in front of you. But first, I bring gifts."

At just a flick of Max's fingers, his men entered the hall, each carrying elegant, expensive offerings. Vincent’s eyes narrowed.

Evelyn reached out to her father, giving him a quiet touch, her eyes flicking between him and Max, urging caution but betraying excitement.

Max’s gaze locked with Vincent’s, steady and unyielding. "These gifts are not meant to buy favor, sir. They are gestures of respect. And of intent."

Vincent’s fingers drummed lightly against the arm of his chair. "Intent is easy to claim," he said, his tone measured but tense, "but you bring the name of the Viper’s Den… hardly a reputation that inspires trust."

Max leaned forward as a subtle edge sharpened his voice. "Perhaps. But people change. Or at least, their choices do. I am here because of Evelyn. Because of her, and because I intend to be honorable in what concerns her."

A flicker of surprise crossed Vincent’s face, but he held it in check. "Honorable…? That would be a first for someone of your… standing."

Maximilian’s pulse thrummed in irritation at the man's words, but he chose to keep himself calm. "Then let me make my purpose clear." He paused, letting Vincent feel the gravity of the coming words. "I am here… to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage."

For a heartbeat, the hall froze. Vincent’s eyes widened, the gifts suddenly paling in significance beside the audacity of Max’s claim. But Evelyn was rather calm.

Vincent leaned back, measuring the man in front of him, every instinct screaming caution while curiosity whispered. "Marriage," he repeated slowly, voice taut, testing the sound of it, "You, of all people, come here asking for my daughter?"

But Max’s eyes never left his. "Yes, sir. I know my reputation precedes me. I know the stories that make you doubt me. But I am here on behalf of my respect and love towards Mr. Lionel Liroux."

The moment Vincent heard his father’s name, his eyes widened. Even Evelyn, hearing this for the first time, felt a jolt of alarm ripple through her.

"My father? What do you mean?" Vincent asked, suspicious, sharpening his voice. He instinctively reached for his daughter’s wrist, as if to shield her from a threat he didn’t yet understand.

Maximilian inhaled deeply, the faintest flicker of steel in his calm demeanor. Every lie he would speak now was a step along the path he had meticulously planned, a step toward vengeance he had nurtured for years. "I… am Arthur Cross’ son."

The words landed like thunder. Vincent froze and the air around him thickened as the name of his best friend, his most trusted right hand, echoed in the hall. The pieces snapped into place with a cruel clarity. 'This man… he is a Cross. Arthur’s son.'

"After my parents were assassinated," Max continued evenly, "your father, Lionel Liroux, raised me secretly without your knowledge, to keep me away from the eyes of those who killed my parents. You must have heard of their deaths, of course. But seeing the look in your eyes now… I gather you never expected that the boy you considered gone… would still be alive."

Vincent’s eyes glistened with a storm of disbelief, grief, and dawning guilt pressing into every line of his face. His voice cracked slightly. "I… I looked for you. Especially my father, who raised your father as if he were his own… Arthur was like a brother to me."

Maximilian’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, the word 'lies' flashing in his mind. But outwardly, he remained silent, masking his thoughts with calmness.

Vincent suddenly rose to his feet and grasped Maximilian’s arm firmly, pulling him into a standing position. The unexpected happened and Max did not recoil. Instead, he allowed Vincent to draw him into a tight embrace, the man’s sobs racking his frame. Evelyn froze, stunned, as she watched her father crumble in a way she had never seen before, tears streaming freely down his face.

But Maximilian felt nothing. His chest was an icy vault. He felt no comfort, no kinship, no warmth. He felt only the relentless, simmering edge of his own rage.

After all, he had seen it all. He had watched Lionel Liroux, the man Vincent calls 'father', execute his parents with brutality. He had lived through the terror, the blood, the silence of their final moments.

If these people had truly cared for him as family, if they had treated his father like a brother, why had they allowed this? Why had they let his parents die? Why...did they murder his family?

No.

These people were nothing but liars. False guardians cloaked in affection. And Maximilian knew, in the deepest marrow of his bones, that he would not be deceived again.

His embrace with Vincent stiffened, almost imperceptibly, a subtle warning beneath the guise of acquiescence. Cold calculation met grief-stricken sincerity, and in that fraught, trembling hall, the dangerous truth of what he was here for loomed heavier than ever.