CHAPTER 111: CHAPTER 111 VOICE IN THE DARK.

SWIFT MANSION.

Charles McCall’s face contorted in anger as he stormed off. He had been trying Draven’s line for hours, but it wasn’t going through anymore. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Swift, who were on holiday in Paris, had reached out for some strange reason, and Charles was forced to lie that Draven was in school and couldn’t answer due to his reading schedule.

"That’s refreshing to hear that my son is finally taking education seriously. What a surprise," his mother said over the phone, but Charles wasn’t even concentrating—anger flooded his mind.

Draven had left to be with that boy from yesterday. Wasn’t that too drastic? Sacrificing everything for him? The holidays were almost over, and school resumption meant the real-time assessment was coming. Draven missing it would mean automatic failure—and repeating the year all over again.

Ending the call, Charles headed to his room and began putting on his outfit. He had successfully tracked down the billionaire tycoon’s apartment—it hadn’t been hard, given the connections he had. Today, he would march there and demand Draven come back home, whether he liked it or not. He wasn’t leaving empty-handed this time.

Slinging a bag over his shoulder, he fixed his long hair and dabbed a little oil on his lips to moisten them before walking out. The first person he encountered was Butler Fin, who looked just as worried.

"Going to bring young master?" Fin asked.

Charles nodded. He had waited long enough for Draven to come back, and waiting any longer would only make things fall apart before Draven even returned. He had to do it himself—he had to call him back.

"Sir, can you take care of the mansion while I’m away? And if anyone you don’t know shows up—don’t let them in," Charles instructed, and Butler Fin nodded.

"I’m not an idiot who lets strangers in, you can count on me. This isn’t the first time I’ve looked after a building, so go wherever you’re heading and don’t worry about me," the butler replied, his caring attitude hard to miss.

He’d been the one constantly asking about Draven since the boy vanished, and now that Charles was finally going after him, Fin was relieved. He suspected Draven might be in a situation where he couldn’t call for help—meaning he probably needed Charles now more than ever.

"Of course, you’re very competent in this duty. Just please, be careful. After bringing Draven, I’ll make sure to return," Charles said, patting the old man’s shoulder before dramatically flipping his brunette hair to the side. He then walked to the car park beside the mansion, choosing one of the Lamborghinis, and drove out.

Another gateman had taken over Charles’s shift, so he opened the gate for him. Charles drove out, following the GPS to the grand golden palace where Draven had apparently decided to play hide and seek.

Arriving at the estate, he looked up and was instantly marveled by the massive buildings spread across the large land—it was at least five times bigger than his own. If his mansion were added here, it would get lost in the vastness.

"This is it..." he murmured, blowing the car horn. Soon enough, someone opened the gate, and he drove in, the tires swirling until he parked in the designated lot filled with other glamorous cars.

Sliding down from the driver’s seat, he closed the door softly and glanced around, expecting someone to welcome him. But no one came.

"What? Is this how guests are treated here?" Charles muttered, insulted. He was sure he looked the part—dressed neatly, refined like the elites—so why wasn’t he being attended to?

While contemplating the rude reception, a scrawny, hungry-looking man staggered toward him. The man looked like he hadn’t eaten in days and might collapse at any moment.

"Should I be more worried about him or my purpose here?" Charles muttered, still eyeing the man as he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.

This was the gatekeeper? Someone like him was supposed to guard the household? What a joke. If criminals ever broke in, they’d have a field day.

"Hey, gateman, please call Draven Swift. He’s staying here, and he’s supposed to be on his way already," Charles said, forcing himself to speak though he felt the man was a waste of his time—and his saliva.

Instead of responding or calling Draven, the man came closer, teeth clattering as he sniffed the air like an animal.

"I can’t find your rank... who are you, man? And why can’t I perceive your scent?" the man demanded drunkenly, stepping closer.

Charles flinched. The man’s body stench hit him like a wall. "Ew—what’s this? Is bathing a luxury for you? You work under a rich family, yet can’t scrub your body? What a shame," he said in disgust.

"I’d appreciate it if you moved your filthy body away from me. Let me see who I came for." Charles shoved him aside, sending the man crashing heavily to the ground, where he lay unconscious.

"There goes the so-called gateman," Charles muttered, walking away and scanning the area. Soon he spotted men dressed in black moving around—probably the palace bodyguards.

Why was such a useless drunk outside while the capable ones stayed in?

One of the black-dressed men approached, but before Charles could speak, a loud thud echoed from a nearby corridor. Startled, he turned toward the sound. Some of the bodyguards rushed out toward where the fallen gateman lay.

"You worthless animal! You drank again, didn’t you?" one guard shouted, kicking the man. The half-dead fellow didn’t even flinch.

Charles hissed, and seeing them distracted, quietly slipped through the open door they had come from. It led him deeper into the lower floor, offering a full view of the grand interior.

Ignoring the beauty, he focused on finding Draven—but another noise distracted him. Something broke—glass or porcelain—followed by an alarm.

"Intruder spotted! Intruder spotted!"

Charles froze, eyes wide like saucers. Panic surged through him as he ran aimlessly, unfortunately heading deeper down the corridor. Soon, every sound faded.

Why had he sneaked into this place again? If caught, he’d be accused of theft or worse—thrown into a cell forever. God help him, he was doomed.

"Looking for someone... or are you lost?" a deep voice echoed behind him, making him flinch.

Charles spun around, eyes darting everywhere. "Who just spoke? Who are you?" he demanded, trying to mask his fear.

"Come closer and find out, darling..." the husky voice teased, coming from deeper within the corridor—an abandoned part of the palace.

His instincts screamed at him to leave, but curiosity whispered otherwise. Maybe that person could help him. Maybe.

Before he could decide, footsteps echoed from the direction he came from. Quickly, Charles ducked behind a pile of empty barrels, calming his pounding heart.

Six men in black with guns appeared, heading toward the source of the voice. They stopped before a barricaded door.

"Go inside and bring the plates they used for eating," the commander ordered. Two of them entered—and froze.

A body lay there, punctured beyond recognition, blood staining the floor. From the hair and dress, it was clear who it was—the young mistress of the house, Maxine Wolfe. She was dead.

"Boss, Maxine is dead!" one guard shouted. The others looked shaken.

"You mean... killed by Adrian Valez? Why would he do something so despicable? And young master Xyle doesn’t know?" the commander said bitterly.

"Should we let them finish their honeymoon or tell him now?" another asked.

The commander frowned. "We can’t hide such a sacrilege. He deserves to know."

Charles’s mouth hung open. Adrian Valez—the same man who attacked their mansion and kidnapped Daniel, the one Draven was infatuated with. Trouble followed that boy like a curse.

And now Adrian, the most dangerous man alive, was here.

"Honeymoon vacation," Charles muttered under his breath. That could only mean Draven wasn’t here. He hadn’t seen a trace of him anywhere in the palace—just those robotic-looking guards.

What a waste of effort.

He sighed and was about to sneak out when a hand grabbed him from behind.

"Drop your hands, young man, or I’ll blow your brain out!"

Charles instantly obeyed—not that he was holding anything, but for his own safety. He wasn’t ready to lose his head today.

The commander’s voice came again, sharp and cold.

"Contact Xylander now—and tell him the news. Maxine is dead. Killed by Adrian Valez!"