Chapter 10:Midnight Escapade(Part-1)

The Valtor estate settled into an uneasy stillness as night descended, its grand halls and opulent chambers falling dark and silent one by one. Even the resplendent ballroom, mere hours ago a crucible of simmering scandals and shocking revelations, now lay abandoned - a hollow stage awaiting its next players.

Elara had long since retreated to her bedchambers, the sanctuary of the family wing providing scant comfort in the wake of her world's upheaval. Though exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, slumber remained elusive, her mind awhirl with anguished thoughts. The very foundations of her identity, the immutable truths and sacred duties that had guided her every waking moment had been razed to ashes in one fell swoop.

Who was she, truly, if not the scion of the Valtor dynasty, the unassailable heiress groomed from birth to one day ascend to the pinnacle of power? The vertigo of having her reality so brutally inverted left Elara reeling, desperate for solid ground that seemed to fracture beneath her feet with every ragged breath.

Elara tossed and turned, the cool silk sheets offering little respite from the inferno of emotions raging within her. She clutched at the pillow, muffling a sob.

In desperation, she sat up in bed, hands shaking as she unfastened the intricate laces of her nightgown. The garment fell to the floor in a pool of creamy white silk, revealing Elara's slender form clad only in a sheer chemise and stockings. Her fingers trembled as they traced over her skin - soft curves accentuated by corsets and whalebone stays now abandoned to languid freedom.

Elara's fingers moved with desperate urgency, teasing and probing at her swollen folds through the delicate fabric of her chemise. She bit down on her lip to stifle a moan as sensations began to build within her - a welcome distraction from the turmoil raging in her mind.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as she increased the pressure on herself, circling and stroking with practiced ease despite the trembling of her hands. The silk of her chemise grew damp beneath them, clinging to every curve and contour of Elara's body as she surrendered herself completely to pleasure.

Her hips began to rock back and forth in time with each stroke, drawing out long drawn-out sighs that mingled with the sound of rustling silk. Her fingers found their rhythm now - quickening their pace until they were moving nimbly across wet folds and swollen buds alike.

Elara closed her eyes tightly, trying desperately not to think about anything but this momentary escape from reality - an escape that threatened to consume everything else if she wasn't careful...

Adrian, the mysterious newcomer whose very existence had detonated this crisis, seemed to lie down with the blissful serenity of one unburdened by doubt or apprehension. Wrapped in the luxurious embrace of his bedchamber's imported silks, his breathing remained deep and even, chest rising and falling in an unhurried cadence. Upon those chiselled, implacable features, the ever-present aura of intensity that simmered beneath the surface during his waking hours had faded, rendering Adrian's countenance almost supernaturally tranquil thinking about something. Suddenly, he woke up and went out of his chamber.

Victor Valtor, the deposed patriarch, sat alone in his study, a half-empty decanter of amber liquid his only companion. The room swam before his bleary eyes, the firelight casting distorted shadows across the walls as if mocking his fractured reality.

He reached for the crystal tumbler, his hand unsteady, and brought it to his lips. The liquor burned a fiery path down his throat, but it did little to dull the anguish that clawed at his insides. With each swig, Victor descended further into the abyss of his memories, the alcohol stripping away the veneer of control he so desperately clung to.

Rosy. The mere thought of her name sent a shudder through his frame, equal parts longing and rage. She had been his everything once - his muse, his confidante, the very air in his lungs. Together, they had dreamed of conquering the world, of building an empire that would endure for generations.

But now, those dreams lay shattered at his feet, poisoned by the revelation of her betrayal. If what she claimed was true, if Adrian was indeed his firstborn son... then everything he had ever believed, every sacrifice he had made, was nothing more than a twisted lie.

Victor's grip tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning white. The liquor sloshed precariously as he brought it to his lips once more, desperate to drown out the insidious whispers of doubt and self-loathing. But even the burn of the alcohol could not silence the voice that echoed in his mind, condemning him for his sins.

And what of Elara, his precious daughter? The one pure thing in his life, the shining beacon he had clung to when all else crumbled to dust? He had moulded her in his image, shaped her to be the perfect heir to his legacy... but at what cost?

The weight of his transgressions pressed down upon him, threatening to crush the very breath from his lungs. He had been so consumed by his own pride, so blinded by his thirst for vengeance, that he had sacrificed his own child on the altar of his ambition.

A harsh, mirthless laugh tore from Victor's throat, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was a monster, a twisted mockery of a father who had poisoned everything he touched.

But even as despair threatened to engulf him, a spark of defiance flickered to life in his chest. He was Victor Valtor, damn it all. He had not clawed his way to the top, had not built an empire from the ashes of ruin, only to crumble beneath the weight of his own guilt.

With a grunt of effort, Victor lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as the room tilted around him. He slammed the glass down on the desk, the remaining liquor sloshing onto the polished wood. Enough of this pathetic wallowing. He would confront this crisis head-on, just as he had every other challenge in his life.

