I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Chapter 175: A call from Vex

"I mean gone, vanished, poof!" Zafron's hands gesticulated wildly. "The house is a mess, the door's off its hinges, and they're nowhere to be found."

"Okay, okay, calm down," Cassandra soothed, placing a hand on his arm. "We'll figure this out. But first, we need to get you out of here before Uncle Harold comes back and starts asking more questions."

"Right, because sneaking around isn't suspicious at all," Zafron muttered.

"Less suspicious than you looking like you've run here from the other side of Drakoria," Cassandra retorted.

'If only she knew,' Zafron thought wryly.

"Come on," Cassandra tugged at his sleeve. "We'll go to my private study. We can talk there without interruption."

They reached Cassandra's study, slipping inside and closing the door quietly behind them. As soon as they were alone, Cassandra's playful demeanor vanished, replaced by concern.

"Okay, Zafron. Tell me everything."

Zafron took a deep breath, then launched into his tale. He told her about returning home, finding the house in chaos, and the eerie absence of Mara and Matilda. He carefully omitted any mention of his system, unsure of how to even begin explaining. Plus, it wasn't necessary.

As he spoke, Cassandra's frown deepened. "This is serious, Zafron. Have you contacted the city enforcers?!"

Zafron shook his head. "Not yet. I... I came straight here. I thought maybe you might know something, or could help..."

Cassandra nodded, her mind already working on the problem. "We'll need to be discreet. Word travels around in Drakoria too fast, sometimes to the wrong ears. ."

"Not to mention what your uncle would say," Zafron added grimly.

"Leave Uncle Harold to me," Cassandra said firmly. "Right now, we need to focus on finding Mara and Matilda."

As they began to plan their next moves, Zafron couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and affection for Cassandra. Despite the late hour and the potential scandal, she hadn't hesitated to help him.

'I really lucked out with her,' he thought. 'Now if only we can find Mara and Matilda, maybe this night won't be a total disaster after all.'

Cassandra let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Zafron, it's late. You're exhausted, and we need clear heads to tackle this. Stay here for the night. We have plenty of guest rooms, and by morning, we can formulate a proper plan."

Zafron hesitated, torn between the need for action and the logic of her words. "But Mara and Matilda—"

"Will be better served by us being well-rested and thinking straight," Cassandra finished firmly. "Trust me, Zafron. We'll start fresh at dawn."

Reluctantly, Zafron agreed, allowing himself to be led to a luxurious guest room. Despite his worries, exhaustion claimed him quickly.

From the shadows of his study, Uncle Harold watched the scene unfold. His gnarled fingers tightened around the delicate china of his teacup, knuckles whitening with barely contained fury.

There they were again - his willful niece Cassandra and that upstart guard, Zafron. He sneered as he observed their easy familiarity, the way Cassandra's hand lingered on Zafron's arm, the shared laughter that drifted up to his window.

"Ungrateful wench," Harold muttered, his voice a low, venomous hiss. "After everything I've done for her."

Years of carefully laid plans, all threatening to crumble because of a girl's foolish infatuation. The Beaumont legacy - *his* legacy by rights - slipping through his fingers like sand.

If only she would see reason, accept the match with Lucien. It was a good match, a *proper* match. One that would secure the family's position and, more importantly, ensure that control of the estate fell to him, as it should.

But no. Cassandra insisted on being difficult, on clinging to childish notions of love and freedom. And now this... this *commoner* was muddying the waters further.

Harold's lips curled into a snarl of disgust as he watched Zafron reach for Cassandra's hand. The teacup in his grasp trembled, dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

"Enjoy your little dalliance while you can, my dear," he growled, eyes burning with malevolence. "It won't last. I'll make sure of that."

With a final glare of pure, unadulterated hatred, Harold turned from the window. The game wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. And he'd be damned if he'd let a lovesick girl and her pet guard ruin everything he'd worked for.

The Beaumont legacy would be his. One way or another.

The next morning, Zafron stepped out of the mansion, blinking in the bright sunlight. He spotted Cassandra near the gates, deep in conversation with a man in a striking red and white uniform—an enforcer, Zafron realized with a jolt.

As he approached, he caught snippets of their discussion. "...thorough search of the premises... interviews with neighbors..."

The enforcer nodded, jotting notes in a small book. "We'll keep you informed, Lady Beaumont. Good day." With a crisp salute, he strode off.

Cassandra turned, noticing Zafron. "Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think you'd sleep the day away."

Zafron rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I was up most of the night. Only managed to fall asleep as the sun was rising. What's the latest?"

Cassandra's expression softened. "I filed a report first thing this morning. They've already sent a team to your house to investigate. Unfortunately, they can't officially declare Mara and Matilda missing until this evening—some bureaucratic nonsense about a 24-hour waiting period. But the search is already underway, unofficially."

Zafron nodded, relief and worry warring in his chest. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably sleep through the entire crisis," she teased gently. "Go back and rest up, Zafron. I promise you, everything that can be done is being done."

A thought struck Zafron. "Wait, what about your uncle? Didn't he wonder why you were talking to an enforcer?"

Cassandra waved a hand dismissively. "Uncle Harold left early this morning for some business in the city. He has no idea—"

Her words were cut off by the sound of running feet. They turned to see one of the mansion's guards sprinting towards them from the main gate, a letter clutched in his hand.

"Lady Cassandra!" the guard panted, holding out the envelope. "This just arrived for you. It's from the Vex household."

Cassandra's eyebrows shot up as she took the letter. "The Vex as in Malachi? Now what could he want?"

'Malachi Vex sending a letter to Cassandra too? What in the hell does that man want from all the women I know?'

Zafron watched anxiously as Cassandra broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes widened as she scanned its contents.

"Well?" Zafron prompted, unable to contain his curiosity. "What does it say?"

Cassandra looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. "It seems," she said slowly, "that we're not the only ones with a mystery on our hands. The Vexes are requesting our help..."