Dark Prince: An Age Gap, Forced Marriage Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

I have two secrets I am holding onto—ones that could ultimately change everything. The first is that I know more about the hitman than I’ve let on, juicy intel that I’ve been withholding, waiting for the right moment to reveal.

The second? I’m going to sneak out, and nobody will be the wiser. It’s the perfect afternoon for an unauthorized adventure, and with Luk out for the day, there’s no chance of him catching wind of my little escapade.

Two months have passed since the whirlwind wedding, moving into the mansion, and taking on the role of Luk’s wife. At times, I feel like a caged songbird, and I need to get some air, stretch my legs, and remind myself what freedom feels like, even if for only a little while.

“I’ll be taking a long bath, then a nap. I’m feeling a little under the weather and wish to be left alone,” I tell the staff, my voice dripping with feigned weariness. They buy it, nodding sympathetically, completely unaware of the plot I’m hatching.

I’ve been watching the guards closely, learning their patterns and routines, and now, armed with this knowledge, I’m ready to make my move. I call an Uber, instructing the driver to pick me up on a side street down the block from the mansion. Once my transportation is set, I get dressed, grab the small handbag I’ve prepared, quietly leave my room, and make my way downstairs.

The timing has to be perfect. When one guard rounds the corner and another momentarily disappears inside, I seize my moment. My heart is beating a little faster, not from fear but from the sheer thrill of defying the intricate security measures designed to keep me safe.

As I sneak across the property, every step perfectly calculated, I’m overcome by the feeling of freedom. It’s been ages since I’ve been able to blend in with the city anonymously. Thinking about the information I’ve received about the assassin, I can’t help but feel like I’m holding onto a ticking time bomb. But for now, this is my little adventure, my middle finger to danger.

I reach the Uber and get into the back seat, telling the driver to go quickly. We take off, driving away from the mansion, and soon, I feel the city’s energy pulsing around me. It’s like I’m rediscovering a piece of myself that was buried beneath Sharon’s strictness, the unexpected wedding, and the double-assassination attempt. I’m still on high alert, however, so I’m in disguise. I wear a Cubs cap and jersey, black-rimmed glasses, faded jeans, and Converse sneakers. I want to look like anyone but Maura Ivanova.

I head back to my roots—Bridgeport, the old neighborhood steeped in Irish culture. The walls of the houses here hold stories told by generations, and the smell of fresh bread mixes with that unmistakable hint of peat smoke, pulling me back in time.

I instruct the driver to stop and get out. The familiar streets wrap around me like a warm hug. But it’s St. Brigid’s Church that’s calling me. It stands proud and inviting at the end of the block. It’s more than just a building, it’s a piece of my history, a silent witness to the highs and lows of my family’s life, a teacher who never stopped teaching.

The sight of St. Brigid’s stirs mixed emotions in me—nostalgia, longing, and a touch of mourning for the simplicity of the days spent within its walls. But I’m not there to reminisce; there’s a purpose to my visit, a need to connect the dots of my past to the dangers of my present.

Stepping inside the church, a familiar air surrounds me, dense with the scent of incense and polished wood. Sunlight filters through stained glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the stone floor, each ray illuminating scenes of saints and biblical tales.

I spot Father Samuel McCarry near the altar, his back to me as he tends to the candles. He’s aged since I last saw him, his once dark hair now a silvery gray, but still, there’s a vigor in his movements. He wears clerical clothing under a vestment, the outer fabric hanging loosely on his frame.

“Father McCarry?” I call out softly, not wanting to startle him.

He spins around, and in an instant, recognition clicks in his eyes.

“Maura? Maura Flanagan?”

As we share a long embrace, it feels as if no time has passed at all, even though it’s been ages. I’m reminded of the times I’d run to him for advice or when I just needed someone to talk to. “Father, can we chat in your office? There’s something I need to talk to you about,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Of course, Maura, follow me,” he says, a worried expression clouding his face. His office is nothing fancy—a desk drowning in paperwork, multiple religious, psychology, and mental wellness books filling the shelves, and a large photo of the current pope gracing one wall.

Sitting down across from Father McCarry, I suddenly find myself tongue-tied. The seriousness of why I want to speak with him hits me all at once. He leans in with concern and readiness to help. “What’s on your mind, Maura? Are you looking for advice or is this more of a confessional visit?” he asks gently.

Part of me wishes I was there for confession, to offload some guilt. “Actually, Father, it’s something else altogether,” I manage to say. “I’ve got something to show you, and it isn’t pretty.”

He looks worried again, the lines around his eyes appearing deeper. “What’s going on?” he asks, bracing himself for unsettling news.

Taking a deep breath, I dive into it. “It’s about a death, Father. Of someone whom we know.” Just saying it out loud makes the whole thing feel more real, heavier somehow.

Father McCarry straightens, a visible tautness to his posture as he prepares himself for what I’m about to reveal. “Go on,” he says, a quiet strength in his voice.

