Rough Sea, 121.

The golden morning light filtered through the heavy curtains in Clarice Phillips' room, dancing on the polished marble. On the other side of the line, Taylor's voice was a storm of indignation.

Taylor, nervously, sharply: "Can you believe this, Clarice? Mason, that simple guest here at the Kadman mansion, had the audacity to joke about your family's gardens! And Lady Elizabeth… she just laughed! Laughed! As if it were some harmless joke!"

Clarice, sitting in front of her vanity mirror, raised an eyebrow. Her hand, which had been gently gliding the comb through her hair, paused mid-air.

Clarice, calm but with a cutting tone:

"A friend of Aster's… laughing at the Phillips family."

Just those words, laden with disdain, made Taylor audibly sigh on the other end of the line.

Taylor, hasty reaction: "Exactly! He doesn't know his place! And Lady Elizabeth… letting this go by like a comedy show. Mason is a Gruber; I think that gives him some courage to mock…"

Clarice leaned forward slightly, the light catching the cold glint in her eyes. She drummed her fingers on the vanity, the sound soft but distinct.

Clarice, cold:

"A sparrow trying to steal a phoenix's place. That's what he is."

There was a brief silence on the line as Taylor absorbed the statement.

Taylor, laughing nervously: "Perfect. That describes exactly what he is! Inventing that there are snakes in Phillips Gardens."

Clarice, eyes half-closed, almost muttering to herself:

"And yet…"

Clarice's tone softened, but it didn't lose its intensity. Something about her seemed to capture a thread of curiosity, something she wouldn't say out loud.

Taylor was confused: "Still, what?"

Clarice didn't answer right away. Her mind wandered through vague memories and old stories about the Grubers, sure, but always one step below. Ambitious. Obsessive. There was a moment when she almost smiled—a faint memory of a formal dinner where Mason had made a sharp comment about a member of her family, drawing stares from half the room and scandalized looks from the other half.

Clarice, changing her incisive tone: "The Grubers always try too hard to be relevant. They have a taste for… show. Rude and classless, but occasionally effective."

Taylor, voice anxious: "So I can't stand him, walking around, enjoying the Kadman mansion."

Clarice closed her eyes for a moment, as if in deliberation. The sound of the wind rustling the leaves outside the room was the only distraction.

Clarice, firm, determined: "No, he won't get away with it. Predictable. Omegas like him don't know their place. That's why he'll be useful."

Taylor, intrigued: "Useful? What do you mean by that?"

Clarice opened her eyes, a calculated expression on her face. She picked up a jade ring from the dressing table, turning it between her fingers, as if planning a move in a game of chess.

Clarice, with a slight note of defiance: "If a sparrow wants to take the place of a phoenix, we need only remind him that sparrows… don't survive at high altitudes."

As the tournament approached…

The days leading up to the tournament carried a palpable tension that permeated every corner of the Campbell mansion. Whispered conversations, worried glances cast through the hallways, the attention on everyone to make sure everything went perfectly, and the occasional sound of hurried footsteps blended into a silent crescendo of expectations and secrets.

Aster seemed oblivious to all of this. Absorbed in his relationship with Sarah Campbell, he was in a world of his own, where the need for control they shared was both a function and a burden.

They had improved their communication greatly, but the way their eyes fixed on the details—the hands showing the plans, the sound of occasional laughter—made it clear that something good was being shared here. Something that he might never find in the chaos that awaited them?

Meanwhile, Damián was lost in a tangle of thoughts. The shadows of his past and the uncertainties of his future seemed to intertwine, creating a labyrinth from which he had no idea how to escape. It was as if forces beyond his comprehension were shaping his destiny, twisting reality around him. What had once seemed like a logical search for answers now turned into a desperate fight against something invisible and unnameable.

He felt the weight of time as if he were being pulled between dimensions. Between the man he had been and the omega, he was now. And suddenly the thought came to him: The crystal ceiling had shattered on him.

He couldn't help the brutal comparison.

"He was a demon. A monster. 1.90, muscles, guns... a very big cock. And now? Now he was an omega with... with a cute fucking dick. And with a mission to eliminate two threats from another world, he wouldn't go mad; he could handle it."

He closed his eyes, fighting the wave of shame and frustration that washed over him until his breathing stabilized. He needed air. And perhaps the gallery was the only thing that could offer some relief, some distraction from that suffocating limbo.

Damián walked down the polished marble steps, the light reflecting off the surfaces like echoes of a life he barely recognized. As he approached the main door, a shiver ran down his spine. The distinct feeling that someone was watching him. He turned abruptly, his heart racing, only to find Benjamin standing there with a worried expression.

