At Blackwood Manor, the evening news played on the ground floor drawing room television.

“This afternoon, a serious road collision occurred on the A21 in Kent. We now go live to our correspondent at the scene.”

“Good afternoon, viewers. It’s currently 4:15 PM, and I’m reporting from a stretch of the A21 approximately forty miles southeast of London. At 3:40 PM, motorists reported a serious collision. As you can see behind me, a vehicle has smashed into the guardrail, sustaining catastrophic damage. The driver was found unconscious with severe injuries and has been rushed to King’s College Hospital in critical condition. Additionally, as the camera pans left, you can see that the barrier further down the road has also been compromised. Evidence suggests another vehicle broke through and plunged down the embankment. Emergency services are currently conducting a technical rescue operation…”

Lord Blackwood Sr. watched with furrowed brows, his gaze unwavering.

“Grandfather, you’re back?” Asher entered, casually tossing his car keys onto the mahogany side table.

Lord Blackwood turned, his penetrating gaze sweeping over his grandson. “This wasn’t merely a traffic incident, was it? Malfoy’s handiwork?”

Asher sank into the leather sofa, looking weary as he massaged his temples. “Yes.”

Lord Blackwood Sr. continued: “I’ve heard Randolph Winters took a fall down a staircase?”

Asher responded with a deep, solemn, “Indeed.”

Lord Blackwood’s brows remained tightly knitted as he stared at the news broadcast, his expression inscrutable. The atmosphere grew heavy with unspoken tension. The housekeeper arrived with a silver tray of Earl Grey. Asher lifted a cup and took a measured sip.

“Asher, you must end your relationship with the Winters girl.”

Asher set down his teacup with deliberate precision, his dark eyes clouding over. He remained silent, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

Lord Blackwood sighed deeply before speaking with grave authority: “Your conflict with Malfoy should never involve the Winters family. If he can’t strike at you directly, he’ll target her instead.”

Asher’s noncommittal “Mmm” hung in the air.

Lord Blackwood continued earnestly: “You and Miss Winters have merely a verbal understanding. Thankfully, you haven’t formally announced your engagement, so severing ties needn’t be complicated. A straightforward breakup can establish clear boundaries. We’ll offer the Winters family appropriate compensation and tender our personal apologies. I’m certain they’ll understand the circumstances.”

Asher laughed suddenly—a hollow sound devoid of mirth that never reached his eyes. His voice was quiet, fractured with barely contained emotion. “How could I possibly let her go?”

The elderly man paused, then fixed his grandson with a penetrating gaze. “Have you fallen in love with her, Asher?”

Lord Blackwood hadn’t fully comprehended the depth of Asher’s feelings for Thalia, assuming theirs was merely a pragmatic alliance.

Asher felt his chest constrict painfully and remained silent, his gaze fixed on the Persian carpet. The patriarch saw through his reserve and sighed deeply. “You’ve become a devoted man. You’re quite unlike your father—I see rather more of myself in you than I expected.”

His tone shifted abruptly. “Nevertheless… even if the separation feels impossible, it must be done. You know perfectly well what Malfoy is capable of. During his years in Russia, he built his empire through the most ruthless criminal syndicate in Moscow. He commands weapons and mercenaries. When provoked, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do. To speak plainly, if Miss Winters remains by your side, she might very well forfeit her life. Surely you wouldn’t risk such an outcome?”

“Randolph Winters was fortunate today—he survived his ‘accident.’ But if he hadn’t regained consciousness, do you imagine Thalia would forgive you or the Blackwood family? This afternoon’s attack on the A21 was Malfoy’s opening salvo directed at you. Asher, if you truly love her, you must protect her properly. You cannot allow her to face mortal danger simply because of her association with you.”

Asher’s eyes reddened, his heart constricting with bitter resignation. He opened his mouth to object but then recalled the horrifying moment on the road hours earlier—a bullet whistling past Thalia’s head, missing her by mere inches. Whatever protest he had intended died in his throat.

Asher remained silent for a long while.

The patriarch continued with measured patience: “Randolph Winters is a legitimate businessman; he’s unfamiliar with this world of violence and retribution. Even with your most skilled security detail, you cannot shield them every moment. As you’ve witnessed firsthand today, the Winters family bears the brunt of your conflict with Malfoy.”

Asher’s deep obsidian eyes remained calm. His Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed, the corners of his eyes brightening with repressed emotion.

“Grandfather, are you certain Malfoy would believe a separation between Thalia and myself?”

“That’s precisely why it must be an authentic breakup, not a charade. Miss Winters has a transparent nature—she’s incapable of sustaining a convincing deception. If you were to propose a pretend separation, she would inevitably reveal the truth. Asher, you must be absolute in your actions—make a clean, decisive break.”

Pain flashed across Asher’s features. “I once promised her I would never do anything to cause her harm.”

“This isn’t harming her—it’s preserving her life.”

“Grandfather, Malfoy targeted the Winters family precisely because he recognizes Thalia as my vulnerability. I doubt he would accept that I’ve distanced myself from her based merely on a breakup.”

The old man shook his head decisively. “No, he will believe it. Your position as the Blackwood heir and the sole successor to our empire would make such a narrative entirely credible. He would readily accept that you aren’t a devoted or faithful man. Someone of your standing and background is expected to be capricious in matters of the heart.”

Asher gave a bitter laugh. “Grandfather, might I have some time to consider this?”

Lord Blackwood squeezed Asher’s shoulder, speaking with grave intensity: “Asher, I can afford to wait, but the Winters family cannot.”

Asher closed his eyes briefly, his chest rising and falling as though struggling against immense internal pressure.

“If you truly care for Miss Winters…” the old man said with measured patience, “you could always pursue her again after neutralizing Malfoy. Wouldn’t that resolve the situation?”

Asher’s voice emerged slightly hoarse, his eyes reflecting a bewilderment Lord Blackwood had never before witnessed. “What if, by then, she no longer wishes to be with me?”

The old man had no ready answer. He understood Asher’s torment, yet he couldn’t offer false assurances. The human heart was mercurial—who could predict its future course? Moreover, it would be Asher initiating the separation; Miss Winters would have no reason to wait faithfully for his return.

He needed Asher to make the break absolute—only then would Thalia truly relinquish hope, and only then would Malfoy be convinced of their separation. But if Asher were to hurt her so thoroughly, why would the young woman ever consider reconciliation?

It was an impossible dilemma.

Lord Blackwood considered carefully before speaking solemnly: “Asher, if you’re unwilling to enact a genuine separation, then you must explain everything to her with complete transparency. Have her participate in this deception. Of course, this assumes you can guarantee she’ll execute her role flawlessly, without revealing any vulnerability that might expose her or her family to further danger.”

Asher remained silent. That wouldn't suffice. Thalia couldn’t conceal her emotions effectively.

“Consider your options thoroughly,” the old man said, rising. “I returned to London specifically to dissolve this engagement with the Winters family. Reflect carefully and give me your decision tomorrow. Tomorrow evening, we shall visit the hospital together to tender our apologies to Randolph Winters.”

Asher kept his gaze downcast, enveloped in a palpable aura of melancholy. Understanding his grandson needed solitude, Lord Blackwood departed without further comment, his footsteps fading as he ascended the grand staircase.

The drawing room fell silent and desolate. With doors and windows sealed against the winter chill, not even the faintest breeze disturbed the oppressive stillness. The air felt suffocating, heavy with unspoken anguish. Asher tugged at his collar, his heart constricting with unbearable pain. The pale winter sunlight filtered through the leaded glass windows, casting his solitary shadow across the polished parquet floor. Desolate and utterly alone.