Shackled To The Enemy King-Chapter 119: King Again

Dorian walked down the corridor toward the private bedroom. He was only summoned there when he had crossed a line.

The servants understood the meaning of that.

As he entered, the maids and attendants quietly slipped out, closing the doors behind them.

Edward Blackwood sat in an armchair near the window. A machine beside him beeped steadily. A tube ran from the device into the vein in his wrist.

Dorian’s gaze flickered to it.

He had never understood that.

Edward had no kidney failure. No diagnosed condition that required dialysis. Yet every so often, he would connect himself to machines... draining blood, replacing blood, undergoing procedures that made no medical sense.

It had always been strange.

But questioning Edward Blackwood was not something anyone in the family dared to do.

"It appears," Edward said calmly, without looking at him, "that you were very busy yesterday."

Dorian said nothing.

Silence stretched across the room.

Then, suddenly—

Edward stood.

He yanked the tube from his wrist with a sharp pull, uncaring of the blood that followed.

Before Dorian could react...

*SLAP*

The sound cracked through the room. Edward’s hand struck his cheek with brutal force. Dorian’s head snapped to the side.

The neatly combed hair that had been slicked back fell loose across his forehead. His teeth bit down against the inside of his lip, splitting the skin.

A thin line of blood slid down his mouth.

"You’re still chasing that tramp?" Edward said coldly.

Dorian slowly straightened. He did not touch his cheek. He did not wipe the blood. He simply stood there, silent, eyes lowered, the metallic taste spreading across his tongue.

But Edward wasn’t finished.

His hand rose again.

*SLAP*

The second strike landed just as hard.

"Why are you running after a rancher’s girl like a dog in heat?"

His hand lifted for a third time, his chest heaving, his eyes reddened.

But this time... the slap never landed. Dorian caught his wrist midair.

For a moment the room went completely still.

Edward’s eyes widened. Slowly, Dorian tilted his head. He ran his tongue across his split lip, licking the blood away.

Then he smiled... A sharp, humorless smirk. With dark hair falling across his eyes, and that red on his tongue, he looked menacing, as if he had let the last of his patience snap to reveal his true form.

With a shove, he pushed Edward back into the chair.

"You—bloody mutt!" Edward barked, trying to rise again. "You dare push me—"

His words cut off. Dorian’s foot came down on his chest, pinning him back against the chair.The movement was swift and effortless.

Suddenly, the grandson who had stood obediently for years looked nothing like the man Edward thought he controlled.

Dorian looked like something else entirely.

A beast that had slipped its leash.

Edward grabbed his ankle, trying to push him away, but the foot pressing into his chest didn’t budge.

"What did that tramp do to you?" Edward demanded, his voice straining as the pressure on his ribs increased.

Dorian pressed harder.

Edward’s breath hitched.

For the first time, a flicker of fear crept into the old man’s eyes.

"When," Dorian asked quietly, "are you transferring my shares to me?"

Edward coughed, glaring up at him. His face twisted with shock and rage, and now something darker. He had ruled for ages. He never had to answer anyone. How could this young man who always bowed to him, snap at him like this?

"You get nothing, mutt!" he spat when Dorian eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.

Dorian scoffed softly.

"So there’s no possibility of opening the R&D department?" he asked, his jaw tightening.

Edward’s lips curled.

"I know you want it for that tramp," he sneered. "What do you see in her?"

Dorian leaned down slowly. Very slowly.

"Why do you hate her, Grandpa?" he asked.

Edward frowned, as if the answer were obvious. "I just hate her."

Dorian’s shoe pressed harder into his chest. Edward’s breath faltered again. Dorian bent closer, his shadow falling across the old man’s face.

"Last life... I let you do whatever you wanted," he murmured.

Edward’s pupils shrank.

Dorian leaned closer. "Father-in-law."

The word landed like a blade.

Dorian’s smile widened slightly, but there was no warmth in it.

"This life," he said quietly, "she’ll be my only queen."

His foot pressed down again, hard enough that Edward’s breath tore from his throat in a strangled gasp.

The old man thrashed, clawed at Dorian’s leg. His fingers dug into the expensive fabric of Dorian’s trousers, trying desperately to push him away.

Dorian did not move. Not even an inch. He simply stood there, as if Edward’s desperate struggle beneath him was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

While the life was slowly being crushed out of the man beneath his shoe, Dorian calmly adjusted the cuff of his watch.

Then he reached up and smoothed back the strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

The thrashing grew weaker. Slower.

Until finally... It stopped.

Only then did Dorian remove his foot.

Edward Blackwood’s head hung sideways against the armchair, his face frozen in a grotesque mixture of fury and terror.

Dorian crouched down. For a moment, he simply looked at him.

Then he reached forward and brushed the faint imprint of his shoe off Edward’s expensive suit with deliberate care, as if tidying up after a minor accident.

"Now," Dorian murmured softly, "I am the king again."

His gaze lingered on the lifeless body.

"All that remains... is bringing my queen back to my side."

A slow smile curved across his lips.

"You will not control me in this life, Edward."

He straightened. Then he kicked the door open... and walked out.

The servants waiting outside rushed in first. The moment their eyes landed on Edward’s body slumped in the chair...

They screamed.

But Dorian didn’t even glance back. He walked down the corridor with unhurried steps, as though nothing unusual had happened. When he reached Edward’s private study, he pushed the door open and entered.

The room still smelled faintly of cigar smoke and old paper. Dorian walked straight to the large mahogany desk.

He trailed his fingers over Edward’s chair. And then... He slowly and comfortably, sat down. Then he leaned back and placed his foot on the table, gently rocking it.

A satisfied smile spread across his face.

For the first time since he got his memories of his past life... Dorian Blackwood finally felt at peace.

Meanwhile, Maximilian, who was getting coffee for the family, got a text... From Charlotte O’Hara... his wife from another life.

[Haven’t I paid for my sins already? Why are you haunting me this life too? What do you need to know?]

Maximilian’s lips curved into a smile.

Finally, she came through.