Benjamin had been a constant presence over the last few days, like a shadow that never went away. No matter how hard Damián tried to ignore him, the man was always there, watching. Not with judgmental glances, but with a concern so raw that it was uncomfortable.

Benjamin, in a low, questioning, fatherly voice:

"Damián... where are you going?"

For a moment, Damián didn't answer. He studied the man in front of him—the lines on his forehead, the way his shoulders seemed to carry an invisible weight. Then something inside him softened.

He took a few quiet steps towards Benjamin, keeping his gaze fixed on him, and put his hand on his shoulder. The gesture was a balance of camaraderie and something deeper — a reflection of the silent struggle they both shared, each in their own way.

Damián, with a small smile: "Come with me, sir. It will be good for you to see the gallery. I bet you will enjoy learning more about it."

The tone of his voice was light, almost casual, but there was a subtext that Benjamin immediately caught: Damián did not want to be alone.

Benjamin hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching Damián's face as if searching for something, then nodded.

Benjamin: with a small, happy smile: "Of course, I accept your invitation… Let's go."

The entrance to the gallery was imposing but inviting, with glass doors that reflected the sky above. Damián pushed the door open with a determined gesture, and a discreet bell rang, announcing his arrival. The soft, filtered light of the interior seemed to embrace the visitors, while the walls were adorned with works of art that exuded history and emotion.

Emeline, an elegant woman with well-coiffed brown hair and lively eyes, walked from the back of the gallery. Upon seeing Damián, a wide, genuine smile lit up her face.

Emeline, enthusiastically: "Damián! What a wonderful surprise. It's been too long."

Damián allowed himself a wider smile than usual. He approached her with firm steps and, upon arriving, lightly squeezed her hand in a warm greeting.

Damián: "Emeline. Good to see you too. I hope you don't think I'm irresponsible for being away."

Emeline, laughing softly: "Never. But I admit I missed you. I'm glad you came to work today."

Damián stepped to the side, indicating Benjamin, who was watching the scene with a serene but curious expression. "When he opened his mouth to introduce him, Damián froze.

How can you put into words something as complex as Benjamin? How can you explain everything he represented, both in the present and in the past? Before he could formulate anything, Emeline, eyes shining with recognition, stepped forward..."

Emeline, with restrained emotion: "Mr. Benjamin Williams, is it not? It is an honor to meet you. Former Prime Minister of Country Y. I never thought I would have the pleasure."

Benjamin blinked, slightly surprised, but his elegant posture remained intact. He shook Emeline's hand firmly with a polite smile.

Benjamin: "The pleasure is mine, Emeline. The position is in the past, but the pleasure of appreciating good art is eternal."

Emeline: "Welcome, sir. I am sure today's collection will be a feast for your eyes."

Damián led them into the main wing of the gallery, where large Renaissance paintings covered the walls in ornate gilded frames.

The soft light from strategically placed lamps highlighted the details of each work.

Damián: "This section is dedicated to the masters of the Renaissance. Each piece here has a story of its own, a glimpse into the struggle between order and chaos, light and darkness."

They stopped in front of a stunning painting of a raging sea, waves crashing against rocks with an almost tangible force. The vigorous brushstrokes and the play of shadows brought the storm to life. 

Benjamin, in admiration: "A sea of fury. So chaotic and, at the same time… mesmerizing. It seems like a perfect metaphor for human nature." Damián stared at the painting for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the details of the waves and the solitary figure of a boat in the distance, almost swallowed by the horizon. 

Damián: "This painting reminds me of a time… chaos can be part of everything. Seeing facts through the storm is also part of personal development." Benjamin turned to look at him but said nothing. 

He knew that sometimes silence was the best way to listen. Damián admired Benjamin, and thought… "When the plane crashed, he was on his way to an exhibition."

His sister, Janine, had a new exhibition, and he wanted to be there. "In his dreams, he imagined walking through a gallery like this with Janine by his side, listening to her voice describe every detail with the enthusiasm of someone who transforms the world around her. But now, it was Benjamin by his side. A different reality, perhaps less luminous, but still, one he could accept." 

He paused, taking a deep breath. Damián: "But things have changed. Today, he is not with his sister. It was Benjamin and not Emeline… and maybe, in some way, that is what matters. There is still art to be seen. There is still something to share." 

Benjamin placed a firm but comforting hand on Damián's shoulder. Benjamin: The silence that followed was filled only by the soft sound of other visitors' footsteps and the murmur of the gallery's atmosphere. 

