The morning after the attack, the Valterra estate felt almost too quiet. The storm had moved on, but it left the gardens slick and shining, the sky a dull, washed-out gray. Mist hugged the hedges and drifted over the marble walkways, curling around the fountains like lazy smoke. The whole place seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for whatever came next.
Elara walked the halls slowly, fingertips trailing along the cold stone walls. Every part of this house reminded her of the danger lurking here; every shadow felt like a pair of eyes. Still, for once, something else thrummed inside her—something a little like anticipation.
She tried to shove thoughts of Alessio away. But it was useless—the memory of him stepping from the darkness, sharp and in control, guns blazing with a confidence that said he never missed. The way he'd shielded her, taken over when she'd been outmatched and terrified.
And how he'd looked at her after, silver eyes locked on hers—too close, too intense. Almost like a promise. Or a threat.
She shook her head. This is forbidden. It's dangerous. It's wrong. She told herself that, but her body didn't listen. The memory of his warmth, of his hand grazing her hair, sent a shiver down her spine. She would never admit it. Not to anyone.
She stopped outside the grand library, drawn in by the smell of leather and old paper. Alessio always spent hours here, hunched over ledgers and maps that charted out the Valterra empire. This room reeked of power and secrets—the kind that could ruin anyone who got too curious.
Her curiosity won out. She slipped inside. The library was empty, silent except for the occasional creak under her feet. Books and ledgers lined the walls, pressing in with their silent weight. Dust floated in the sunbeams streaming through the tall windows.
"Looking for me?" The voice cut through the quiet, smooth as silk but cold underneath.
Elara froze. Alessio stood at the far end, arms folded, his coat draped perfectly from his shoulders. His eyes tracked her, sharp and dangerous, pinning her in place. The tension in the room spiked, thick enough to choke on.
"I—" she started, but the words stuck in her throat.
He walked toward her, each step slow and deliberate, shoes echoing on the marble. "You're wandering alone after last night. That's bold."
"I can handle myself," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I don't need—"
"You think you can handle yourself," he cut in, voice low, "until the world proves you wrong. It's not about bravery or skill. It's about staying alive. That takes more than stubbornness."
Her stomach twisted. She wanted to argue, to insist she wasn't weak, but the memory of masked men, knives, and gunfire—of him stepping in, calm and deadly—was still too fresh.
"Are you always this controlling?" she shot back, a flash of defiance in her voice. "Or am I just lucky?"
He tilted his head, the faintest edge of a smile on his lips, though his eyes stayed cold. "Special is a dangerous word. Especially for someone with enemy blood."
Her pulse jumped. She hated how exposed he made her feel—how alive. But something deeper flickered inside, something reckless.
"You don't know me," she said, almost whispering. "You have no idea what I can do."
Alessio stepped closer, close enough that the air between them felt electric. "I know more than you think," he said, his voice rough. "I know when someone's rare. Dangerous, not just for their skill, but because they refuse to fit the mold. You break every rule I thought I understood."
She swallowed, heat blooming in her chest despite the chill. She wanted to hate him, to push him away. But his words, the way he looked at her—her heart just wouldn't obey. Her breath stuttered.
"And what are you going to do with me?" she asked, daring him.
He didn't answer right away. He just watched her, gaze roaming over her face, her shoulders, her hands. Every emotion she tried to hide felt exposed under his eyes.
"Keep you," he said at last, voice barely above a whisper, dark and dangerous. "Not because I have to. Because I want to. And I don't let go easily."
Her chest tightened. The weight of his words, the dangerous honesty in them, made her step back without thinking. She wanted to tell him he had no right, that she didn't belong to him. But even as she opened her mouth, the truth of the pull between them made her hesitate.
He cocked his head, almost like he could see right through her. A hint of a smile played at his lips. "Don't mistake what I do for weakness, Elara. You're... interesting. Dangerous. Unpredictable. And honestly? I'm not immune to that."
His words filled the room—heavy, sparking, impossible to ignore.
Elara felt heat crawl up her spine, nerves tingling with a mix of fear and excitement. Everything about him scared her—the way he carried himself, the raw power he held. Still, she couldn't look away. She wanted to understand it. She wanted to understand him.
"I should go," she whispered, even though leaving felt like a betrayal.
"No," he replied, and there was something in his voice that made it impossible to argue. "Stay. Not for me. For yourself. You're about to learn more about survival than you ever thought possible. And part of that is figuring out what it means to go up against someone like me."
Her eyes widened. She wanted to push back, to take control, but deep down she knew it wouldn't matter. He wasn't the kind of man you could just defy—not when everything about him felt like a coming storm.
"And what if I'm not afraid?" she shot back, her voice shaking, somewhere between challenge and curiosity.
Alessio's smile sharpened, something dangerous flickering across his face. "Then you're braver—or maybe just more reckless—than I thought. Either way, this is going to be interesting."
The tension between them was impossible to ignore. It pressed in, thick and dizzying, equal parts fear and something much riskier.
For the first time, Elara doubted herself. Who really had the upper hand here? Him, with his control and precision—or her, with her stubbornness and refusal to back down?
That question sparked something between them. Neither wanted to admit it, but neither could escape it.
It was the sort of spark that burned right through boundaries and promises. The kind that would test everything—loyalty, sanity, even survival.
They stood there, silent in the charged air of the library. Both of them knew the truth, even if they'd never say it out loud: whatever this was, it wasn't going away.
And it wouldn't leave either of them untouched.