SPECIE OF LOVE

ROYAL DECREE

*Chapter 14 — _ROYAL DECREE*_

*DAMIEN’S POV*

“Hey, Mom,” I said, trembling.

My voice betrayed me. It wasn’t _Damien Cole_ speaking — CEO, billionaire, the man who made boardrooms go silent with a glance. It was a boy’s voice. Small. Guilty. The same voice I used at 8 years old when she caught me breaking her favorite vase.

She opened the door wide like she owned the hotel. Because in her mind, she probably did. She waltzed in, heels stabbing the marble floor, Chanel No. 5 announcing her before she even spoke. That scent used to mean safety when I was a child. Now it meant danger.

I followed suit. I almost peed in my pants.

She sat on the couch like it was a throne and patted the cushion next to her. “Sit, Damien.”

My legs moved without my permission. But in my mind, crazy thoughts were running a marathon.

_Where is Ava? Did she hide knowing that my mom is here? Did she pass the staircase at the back and run home? How come she’s so fast with dressing up?_

Ava’s dress was on the floor 5 minutes ago. Her lipstick was on my neck. Her scent was still on my skin. And now my mother was here, asking me to sit like we were about to have tea.

I killed the thoughts and sat next to my Mom. My hands were sweating.

“Son, you know I want the best for you and the Dynasty,” she said, smiling.

That smile never reached her eyes. It was the same smile she used when she fired my first VP without blinking.

“Yes, I know, Mom,” I said, absent-minded. My eyes kept flicking to the bedroom door. _God, please let her be hiding. Please don’t let her be gone._

“Mom,” I continued, forcing my voice to stay steady. “How did you know I was here?”

“Well,” she started, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately, “I was just passing by and decided to say hello to the manager. He thought I came to see you and he gave me the spare keys to your suite.”

She said it with a feeling of _I CAN GET ANYTHING I WANT_. Because she could. The Empress didn’t ask. She took.

“Mom, you shouldn’t have collected it,” I said, anger slipping through my fear. “And besides, what if I was with someone? Or perhaps I was naked?”

“You’re my son,” she said, like that explained everything. Like that erased privacy, boundaries, manhood. “You’re still my baby, Damien. And besides, he told me you were here with a girl. That’s why I came. For at least a proper introduction.”

Her eyes scanned the room. Sharp. Missing nothing. The rumpled sheets visible through the open bedroom door. The second wine glass on the table. The faint smear of red on my collar.

“Where is she?” she asked, voice dripping honey and venom. “Did she run off at the sight of the Empress?”

Mocking. She was always mocking.

“There’s no girl, Mom,” I lied. The lie tasted like ash. “And please inform me before appearing at my doorstep next time.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, laughing. Not a happy laugh. A _you-don’t-give-me-orders_ laugh.

Her face changed. The mask dropped. “Okay. So you came here to relax?”

“Yes, ma,” I said respectfully. Twenty-eight years of training. You don’t talk back to the Empress. Not if you want to keep your head.

“Good. But we need to talk. You haven’t come to the house for a long time now. I don’t know what it is you’re afraid of. Whether Isabella, your unborn child, or me.”

“I’m not afraid of anybody,” I snapped. The words came out harder than I intended. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Anyways,” she waved my anger away like it was smoke, “I hope by now your side chick should be somewhere outside the country.”

_Side chick._ My jaw clenched. Ava was not a side anything. Ava was the air in my lungs.

“And your wedding date has been fixed,” she continued, and suddenly she was smiling again. A real one this time. Proud. Happy. “It’s the 24th of this month. Fabulous arrangements have been made. I just came to tell you before the wedding day, because we wouldn’t want a situation where the baby bump would be so obvious.”

I stood up. So fast the couch scraped the floor.

“My wedding has been planned and a date has been fixed without my notice?” My voice was low. Deadly. “I don’t understand. Am I not the groom?”

“Sit.”

One word.

I sat down immediately.

I mean, she’s the Empress. Her word is law and must be treated like a royal decree. You don’t disobey. Not if you want to survive the Dynasty.

