Morning did not come gently.
Zara woke to the kind of quiet that felt intentional , the kind that had weight. The room was filled with early light, pale and gold, stretching across the floor like it was afraid to touch anything too deeply.
Her chest still remembered the warmth.
Not of touch .. because he hadn't touched her.
But of presence.
Of being sat beside. Of being confided in. Of being seen.
That was more dangerous than any kiss.
She dressed slowly .. black lace beneath a soft cream blouse, hair falling loose today. Her reflection looked… softer. And that scared her enough to look away.
When she stepped into the hallway, she did not expect to see him.
But he was there.
Leaning on the railing. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a mug steam curling in the sunlight.
He didn't look at her right away.
He didn't need to.
He had felt her the moment she opened the door.
"Good morning," he said, without turning.
His voice was low, roughened by lack of sleep.
Zara swallowed. "Morning."
Finally, he looked at her.
Something flickered.
Not heat. Not desire.
Something quieter.
Something that could ruin them.
"I have to go to the city today," he said. "Meetings."
The word meetings didn't sound like business. It sounded like danger.
Zara nodded.
"I won't be gone long," he added ..like a promise.
Like he needed her to hear it.
Her heart stuttered in a way she hated.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me," she said, voice steady.
A soft, almost humorless sound left him. Not quite a laugh.
"I know," he said. "But I want to."
There it was again.
Danger. Soft. Warm. Unavoidable.
He stepped closer , slow, like approaching a wild animal that might run.
"Zara," he said quietly.
Her breath paused.
"I need you to stay in the east wing today," he continued. Not commanding. Just asking. "There are… people visiting. And they don't know you're here."
Zara lifted her chin. "Dangerous people?"
Lorenzo didn't blink. "Yes."
Silence.
Zara nodded.
"Okay."
His shoulders loosened only slightly but enough that she felt the shift.
He trusted her to listen.
He started to walk past her toward the stairs.
Zara spoke before she could stop herself.
"Lorenzo."
He paused. Turned.
Her heart was too loud.
"Come back."
She didn't ask. She didn't beg. She didn't look away.
He held her gaze — and something broke behind his eyes.
"I will," he whispered.
And he meant it.
---
But promises are most fragile on days when shadows move.
And Zara had not yet learned that the mansion did not breathe quietly when strangers entered.
By afternoon, the house was too still. Too watchful. Too aware.
Zara sat in the library, pretending to read, but every page blurred.
Until she heard it.
Footsteps.
Not Lorenzo's. Not Mia's.
Heavier. Sharper. Unfamiliar.
A voice followed.
Male. Low. Cold.
"Where is she?"
Zara froze.
The doorknob turned.
And the world held its breath.
---
The door opened.
Not slowly. Not cautiously.
Like someone who owned every wall in this place.
Zara's pulse stilled.
The man who stepped inside did not look like Lorenzo. Not exactly.
But the resemblance was there. Sharpened. Colder. Unforgiving.
His hair was darker. His eyes a deeper shade of steel , no warmth, no hesitation. Where Lorenzo's presence felt like gravity pulling, steady, inevitable ...
This one felt like a blade. Clean. Precise. Designed to cut.
He didn't look around. He didn't observe the room.
His eyes went straight to Zara.
As if he knew she would be here.
Zara did not move. She did not speak.
She met his gaze.
Because looking away would have been the same thing as fear.
A slow, unreadable smile curved his mouth , one that didn't reach his eyes.
"So," he murmured, voice smooth and quiet.
"You're the girl."
Zara's fingers tightened around the arm of the chair.
"The girl," she echoed.
He stepped closer. Not threatening. Worse. Curious.
"My brother doesn't bring people here," he continued. "He doesn't talk to people. He doesn't offer explanations. He doesn't… sit beside anyone's bed in the middle of the night."
Zara's breath hitched .. just slightly.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His smile deepened sharp, knowing.
"I'm Lucian," he said. "Lorenzo's older brother."
Not offered like an introduction. More like a warning.
Zara lifted her chin. "Zara."
"I know," Lucian said softly.
The way he said it made her skin tighten.
He leaned against the desk casual. Effortless.
But his eyes never left hers.
"Tell me something," he said.
"Why is my brother willing to start a war for you?"
Zara's heart slammed so hard she felt it in her fingertips.
War.
The word didn't feel like exaggeration.
Her lips parted to answer, to deny, to breathe she didn't know.
But the sound of footsteps outside the door cut the moment open.
Fast. Certain.
The door swung wider and Lorenzo appeared.
Not composed. Not collected.
Eyes sharp. Jaw tight. Breath unsteady.
Like he had run.
"Lucian."
His voice was too calm. Too controlled.
Lucian didn't look away from Zara.
"Little brother," he returned, tone lazy, almost bored. "You didn't tell me we had a guest."
Lorenzo stepped forward. Between them. Without hesitation.
Zara felt the shift.
The air changed.
Not just tension.
Territory.
Lorenzo's voice was quiet but deadly.
"Leave. Now."
Lucian finally looked at him. And smiled like this was all very entertaining.
"I'm only observing," he said. "And deciding whether this…"
His eyes flicked to Zara.
"…is a weakness."
Lorenzo didn't blink.
"It's not."
Lucian's interest sharpened.
"If you say so."
He turned toward the door unhurried.
But just before stepping out, he spoke again without looking back.
"She's either going to save you, Lorenzo…"
A pause.
"Or destroy you."
The door closed.
Silence. Heavy. Real.
Zara exhaled - but her breath wasn't steady.
Lorenzo didn't turn to her.
Not yet.
His voice came low. Tight.
"He is not to be trusted."
Zara swallowed hard.
"Are you?" she whispered.
That made him look at her.
His eyes -- dark, intense, honest in a way that could break bone.
"I don't know," he answered.
And it was the truest thing he had ever said.