He staggered towards the door, his steps unsteady as the alcohol coursed through his veins. The corridors of the estate blurred together as he trudged onwards, his destination clear in his mind.

Rosy. He had to see her, had to hear the truth from her own lips. Even if it destroyed him, even if it shattered the very foundations of his world, he had to know.

At last, he reached her chambers, the heavy oak doors looming before him like the gates of damnation. Victor's hand trembled as he raised it to knock, the gesture feeling strangely foreign. How many times had he stood before these doors, his heart racing with anticipation, eager to lose himself in her embrace?

But now, there was only a cold, sinking dread in the pit of his stomach, a sense of finality that chilled him to the bone.

Victor's hand brushed against the door, banging it continuously, it flew open, catching him off guard. Blinking through his haze of alcohol, he struggled to take in the sight before him.

There stood Rosy, looking stunning in a loose-fitting corset that hugged her every curve. Beads of sweat glistened on her skin and she seemed to be out of breath. Her auburn hair tumbled down her back in dishevelled waves and her emerald eyes held a mix of surprise and something more mysterious.

"Victor," she breathed, her voice smooth like honey with a hint of venom. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Victor swallowed hard, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. Taking an unsteady step forward, he was enveloped by the scent of her perfume like a siren's call.

"We need to talk," he managed, his words slurred from the alcohol. "About... about Adrian. About everything."

Rosy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips as she appeared annoyed.

"And you thought late at night, drunk out of your mind, was the best time for this conversation?"

A surge of anger cut through Victor's drunken fog as he clenched his jaw.

"Don't you dare judge me," he growled. "Not after what you've done. What you've kept from me."

Rosy's expression hardened, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes.

"Oh, so we're talking about secrets now? Lies and betrayal?" she hissed, her voice low and full of venom. "You, who built our entire life on a foundation of deceit?"

Victor recoiled as if struck, her words hitting him with an intensity he couldn't ignore. But he refused to back down, refused to let her see just how deeply she had hurt him.

"I did what needed to be done," he spat, the bitterness in his words palpable. "To protect our family. To secure our legacy."

"Our legacy?" Rosy laughed, her tone harsh and mocking. "You mean _your_ legacy, Victor. The one that consumed you so much that you were willing to sacrifice anything, _anyone_, to keep it alive."

As her words sunk in, blurring his vision and clouding his mind even further, Victor couldn't help but feel a stab of pain at the truth in them.

"I loved you," he whispered, the emotion catching in his throat. "I would have given you the world."

For a brief moment, Rosy's expression softened and a flicker of regret crossed her features. She stepped closer, her warmth seeping into his skin as she reached up to cup his face with a tender hand.

"Oh, my love," she murmured, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "We both know that was never enough for you." As she looked aside from him into the room.

With his eyes closed and leaning into her touch against his better judgment, Victor wanted nothing more than to hate her. He wanted to scream and yell and curse her for all the pain she had caused him. But even now, even after everything they had been through, he still craved her touch like a drowning man craved air.

"Tell me the truth," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "About Adrian. About... everything."

Rosy sighed, her breath ghosting across his skin like a caress. She pulled back, her hand falling away from his face, and fixed him with a lusty gaze.

"The truth, Victor?" she said softly, her voice tinged with a weariness that seemed to seep into her very bones. "The truth is that we both made choices. Choices that led us to this moment, to this... reckoning."

Victor's heart clenched, a wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He swayed on his feet, the alcohol and the weight of her words making the world spin around him. Victor can't able to tell that Rosy seems to be trying to control herself due to being drunk.

"I don't... I can't..." he stammered, his tongue tripping over the words.

Rosy shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. 

"Go to bed, Victor," she murmured. "We'll talk in the morning when you're sober and can think clearly."

She stepped back, her hand on the door, and closed the door forcefully. As she dropped to the ground with some liquid dripping through her legs.

His former wife now occupied these chambers with such casual indifference, draped in an aura of defiantly regal possession, filled Victor with an unaccountable surge of bitter indignation. Did she take some perverse satisfaction in inhabiting this hallowed ground from which she had so abruptly absented herself decades ago?

With a sigh, he started going back towards his chamber but a quavering, unmistakable sound reached his ears from beyond the threshold. An exquisite, appreciative moan torn from the very depths of a woman's pleasure…

As Victor stooped on his steps, the unmistakable sounds of depraved intimacy assaulted his senses like a barrage of filth. Each muffled cry of wanton ecstasy, every rhythmic creak of the bedsprings lanced through him like a serrated blade, flying away what tattered remnants of composure still clung to him.

He could taste the acrid bile of revulsion burning the back of his throat as Rosy's shameless exclamations reached his ears in lurid detail. That rasping timbre that had once kindled Victor's deepest ardours now seemed to mock him from behind the chamber's walls, each profane utterance a deliberate desecration of everything he had once cherished about this wretched woman.

"Harder... my darling boy... bury yourself in me until I scream..."