Chapter 385

Evelyn lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even if Nathan's great-grandfather nearly died by your father's hand, you've already taken your revenge on his mother, haven't you? They owe you nothing now. Why can't you let the past stay buried?"

Two wrongs didn’t make a right. Why did this cycle of hatred have to poison the next generation?

Harrison's expression darkened. "They owe me nothing?"

His jaw tightened as he spoke, his voice eerily calm. "I will never forgive them. And you—you don’t even know the full extent of what they did to us."

Evelyn said nothing, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress.

Then, without warning, Harrison turned and rolled up his pant leg. What she saw wasn’t flesh and bone—it was cold, unfeeling metal.

A prosthetic.

Evelyn’s breath caught.

"See this?" Harrison’s voice was laced with venom. "Philip Goldmann did this. He hacked off my leg when I was eight—just a child—to force my father out of politics." His hands clenched into fists. "The pain, the nightmares… they never left me. And the man who gave me this hell was Nathan’s great-grandfather."

Evelyn’s face paled.

Eight years old.

Harrison took a shuddering breath, struggling to regain his composure. "Philip swore to my father that if he stepped down, I’d be safe. But he lied. What else could you expect from a gutter rat who clawed his way up from the slums?"

His lips curled in disgust. "My father went after him for what he did to me. He should’ve thanked fate that he didn’t die that day. But when I turned sixteen and took over the de Arma family, my father suddenly dropped dead."

The hatred in his eyes was bone-deep, unshakable.

"And when I dug into his death, I learned the truth—about Philip, about his bastard child with the eldest princess." Harrison sneered.

Evelyn had heard fragments of this story from Nathan during their time in the training camp.

That "bastard" was Nathan’s grandfather—royal blood tainted by illegitimacy, a stain the Stoslo monarchy refused to acknowledge.

His entire life had been a battlefield, hunted for simply existing.

If Harrison’s words were true—if the Goldmanns had betrayed their word, if they had murdered his father—then their sins ran deeper than she’d ever imagined.

So why did the Goldmanns despise the de Armas so fiercely?

Was it really just about Nathan’s mother?

Something didn’t add up.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "Are you absolutely certain Philip killed your father?"

Harrison scoffed. "Do I look like I’m joking? No one knows the Goldmanns’ true nature better than I do."

Her frown deepened.

Noticing her skepticism, Harrison leaned in. "Let me make this clear. If you value your life—or your children’s—stay away from the Goldmanns. My family isn’t their only enemy. Philip’s hands are drenched in blood, and the aristocracy hasn’t forgotten. You’re Isabella’s daughter, so I won’t touch you. But I can’t speak for the others."

His warning hung in the air like a blade.