I sigh as I pull out my phone, scrolling to the photo I want to show him. Taking it was a risk but also a necessity, driven by the need for answers. The image of a dead man, taken in the dim lighting of the basement, fills the screen. I hand the phone to him, my heart pounding. “Does this man look familiar?” I ask, watching his face for any sign of acknowledgment.

Father McCarry takes my phone with steady hands. As he examines the photo, a flicker of something casts over his eyes. I am unsure what, but recognition and a bit of shock come to mind.

This photo is the reason I’ve come to see him. Beyond seeking guidance or absolution, I need his insight, his knowledge of the community I’ve been away from for so long.

The silence stretches between us as he studies the photo, anticipation enveloping me like a glove.

Father McCarry’s reaction unravels slowly, a realization creeping into his expression with a gravity that pulls at my heart. “That’s little Sean McManus,” he says, the weight of his words heavy with anguish. “Although he isn’t so little anymore. What is this, Maura? What happened? And why do you have a photo of his body? I didn’t even know he’d passed.”

I take another deep breath, the air in the office suddenly feeling thick. “Father, there was an attempt on my life. Sean was the would-be assassin.” The words feel surreal as they leave my mouth.

Father McCarry’s expression of sadness deepens, but there’s also a resignation there, an acknowledgment of a path long feared. “He was full of potential but troubled, always drawn to the shadows and trying to fit in.”

“Remember the two of us in choir practice? And all the stupid stuff we used to do around here when we were kids?” I toss out there, trying to keep my voice light despite the lump in my throat.

Father McCarry’s expression softens, a sad smile flickering across his face. “Oh, yes. The kid had a voice that could make the angels jealous. He sang those hymns like he was trying to reach heaven itself. It’s hard knowing that’s the same person in the photo you just showed me.”

I let out a little laugh, the kind that recognizes a happy memory in sadness rather than anything funny. “Right? He’d always act so tough, but then he’d start singing, and we’d get a glimpse of the real him for just a bit.”

The room grew quiet as we both took a minute to remember Sean as he was. Father McCarry looked down, his voice dropping a bit. “I tried to help him after things went sideways at home; I thought maybe this place could be his safe space. But you know how it is—once the streets get a hold of you, they don’t let go very easily.”

“Yes,” I nod, remembering. “You did everything you could. But sometimes people are unreachable, unfortunately.”

Father McCarry looks genuinely upset as he says, “Sean was one of our own. It’s like we lost a piece of this place when he left.”

“I agree,” I say, feeling that same loss heavy in my chest. “But somewhere, somehow, he slipped through the cracks and got lost, unable to find his way back.”

We both sit in silence for a moment, lost in our thoughts, the room feeling like a little bubble away from the rest of the world. “We’ve got to figure out why, Father. For Sean. He deserves that, at least,” I say, feeling a new determination rising inside me.

Father McCarry looks up, his eyes meeting mine, and I see a fire there. “Indeed. For Sean and the kids like him. It’s the least we can do.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, he touches on Sharon and the shift in the neighborhood dynamics. ” Nothing’s been the same since Sharon took over the Flanagan operations,” he remarks. “The balance has been off, and the community is suffering because of it.”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

Father McCarry leans slightly forward, his voice dropping to a confidential tone as if the very walls of his office might be listening, ready to betray him. “Maura, what I’m getting at when I say Sharon has changed the neighborhood is not just about the power shift. There’s a palpable difference in the air now—less trust, more suspicion.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued yet saddened by his observation. “What exactly do you mean, Father?”

He nods to himself, a sigh escaping as he begins. “Well, for starters, there used to be a sense of honor among families, even those involved in… let’s just say less savory activities. There were lines you didn’t cross, unspoken rules that kept the peace. But now?” He shakes his head, disappointment clear in his eyes. “Sharon’s actions have blurred those lines, and it’s every person for themselves.”

I lean in to absorb his words. My elbows are on my knees, and my fingers are intertwined. “Can you give me an example?”

“Take the community center,” he says, his hands clasped tightly together. “It used to be neutral ground, a safe space for everyone. Now, however, it’s a battleground for territorial disputes because Sharon decided it was a convenient place to conduct her business.”

I remember the center well, a place where I’d spent countless afternoons as a kid. The thought of it becoming corrupted is a bitter pill to swallow.

“And the locally owned businesses,” Father McCarry continues, “they’re being squeezed for protection money more aggressively than ever. It’s not just about survival anymore—it’s about profit at the expense of our own people. Shopkeepers I’ve known for years are closing down, Maura. It’s heartbreaking.”

His words paint a bleak picture that resonates with the whispers I’ve heard and the changes I’ve seen with my own eyes. “It’s like she’s tearing the fabric of the neighborhood apart,” I say, the realization hitting me hard.

“Exactly,” he agrees, his gaze meeting mine. “And it’s not just the physical changes, either. It’s the loss of a sense of community, of belonging. People are afraid, Maura. They are afraid to speak out, afraid of what might happen if they do. Sharon’s reign has introduced a level of fear we’ve never seen before.”

