Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Conflict of interest

As Ruelle approached her house, anxiety twisted in her stomach at the sight of the open door. Uncertainty gnawed at her. She was not only late, but she had also failed to bring the expected money.

Nervous, she stepped inside and immediately spotted the debt collector lounging on the sofa, his feet propped carelessly on the coffee table. A surge of panic coursed through her, but it quickly gave way to relief when she saw her father.

"Elle is back home!" Caroline exclaimed, relief mingling with a nervous smile.

"Finally!" The debt collector clicked his tongue, and swung his legs off the table, rising as if he owned the space beneath the very roof that sheltered them. "Let's see how much money your measly sweaters brought in now, shall we? Bring the money forward."

Ruelle's fingers tightened around the gunny bag. When she hesitated, Mrs. Belmont furrowed her brow, her gaze shifting to the bag that looked fuller than expected. "Did you not visit the Cliffords?" she asked.

"I did..." Ruelle's voice trembled, fear crawling through her.

"Hm?" The debt collector's eyes raked over her, narrowing as they fell upon the gunny bag. "What is this?" Without waiting for a response, he snatched the bag from her grip and dumped its contents onto the floor.

Mrs. Belmont gasped, her hand clapping instinctively over her mouth as the drenched and dirty sweaters lay exposed. Caroline's mouth fell open, confused and shocked, struggling to comprehend how their efforts had unravelled so swiftly.

"What did you do, Ruelle?" Her father's voice sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving like a bitter chill.

"I don't care what happened," the debt collector sighed in exasperation, clearly irritated by the familial drama. He turned to his henchmen with a dismissive wave. "Take everything from here and put it in the carriage. Take his daughters, too."

"NO!" Mrs. Belmont screamed, desperation reflecting in her wild eyes as she stepped protectively in front of Caroline.

"You are already planning to take everything valuable! Leave my family alone!" Mr. Belmont shouted in desperation. But the debt collector only laughed—a cold, humourless sound that reverberated through the room.

As the men began rifling through the meagre possessions, Ruelle felt the burden of guilt and responsibility pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her heart thudded wildly as despair washed over her. Just as the men prepared to step out with their meagre valuables, a tall figure blocked their path. His straight blond hair gleamed under the dim light, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"If you are here to collect debt, stand in line and wait your turn until we are done," the debt collector said, clicking his tongue, irritation flickering in his dark eyes.

The stranger's gaze surveyed the worried faces around him before settling on Ruelle, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. For him, everything faded, leaving only the flickering candlelight that danced over her innocence, glimmering with fear but also an undeniable spark in his heart.

Breaking his gaze from her, the stranger stepped inside, his movements fluid and deliberate. "I was wondering what the ruckus was all about." He turned to Mr. Belmont, offering a respectful bow, before turning to the debt collector. "And pray tell, how much does this gentleman owe you?"

"Six and a half silver coins," the debt collector replied, his tone dismissive and haughty. "What are you going to do knowing about it?"

The stranger's hand slipped into his pocket. He produced two gold coins, their surfaces glinting like beacons of hope amidst the despair. "I have only two gold coins, but I am hoping it will be enough for them to buy some time before the rest can be settled."

The debt collector's expression morphed, glints of greed sparking in his eyes as he snatched the coins with a triumphant smile. "Fine. You'd better be prepared for the next payment next week," he growled, turning dismissively to the Belmonts with a wave that silenced their hope.

As the debt collectors finally withdrew, the remaining family members exhaled in unison, the weight of their despair lifting—if only slightly. Ruelle turned her gaze to the stranger.

"Thank you for aiding us. My family and I are ever so grateful for your help today when you didn't have to intervene," Mr. Belmont said, his voice low, infused with gratitude while his pride hurt.

"You don't need to worry about it. It was merely by chance that I happened upon your house," the man replied, a slight smile curling his lips as he regarded Mrs. Belmont. "A person in need should always receive assistance. Isn't that what humanity is all about?"

Mrs. Belmont replied, "What you did for us has saved us all. May I know your name, young man?"

"It is Ezekiel Henley, milady," he said, bowing slightly once more. His stature and demeanour spoke of groundswell dignity, a man who bore the weight of his lineage with grace.

"I am Megan Belmont, and this is my husband, Harold Belmont. These are our daughters—Caroline and Ruelle," Mrs. Belmont introduced her family quickly.

"You were like a prince in shining armour, Mr. Henley!" Caroline blurted out, her innocence unabashed and lacking subtlety.

As Ruelle's gaze met Ezekiel's, she offered him a respectful bow, her voice steady but soft. "Thank you for helping us, Mr. Henley."

Ezekiel's interest increased; intrigue danced in his stormy gaze. "I'm just glad everything is resolved and that you can all breathe easier for now."

"Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Henley?" Mrs. Belmont insisted, as she gestured towards the chairs.

"Perhaps another time, milady." Ezekiel's voice was polite yet firm. "I am on the clock right now and have somewhere to be. But I would like to return another time." His glance met Ruelle's again, a spark of interest lighting up his expression. "I dislike seeing good folks being harassed, and it's only right that I lend my support. Excuse me." With a slight bow, he turned and made his way out the door.

With the debt collector and his men finally gone, Ruelle felt the tension in her shoulders ease, if only slightly. They were safe for at least the next week, all thanks to Ezekiel Henley's generous nature. How fortunate they were that he had come along, she thought.

"Close the door, Ruelle," her father instructed, his voice clipped as if trying to reclaim authority in a time of disturbance.

She nodded quickly, walking to the door and carefully shutting it before securing the lock with a determined click. The moment she turned back, the atmosphere shifted—a storm brewing anew.

SLAP! His hand struck her cheek, warmth blooming into a sharp sting that spread like wildfire across her senses. For a moment, her vision blurred, swept away by the force of his anger.

"And did everyone in the market slip and fall?" Mrs. Belmont interjected in annoyance. "It's always you, isn't it, Ruelle? Everything just seems to happen to you."