“You do not have a say in this,” she said, standing now, looking down at me. “The last I checked, I introduced both of you. I didn’t say you should get her pregnant. You don’t expect me to let you abandon a girl that is pregnant for you.”

That was it. The dam broke.

“Mom,” I said, my face down, my voice barely a whisper, “why would you want to kill my baby with Ava?”

The silence was a physical thing. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then she moved.

_Smack._

Her palm connected with my cheek so hard my head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my face. My ears rang. For a second, I saw stars.

“How dare you, Damien,” she hissed. Her voice was shaking. With rage? With hurt? I couldn’t tell. “How dare you. Are you accusing me of murder?”

I couldn’t look at her. My cheek was on fire. But my heart was colder.

“The only thing I did was take her to the hospital and pay her bills,” she said, each word like a bullet. “Damien, I don’t like Ava. But that doesn’t mean I should hurt her. Is this the lies she has been feeding you with? She also lied she’s pregnant? Even if at all she is, I would never, ever hurt her or your unborn child.”

She stepped back from me like I’d grown horns. “And I’m so disappointed in you.”

_Disappointed._

That word destroyed me more than the slap.

I dropped to my knees. I didn’t even think about it. I just fell. My hands grabbed her legs, holding on like she was the only solid thing in the world.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I choked out. “I called her with an anonymous number one day because she stopped picking my calls. And she started crying and talking, maybe because she thinks it’s you. And she mentioned that misoprostol was packed in a typhoid medication plastic just to abort her baby and ruin her womb. But thankfully she didn’t use it. But her friend used it and she felt broken.”

The words tumbled out. Ugly. Desperate. “Mum, you took her to the hospital with Isabella so I had no one to be suspicious of. And moreover, she mentioned your name on the phone since you paid her bill and bought her drugs. But I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

I was crying now. Me. Damien Cole. On my knees, crying, begging my mother.

She looked down at me. For a second, I saw something flicker in her eyes. Pain? Regret? Then it was gone, replaced by ice.

She ripped her legs from my grip.

Without a word, she turned and stormed out. The door slammed so hard the walls shook.

And then I was alone.

The silence was deafening.

I scrambled for my phone with shaking hands. Ava. I needed to hear Ava. I needed to know she was safe.

I called. Once. Voicemail.

Twice. Voicemail.

Ten times. Voicemail.

“Dammit, Ava, pick up!” I screamed at the empty suite.

I threw the phone. It hit the wall and cracked. I didn’t care.

I searched the suite like a madman. Bedroom. Bathroom. Closet. Balcony. Under the bed.

Nothing.

Only her perfume lingering on the pillows. Only the dent in the mattress where she’d laid. Only the wine glass with her lipstick stain.

She was gone.

My mother thinks I accused her of attempted murder.

My wedding to a woman I don’t love is in 12 days.

And the woman carrying my child had vanished.

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. Right where I’d knelt to beg my mother.

Then I felt it.

A flutter. Faint. But there. Against my palm as I pressed it to my stomach, as if _I_ was the one pregnant. As if my body remembered touching her, touching our child, one hour ago.

_Junior._

That was the name I’d given him in my head. Junior. My son. My daughter. My future.

And I’d just accused my mother of trying to kill him.

And now his mother was running from me.

The first sob tore out of me before I could stop it. Then another. And another.

I, Damien Cole, sat on the floor of a 5-star hotel suite and cried like the boy I swore I’d never be again.

Not for the slap. Not for the wedding.

But for the family I was losing before I even had it.

I punched the marble floor until my knuckles split and bled.

“What the hell is going on?” I whispered to God, to the devil, to anyone listening.

No one answered.

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*Author’s Note:*

_Psalm 34:18 → “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”_

The Empress has drawn the line. The wedding date is law. The accusation has been made.

And Ava is running with Damien’s child in her womb.

Comment “TEAM DAMAVA” if you want Damien to burn the Dynasty down for Ava.

Comment EMPRESS” if you believe she’s innocent

chapter 15 will be out tomorrow's night, don't forget to like,follow,comment and gift

_RIDE, DINE AND READ_ ❤️

Loviesss 😘

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