“Sharon’s gotta step down. She’s causing too much chaos. But what can I do about it? I feel so helpless, and I don’t know where to begin.” It’s like I’m throwing a lifeline out, hoping for some genius idea to come back and slap me in the head.

Father McCarry gives me a look, one that suggests he’s got a trick up his sleeve. “Do you ever think about taking another peek at your dad’s will, Maura? Perhaps there’s something in there that was overlooked.”

The thought stops me cold. “But Sharon had her lawyer go over it,” I tell him, feeling a bit of a jolt. “I didn’t even think to question it. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own grief.”

Suddenly, his idea doesn’t just feel like a shot in the dark but more like a beacon lighting my way out that I otherwise hadn’t noticed. “You think Dad’s will might have something in it that could put a stop to her?”

“Definitely worth a look,” he says encouragingly. “Your dad’s words might just be the ace we need.”

Thinking about digging back into the will, something I let Sharon’s lawyer paint any which way he wanted, doesn’t seem so scary now. It feels like a chance to gain back some control and maybe save what’s left of this mess.

“I’m going to read it word for word myself, then get someone who actually knows what they’re doing to check it out,” I state confidently, feeling a new resolve forming within.

“That’s the spirit,” Father McCarry says with a smile, sounding like he’s already halfway to celebrating. “If you find anything in there, even the smallest little detail that Sharon missed, we might be able to turn this whole ship around.”

And just like that, a plan is hatched. Not just any plan, but one that feels solid, like something I can actually accomplish, start to finish. It’s not just about knocking Sharon down a peg; it’s about doing right by my dad’s memory and fixing the mess that’s been made.

Father McCarry suddenly gets a look on his face like he’s just hit the jackpot and starts digging around in his desk as if looking for treasure. He pulls out a business card and hands it over like it’s the golden ticket to the Chocolate Factory. “Take this,” he says in all seriousness. “The guy’s a legal wizard, and he’s been with the church forever. I’d trust him with my life.”

“Frank Dreschel,” I say out loud as I read the card, locking the name in my brain. “Thanks a million, Father. This could be the game-changer that we need.”

He gives me a smile that makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay. “Anytime, Maura. And hey,” he adds, his eyes lighting up, “you know you’ve always got a place here. Whether you’re looking for some peace, a bit of quiet, or just a place to gather your thoughts. Never forget you’re welcome at any time, day or night.”

His words hit me right in the belly, taking me back to a time when things were simpler, when my belief was solid and unwavering. “I won’t forget,” I tell him, truly meaning it.

After a warm hug goodbye, I exit Father McCarry’s office and take a moment to stand in the church. The candlelight and the saintly faces in the stained glass give me a mix of comfort and nostalgia. It’s a quick breath of peace before diving back into the whirlwind that’s my life right now.

Walking out of St. Brigid’s with Frank Dreschel’s card in my grip, I’ve got a new spark of hope. There are still a lot of unknowns and risks, but for the first time in what seems like forever, I don’t feel like I’m in it alone. Father McCarry’s belief in me, his subtle push toward returning to the church, is not only a nice gesture but a lifeline, a reminder of the strength rooted deep within me thanks to where I come from and the community that raised me.

The fight to restore my family’s name to the community’s good graces and shield everyone from Sharon’s fallout is just getting started. But with new friends in my corner and a fresh burst of determination, I’m more than ready to take on whatever’s coming.

I step outside; the air’s crisp bite makes me feel more alive and even more ready to tackle the mess ahead. Frank Dreschel’s card is still in my grasp, and before I even realize it, I’m dialing the number with urgency.

The secretary’s surprise is palpable through the phone when I tell her who I am. “Yes, that’s me,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

Before I know it, Frank’s on the line, sounding like the kind of guy who means business. After I lay it all out for him—the will, Sharon’s shady dealings, our family’s tainted reputation in the community—he’s all in. “Let’s meet tomorrow,” he says, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Give me a bit of time to get everything ready.”

Hanging up, I feel a little flame of hope flickering inside me. Knowing Frank’s on board, taking on Sharon doesn’t feel so impossible anymore. It’s like I’ve been handed a key, and I’m about to unlock a whole heap of secrets.

A grin breaks out on my face as I pocket my phone. Thinking about the meeting with Frank, about actually being able to do something to cut through the web that Sharon has spun, has me feeling all kinds of determined.

I had asked the Uber driver to wait for me, and as I head to where the car is parked, my steps are full of purpose and my mind is racing with plans. It is like I’ve got a map in my head, and I’m about to start the treasure hunt.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a car pulls up and the driver quickly rolls down the window, explaining that he will be my new Uber driver and that my original driver had an emergency. I start to reach for the car door, but the driver jumps out before I can, opening the door for me. I start to climb inside before I notice that the driver is running away.

Then, my world explodes into chaos as a thunderous roar shatters the quiet neighborhood, and a blinding flash of light envelops me.

And then there’s nothing but black.