Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 360 - 354: Rosaline’s end (1)

The scrolls were still burning in the hearth when Gabriel left the office.

Damian had left shortly after setting fire to the letters, but the heat from his presence lingered in the room for longer than the flame.

Gabriel simply stood up, straightened the folds of his coat, and walked away, ignoring the perfume-stained pile of noble desperation still smoldering in gold-edged ash.

The corridors outside the Empress’s wing were quieter, stripped of ceremony, and painted with colder light. Daylight didn’t reach this far, not really. Only the flicker of magical sconces trailing down the spine of the hallway, pale and pulseless like veins beneath skin.

Alexander fell into step behind him almost immediately, flanked by two members of the royal guard in silent formation. They didn’t ask where he was going.

Gabriel glanced back once.

"I don’t need an escort," he said, not unkindly. "She’s contained. And disarmed."

Alexander didn’t slow. "Protocol requires it. You’re the Emperor’s fiancée and carrying the heir."

Gabriel held his gaze for a breath, unreadable. Then turned forward again. "Protocol can walk ten steps behind."

"I can give you five without needing permission from the Emperor," Alexander replied, and without waiting, signaled the guards with a flick of his fingers. The two peeled back without protest, their formation adjusting like a shadow retreating at dusk.

Gabriel’s jaw shifted slightly, but he didn’t argue.

They passed through three security thresholds, each one opening under layered clearance, imperial signature, and Gabriel’s own ether mark. The doors pulsed as they let him through.

Gabriel slowed his pace; fatigue was starting to catch up with him. He now had the full power of an Empress in the palace and court and had replaced Damian while he was still recuperating, and now that the pregnancy was putting him under increasing pressure, he wanted at least one threat eliminated. Rosaline.

—

She hadn’t spoken in two days.

Not because they told her not to. No one had spoken to her at all.

The cell was clean. Polished floors. White walls. A single table. A chair bolted to the ground. No visible cameras, but she knew they were there. The light never flickered. The food came through a sealed drawer, tasteless but food nonetheless. The sink turned off automatically after ten seconds. Even the bed was regulation standard: firm, white-sheeted, and tucked to the corners.

This wasn’t for criminals, not entirely. It was a place where she could be kept while they decided what to do with her.

A place the Emperor might enter without breaking protocol. Or the Empress.

The thought made her sick.

She had waited anyway. She told herself he would come. Damian. Not his dogs. Not the guards. Not that smug butler. Him.

Because he had to. She had touched his mate intentionally and had targeted him relentlessly only for Damian to look at her more, but that didn’t happen.

Her ears moved with the sound of input at the door, a soft ping, and she turned to see who would enter.

And it was him. Not Damian, but Gabriel. Always Gabriel. Always the wrong one.

She stared.

The door closed behind him without echo, sealing the stale air between them like a final judgment.

He moved like he belonged in the Empire’s future, like it had always been his. As if he hadn’t been born with a false name, a forged smile, and a body designed to bend rather than rule. As if someone hadn’t carved a new role for him and smoothed the edges with powdered titles and synthetic grace. A polished lie in court attire, tailored to sit beside a throne he had no right to.

Her throat tightened. Her palms itched.

"I thought," she said finally, voice low and slicing, "that they would at least send someone real."

Gabriel raised a brow, not offended, not even particularly interested, just mildly amused, like she’d told a joke he’d already heard phrased better by worse people.

"Well, you got me," he said. "This is as real as it gets."

He tilted his head, as if inspecting her. "Though, technically, we’ve never met until now. Fascinating, isn’t it? Considering how obsessed you’ve been."

"And we never should have," Rosaline snapped, venom threading through each word like silk laced with rot. "If you did your job properly, if you were a real omega, you’d be dead."

Gabriel’s smile didn’t shift, but something colder edged into his eyes.

"Huh. Interesting," he said, his voice still maddeningly calm. "Coming from a woman who claimed to be pregnant with the Emperor’s child."

He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, letting his presence stretch like pressure across her throat.

"You know," he continued, conversational now, like they were discussing weather or wine, "Damian never cared enough to read the full report. You were already filed under unimportant."

That made her flinch.

"But I did," Gabriel went on, his tone quiet, pleasant, and unforgiving. "Because unlike you, I don’t underestimate threats just because they wear perfume and smile in mirrors."

Rosaline’s breath caught. He didn’t stop.

"Turns out, the child wasn’t Damian’s. You thought Edward wouldn’t check, didn’t you? Thought a simple ’yes, I’m glowing’ would get you past protocol."

He stepped closer until the gold of his imperial embroidery caught the light in the narrow cell. "But you forgot that imperial bloodlines have screening procedures. That there’s a difference between a paternity test and a bloodline confirmation."

He let that sink in.

"The child," Gabriel said, voice even and laced with something colder than contempt, "was one of Hadeon’s bastards. And if that wasn’t pitiful enough, you still dared to weaponize it, as if it ever meant anything."

Rosaline surged forward, hands gripping the front of his coat in frustration, as if dragging him closer would somehow undo the words, undo the truth. But Gabriel didn’t budge. He moved faster than she expected, and in the space between a breath and a curse, she was slammed back against the wall.

His hand closed around her throat, holding her as if she weighed nothing. Her feet left the ground, just barely, heels skimming air in a helpless flutter.

The door opened slowly.

Alexander stepped inside, leaned a shoulder against the frame, and crossed his arms like he’d walked into a play halfway through and already knew how it would end. Amused. Observing. Saying nothing.

"You’re a liar!" Rosaline choked out, hands scrambling against the iron bar of Gabriel’s arm. "The child was Damian’s—it was! You—"

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