Leora's fingers trembled as she poured herself a glass of water. It had been two days since the anonymous phone call, and still, she hadn't told Allerick.
She didn't know why.
No....she did. She didn't want to appear weak. Vulnerable. Needing him.
Because needing anyone had always come at a cost.
She stood by the window in the drawing room, staring out at the cold expanse of the garden. The hedges were perfectly trimmed, the fountains frozen mid-spill. Everything in the Allerick estate was precise, calculated—just like its master.
She could feel his presence before he entered the room.
"I don't like people hovering by my windows," Allerick said behind her.
She turned. "And I don't like people lurking like ghosts."
He raised a brow. "Are we trading insults now?"
"Would you prefer silence?"
"No," he said. "That's more dangerous."
She took a sip of water and studied him. Today, he wore a tailored charcoal vest over a black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the lean strength in his forearms. His wheelchair, sleek and custom-built, moved with practiced precision.
She'd seen the way people looked at him, like he was half a man.
But there was nothing "half" about Don Allerick.
"I got a phone call," she said finally.
That got his attention.
"Where?"
"In the library. A landline."
"From who?"
"I don't know. A man. He asked if you knew where I was."
He wheeled closer, his eyes darkening. "Why didn't you tell me immediately?"
"Because I wasn't sure if it meant anything. And I didn't want to give you another reason to watch me like a hawk."
"You think I need a reason?"
"Don't twist this."
His jaw clenched. "Do you remember exactly what he said?"
Leora repeated the brief exchange.
Allerick listened, then turned toward the hallway.
"Jalen!" he barked.
Seconds later, Jalen appeared. He always seemed to linger nearby like a stormcloud waiting to strike.
"Trace every incoming landline call to the library from the last week," Allerick ordered. "Scrub the security footage. Pull voice logs. I want to know who she spoke to and how they got access."
Jalen gave Leora a tight nod before disappearing down the hall.
Allerick turned back to her.
"You don't just get random phone calls here," he said. "This was intentional."
"I figured," she muttered.
"You're a target now. Not because of who you were, but because of who you married."
Leora felt a bitter laugh rise in her throat. "So romantic."
"This isn't a love story," he said. "It's survival."
That night, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Even as Maren brushed out her hair in silence and turned off the lights, the shadows in the corners of her room seemed to shift and breathe.
She curled under the sheets, staring at the ceiling.
This wasn't supposed to feel like prison.
But it did.
Her door creaked open. She jolted upright, but it was just Maren.
"You have a visitor," the girl said softly.
"At this hour?"
"He said it was urgent. He's in the foyer. Boss approved it."
Leora threw on a robe and followed Maren down the hall, her heartbeat thudding like thunder.
When she saw the man waiting near the stairs, her blood turned to ice.
"Zavier?"
He turned.
Her brother.
Older by five years, taller, sharper in the face, but still her brother. The same one who used to sneak her sweets after curfew. The one who'd warned her not to trust their father.
And the one who vanished the day Allerick's men retaliated against House Valencia.
Leora stepped back. "You're alive?"
"Barely," he muttered. "I've been in hiding. And I shouldn't be here. But I had to see you."
She stared at him, unsure whether to cry or scream.
"You married him," Zavier said, voice low. "You gave yourself to our enemy."
"You don't understand..."
"I do understand. I understand what he did to our family. What he did to you."
Her throat tightened. "I did what I had to. Adam was worse. Father was worse."
"Father is a bastard, but he's still blood."
"No," she said fiercely. "He's poison. And you know it."
Zavier stepped closer. "They'll never accept you, Leora. You're not one of them. They'll use you until you're empty, then discard you."
"I'm not a fool."
"No, you're a sacrifice."
She flinched.
"I came to warn you," he said. "They're planning something. Something big. Our father's not done with you. He sees you as a traitor. And you know what he does to traitors."
She swallowed hard.
"Get out while you can."
A cold voice interrupted them.
"She can't."
Zavier turned sharply.
Don Allerick sat at the top of the stairs, flanked by guards. His eyes locked onto Zavier like crosshairs.
"This is my house," he said. "You don't barge in and spit your threats here."
Zavier stepped in front of Leora, shielding her.
"You don't own her."
"She came willingly," Allerick replied coolly. "Unlike your father's deals."
Leora stepped between them. "Stop it, both of you."
Zavier grabbed her shoulders. "You don't owe him anything."
"I owe myself peace," she said.
Allerick's voice cut through like ice. "Your time's up. Get out before I change my mind."
Zavier stared at his sister. "You're choosing him?"
"I'm choosing me."
For a moment, Zavier looked like he might lunge—but then he turned and stalked out into the night.
Leora was left shaking.
Back in her room, Leora sat at the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around herself. Allerick entered without knocking.
"Your brother is reckless," he said.
"He's hurting."
"We all are."
She looked up. "You didn't have to confront him like that."
"I protect what's mine."
"I'm not a piece on your chessboard."
He rolled closer. "Then stop acting like one."
Their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them—grief, anger, maybe something softer neither dared name.
"You think I enjoy this?" he asked. "This life? These games?"
"I think you've learned to thrive in them."
He studied her. "You've got fire, Leora. Use it wisely."
She looked away. "What happens now?"
"You stay here. You're safe with me."
"Safe doesn't mean happy."
"No," he said. "But it's a start."