Damien walked with Sabrina trailing behind him, her breath still coming in small, uneven gasps. Every few steps, he glanced back to appreciate the flush on her cheeks and the fury in her red eyes. She looked ready to murder him—if only that damn slave crest would let her.
'Perfect,' he thought, savoring the hatred radiating from her. 'Confusion, then anger, then humiliation. Break her pattern enough times and eventually she'll get curious about what comes next.'
[She's at 12% corruption, Master. Not bad for a first day!] Satana appeared beside him, floating lazily in the air, her tail swishing back and forth. [You should get her to 25% by the end of the week. That's when the fun starts\~]
"The mayor's office should be next," Damien announced, pretending not to notice the hatred boiling off Sabrina. "I think it's time I met the man my family pays to run this shithole."
Sabrina's voice came out clipped and formal. "The mayor's office is in the administrative building. The large structure with the clock tower."
"Excellent." Damien stopped suddenly, causing Sabrina to nearly bump into him. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, watching her flinch. "And tell me, what's our mayor like? Competent? Corrupt? Somewhere in the boring middle?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Mayor Aldus Crane has served Harrow's End for fifteen years. He was appointed by your father."
"That wasn't my question."
Sabrina looked away. "It wouldn't be appropriate for me to comment on the mayor's... effectiveness."
"Which means he's corrupt as hell." Damien grinned. "This gets more interesting by the minute."
The administrative building loomed ahead, a three-story stone structure that might have looked impressive in a proper city but felt absurdly oversized for this backwater town. The clock in its tower had stopped at 3:47, though whether that was AM or PM was anyone's guess.
"How long has that clock been broken?" Damien asked.
"Three years, Young Master."
"And nobody fixed it because..."
"The funds allocated for repairs were needed elsewhere."
Damien snorted. "I bet they were."
They approached the building, passing two guards who straightened at the sight of them. Unlike the town guards with their mismatched equipment, these men wore identical blue uniforms with polished buttons and carried short swords at their hips. The mayor's personal guard, not town security. Interesting.
"I'm here to see Mayor Crane," Damien announced.
One guard looked him over, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Lord Valtor's son?"
"The very same. Exiled in disgrace, as I'm sure the rumors have informed you." Damien offered his most charming smile. "Please tell your mayor I've arrived and wish to discuss town business."
The guards exchanged glances before one hurried inside. The remaining guard kept his eyes firmly on Damien, though they occasionally darted to Sabrina's chest. Damien noticed and stepped closer to her, placing a possessive hand on her hip. The guard quickly averted his gaze.
[Jealousy is a powerful motivator for infamy, Master.]
The door opened a moment later, and the guard reappeared with a harried-looking man in an ill-fitting suit. "Mayor Crane will see you immediately, Lord Valtor."
"Excellent. My father always spoke so highly of the mayor's... availability." The lie rolled off Damien's tongue easily. The original Damien had never heard his father mention the mayor at all.
The interior of the administrative building was surprisingly luxurious compared to the rest of Harrow's End. Polished wooden floors, ornate rugs, and oil paintings adorned walls that looked freshly painted. The contrast with the dusty, dilapidated town outside was striking.
'Someone's skimming off the top,' Damien thought, noting the gleaming brass fixtures and expensive furniture. 'And not even trying to hide it.'
They were led to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. The guard knocked twice, then opened them without waiting for a response.
Mayor Aldus Crane sat behind an enormous oak desk, a portly man with thinning gray hair and a mustache that looked like a small rodent had died on his upper lip. He wore a suit at least one size too small, the buttons of his vest straining against his substantial belly.
"Lord Damien!" The mayor stood quickly, his chair scraping against the floor. "What an unexpected pleasure! We had no word of your arrival."
"That was my father's intention, I believe." Damien stepped into the office, keeping Sabrina close. "A surprise inspection, you might say."
The mayor's smile faltered slightly. "Inspection? I'm afraid I don't—"
"May we sit? These matters are better discussed comfortably." Damien gestured to the chairs before the desk.
"Of course, of course!" Crane motioned to the two leather chairs facing his desk. "Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you a drink? I have an excellent brandy from—"
"No thank you." Damien approached one of the chairs but didn't sit. Instead, he turned to Sabrina with a wicked smile. "Come here."
She approached cautiously. When she was within reach, Damien sat down and pulled her onto his lap in one smooth motion. She stiffened immediately, her back rigid against his chest.
"Y-Young Master," she hissed through clenched teeth, "this is highly inappropriate."
Damien wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her firmly in place. "Nonsense. There aren't enough chairs, and I want you close. Don't you agree, Mayor?"
Mayor Crane stared at them, his eyes lingering on Sabrina's exposed legs where her dress had ridden up. "I... could have another chair brought in if the lady prefers..."
"The lady doesn't prefer anything. She's not a lady—she's my property." Damien's hand slid up to rest just below Sabrina's breast, making her breath catch. "Aren't you, Sabrina?"
The slave crest forced her to answer. "Yes, Young Master."
Damien felt the infamy points accruing with each passing second. Sabrina's hatred and humiliation. The mayor's envy and discomfort. The situation was a gold mine of negative emotions.
"Now, Mayor Crane," Damien continued as if nothing unusual was happening,
"I'd like to see the town's tax records for the past five years."
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