The silence in the penthouse that night felt different—heavier, tighter, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Zariah couldn't shake the tension coiled in the air, an unseen pressure that pressed into her skin like cold fingertips. She sat on the edge of the sofa, her palms warm against the cool leather, her heartbeat a restless thrum beneath her ribs.
Adrian hadn't spoken since returning from whatever meeting had pulled him away for hours. He moved across the room with a sharp, rigid precision that told her something had shifted—externally, or within him. His jaw was set too tightly, his gaze darker than anything she'd learned to read. This wasn't the usual calm, calculated danger he wore like a second skin.
This was something else.
Something personal.
He stopped in front of the wide glass windows, watching the night beyond as though somewhere in the darkness was an answer only he understood.
Zariah swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Adrian… what happened?"
He didn't turn immediately. A long exhale left him, controlled but strained. When he finally faced her, his expression was contained—but she saw it. The crack. The fracture beneath the ice.
"It's time you knew more," he said. "You're no longer… peripheral to this. Your presence has consequences. And so does your ignorance."
Her stomach tightened. "What does that mean?"
"It means the attacks aren't random. They're not tests. Not anymore." He stepped closer, each movement sharp with purpose. "They're escalating. Faster than expected."
Zariah's breath caught. She had suspected as much, but hearing it from him—unfiltered, unsoftened—landed like a blow.
"Why?" she asked, her voice thin. "Why escalate now?"
Adrian studied her, and for a moment, she felt as if he were deciding how much of the truth she could survive. He leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her with that disarming intensity that pinned her breath in place.
"Because of the contract," he said quietly.
Her chest tightened. "The marriage contract?"
"Yes." He paused. "And because of your last name."
Zariah felt the world dip beneath her feet. "My… last name?"
"Amara," he said, the word heavy, weighted. "It's not as simple as you think."
Zariah shook her head. "I don't understand. My last name has nothing to do with any of this. I'm not connected to anything dangerous—before you, my life was just broke, messy, and falling apart. That's it."
Adrian's gaze sharpened. "You think danger cares about your intentions? Your past? No." He leaned forward slightly. "This world hunts bloodlines, Zariah. Names. Legacies. Alliances. You walked into my world carrying a name that draws attention—whether you know its value or not."
Her breath hitched. "What value?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked past her toward the secure panel embedded in the wall. He pressed a code she hadn't seen before. A metal compartment slid open, revealing a sleek folder—black, sealed, ominous.
He handed it to her.
Her fingers hesitated before she touched it. "What is this?"
"Everything about your family that you were never told," Adrian said. "Everything someone kept buried."
Zariah felt the room sway. She opened the folder slowly, page by page, her eyes scanning old records—documents, reports, confidential files she didn't understand. Names she didn't recognize. People tied to her father and mother. A string of incidents that made no sense.
"What… what is all this?" she breathed.
"Your father wasn't just a businessman drowning in debt," Adrian said, voice low. "He was part of something—a network, a quiet alliance built on information. Someone wanted what he knew. Someone still does. And when he disappeared, everything he carried became… unclaimed."
Her heart stumbled. "My father didn't disappear. He left. He—"
"No," Adrian cut in gently but firmly. "He didn't."
The denial hit like ice water.
Zariah's fingers trembled against the folder. Her throat tightened, burning. "What are you saying?"
"That someone took him," Adrian said. "And now that you're tied to me, they assume his information is either with you… or with me."
The world blurred for a moment. A pressure filled her chest like she couldn't breathe.
"You think… the intruders… the shadows… they're looking for something my father had?"
"Yes," Adrian said. "And they believe the contract marriage was my way of claiming whatever he left behind."
"But I don't know anything!" Zariah whispered, panic threading through her voice. "I don't have anything to give them, Adrian. I don't even know what they want."
"That doesn't matter." His voice softened slightly. "They believe you might. And belief is more dangerous than truth."
A tremor ran through her. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
"Because you weren't ready," he said. "Because you needed to learn to survive first. And because I hoped… I hoped they would lose interest. But they haven't. They won't."
Zariah pressed a hand to her forehead, her pulse screaming in her ears. Everything felt too heavy, too fast, too unreal.
"My father…" she whispered. "He's really gone?"
Adrian's expression shifted—gentle, but shadowed. "I'm sorry."
Her chest cracked open. Grief swelled, raw and sudden, like a wound torn open too fast. She blinked rapidly, swallowing hard, refusing to break in front of him—but the pain was too sharp. Too deep.
Adrian stepped closer, slowly, cautiously, as if approaching someone on the edge of a cliff.
"Zariah," he murmured.
She didn't look up. "Why me? Why am I tied to all this? I never wanted any of it."
"No one chooses danger," Adrian said softly. "But once it finds you… you either shatter or adapt."
Her breath hitched. "And what if I'm not strong enough?"
"You are," he said immediately, with a certainty that made her chest tremble. "I've seen it. Whether you believe it or not, you are built for survival."
She wiped a shaking hand across her eyes. "I don't feel built for anything right now."
"You will," he said quietly. "And you won't face this alone."
The confession slipped through his voice like something unguarded, unplanned. Zariah looked up, startled by the softness she heard—and the truth he didn't usually reveal.
But the moment shattered when the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then cut out completely.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Zariah froze. "Adrian—"
"Stay still," he ordered, voice a low blade in the darkness. "Don't move."
Her breath trembled.
A soft click echoed—metal shifting somewhere in the shadows.
Then another.
Adrian's voice sharpened. "They're inside."
Panic ricocheted through her bones.
"How—" she whispered.
"They bypassed the grid." His tone hardened. "This wasn't an attack. This was a message."
Her pulse pounded painfully. "What message?"
A cold draft swept through the room.
And then—a voice she had never heard before, calm and chilling—echoed from the darkness.
"Hello, Zariah."
Her entire body turned to ice.
Adrian moved instantly, positioning himself between her and the voice, his posture lethal.
But the intruder didn't stop speaking.
"I've been waiting a long time," the voice said. "You have something that belongs to me."
Zariah's breath hitched.
She didn't have anything.
Nothing.
But the darkness answered for her as footsteps approached.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Hunting.
Adrian shifted, ready to strike—
—but the lights flashed on just long enough for Zariah to see a silhouette standing only a few feet away.
A mask.
A blade.
And a pendant in their hand—
Her father's pendant.
The one she'd lost years ago.
Her heart stopped.
And the room was swallowed in darkness again