As they continued to explore the gallery, Damián and Benjamin shared small moments of introspection and observation. Emeline, from a distance, and sometimes interacting, watched them with a satisfied smile, realizing that there was something special about that visit.

When they reached the end of the wing, Damián paused, staring at the last painting—a portrait of a Renaissance figure looking out at a sky, angels, and roses. He murmured, almost to himself:

Damián: "Beauty and calm. It's always like that, isn't it?"

Benjamin replied with an enigmatic smile.

Benjamin: "And maybe that's what makes life so…artistic."

The Great Hall of the Kadman Mansion was a masterpiece of opulence and tradition. A vaulted ceiling with intricate frescoes depicted scenes from mythology, while large windows framed by velvet curtains let in the golden light of dusk. In the center, a cluster of sofas arranged around a monumental fireplace provided a cozy setting for conversation—or confrontation.

Taylor and Gunnar sat near the fireplace. Gunnar, legs crossed and with a slightly disdainful expression, held a magazine. Taylor, impeccable as always, drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa, her elegant posture contradicting the sharp look she was casting into space.

"Mason entered the room with the same carefree air of someone who invades a private conversation without being invited, but completely sure of his presence. His gaze passed from Gunnar to Taylor, a provocative smile curving his lips."

Mason, smiling, in a light tone: "Ah, what a cozy atmosphere. Am I interrupting something?"

Taylor gave him an icy look, while Gunnar remained silent, just tilting his head.

Mason, walking towards them, still casual: "Are you excited for the trip to the mountains?"

Taylor, bluntly, her tone was sharp: "How long do you intend to stay here?"

A heavy silence hung in the air. The sound of the wood crackling in the fireplace seemed deafening. Mason arched an eyebrow as if he considered the question a personal insult.

Mason, ironically, smirking: "Do I make that bad of an impression?"

He leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the back of the couch, his tone changing to something sharper. Mason: "Damián is my friend. And as a friend, I think he considers me a… rose of happiness. 

Gunnar and Taylor, you should ask the universe: to find something that will brighten your destiny, a loyal friend. After all, we are all here as guests of the Kadmans." 

Gunnar leaned forward, placing the magazine on the coffee table with a calculated movement. 

Gunnar, coldly: "Your sweet tone Mason is acidic, it is so intense that it could burn even the snow, my family, however, is here for a special occasion. Someone needed to be saved, you know how it is." 

Mason cracked a smile, but there was no humor in it. 

Mason, with a slightly sarcastic tone: "Being happy is important, Gunnar. And believe me, I am genuinely happy to be here. We are all guests of an extraordinary place, and we should be grateful for that. 

Even though many find luck… vulgar." He turned to Taylor, tilting his head slightly as if he were studying her. 

Mason: "So I wonder: what exactly do you have against me?" 

Gunnar: "You think you're the best." Mason, laughing but firm: "You know that's not what I'm asking." 

Taylor, who had remained quiet, leaned forward, her gaze now boring into Mason: "I wanted so badly to buy you… you and Damián… for what you think you're worth. And sell you for what you think you're worth." 

Mason blinked, seemingly surprised by the boldness, but his expression quickly turned into a sarcastic smile. Taylor: "Damián set this all up. 

He took Adam away from me and manipulated everything from the beginning. The accident, the plans to destroy me… all his fault. And the absence of evidence? It means nothing. There is no absence of guilt!"

 Mason: "Taylor, Taylor… your days are numbered. If you want to find another sponsor to feed this narrative, I suggest you start looking, but don't look too high."

Taylor: "And why not?"

Mason, laughing sarcastically: "Because you came in from the sidewalk, didn't you? You must know it well."

He took a step forward, lowering his tone slightly, while Taylor frowned, his indignation growing.

Mason: "But if I were you, I'd start worrying more about where you're going… than where I came from."

"The sound of firm footsteps cut through the silence like a blade, and Cecil appeared in the doorway. His impeccable posture was the picture of elegance, but his eyes accurately captured the moral disrepair before him."

Cecil: "Mr. Mason. Miss. Taylor. Mr. Gunnar. I believe tea will be served in the garden shortly. Perhaps the fresh air will help… lighten the mood."

Mason looked at Cecil with a mischievous smile.

Mason: "Ah, Cecil. Always the peacemaker. But you know how I am: peace never finds me."

Cecil didn't answer, just inclined his head slightly in a gesture of respect, but there was a subtle glint of weariness in his eyes.