Rafael Tanque ordered the mansion locked down before dawn.
No one entered.
No one left.
And no one was allowed within five meters of me.
I learned that when two armed guards followed me into the bathroom.
"I can wash myself," I said, gripping the edge of the marble sink.
Neither of them responded.
They didn't look at my face.
They didn't need to.
Their loyalty was programmed into their bones.
Behind them, Rafael stood in the doorway, his shoulder freshly stitched, his shirt half-open, eyes dark and sharp despite the painkillers flooding his system.
"Leave," he said.
The guards hesitated.
"Now."
They left immediately.
The door closed.
The silence pressed down on my chest.
Rafael watched me like I was a loaded weapon left on a table between us.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
Neither had he.
"I couldn't," I replied.
"Why?"
I shrugged. "Hard to rest when your husband almost killed you."
His jaw tightened.
"I didn't almost kill you," he said. "I almost defended myself."
"By shooting your wife."
"If you are my wife," he corrected coldly.
The words hurt more than I expected.
He stepped closer.
Every instinct in me screamed to step back.
I didn't.
"That night," he said, voice low, controlled, "after the ambush… why were you the first thing I saw?"
"Because I refused to leave your side."
"I don't remember ordering that."
"You didn't."
His eyes narrowed.
"So you disobeyed me."
"Yes."
"And you're still alive."
"Barely."
Something flickered across his face.
Approval.
Or interest.
Dangerous either way.
"Marco told me you've been here since before the shooting," he said. "That you've always been… close."
I swallowed.
Too close.
"I also found your name," he continued. "On legal documents. Marriage records. Assets tied to mine."
He paused.
"My signature is everywhere."
"That's because you married me," I said quietly.
"And yet," he said, stepping closer, "my mind feels nothing when I look at you."
He lifted his hand again.
Slow.
Deliberate.
His fingers hovered inches from my cheek.
"But my body reacts."
He touched me.
Just barely.
The contact sent a shock straight through my spine.
Rafael inhaled sharply.
"There," he murmured. "That reaction."
He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my ear.
"Explain that to me."
I closed my eyes.
"I can't."
"Try."
"Your condition," I said, forcing the words out. "You told me once… you don't recognize faces. Never have. You memorize people through patterns. Voices. Touch. Smell."
He froze.
"You never told anyone that."
"I'm your wife."
The word again.
It hung between us.
"You said," I continued softly, "that loving me was easy. Remembering me was hard."
His fingers curled into the fabric of my nightdress.
"That sounds like something I would say," he admitted.
Then, colder, "Or something someone who knows me very well would use to manipulate me."
I opened my eyes.
"You can lock me in a cell if you want," I said. "Interrogate me. Hurt me."
His grip tightened.
"I won't," he said.
"Why?"
"Because every time I imagine you bleeding," he said slowly, "I feel like I'm the one being cut open."
My breath caught.
"That doesn't make sense," he continued. "You're a stranger."
"Then let me go," I whispered.
Silence.
His grip didn't loosen.
"No."
The word landed heavy.
"You don't get to leave," he said. "Not until I know what you are to me."
"And if I am your wife?"
"Then," he said darkly, "you're the most dangerous weakness I've ever had."
A knock echoed against the door.
Rafael didn't look away from me.
"Speak," he said.
Marco's voice came through, tense. "Boss. We have a problem."
"What kind?"
"The Serpent Council."
My blood turned cold.
"They're calling an emergency meet," Marco continued. "They heard about the ambush. About your injury."
"And?" Rafael asked.
"They want to see the woman."
Silence stretched.
Rafael's hand slid from my cheek to my throat.
Not choking.
Claiming.
"No one sees her," he said.
"They're insisting," Marco replied carefully. "They think… she's leverage."
Rafael smiled.
It was not a good smile.
"Anyone who thinks that," he said, "is welcome to try."
He leaned closer to me.
His lips brushed my ear.
"You hear that?" he whispered. "They already want you."
"I never wanted this life," I whispered back.
"I know."
That startled me.
"You used to say that," he added quietly. "You hated the blood. The politics."
His grip softened for half a second.
Then hardened again.
"But you stayed."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because I loved you.
Because I was pregnant.
Because you promised me safety you could never give.
I said none of it.
"Because I chose you."
Something snapped inside him.
His hand slid down my arm.
Slow.
Intimate.
Terrifying.
"Then listen carefully," Rafael said. "From this moment on, you don't leave my sight."
"That's not protection," I said. "That's imprisonment."
"Call it whatever you want," he replied. "But you belong where I can see you."
"You can't even recognize my face."
His eyes darkened.
"No," he said. "But I'll recognize everything else."
A scream echoed from somewhere deep in the mansion.
Distant.
Panicked.
Rafael stiffened.
"What was that?" I asked.
Before he could answer, Marco burst in.
"Boss," he said urgently. "One of the nurseries—"
The word hit me like a bullet.
Nursery.
"What about it?" Rafael demanded.
Marco hesitated.
"There was an intrusion," he said. "Nothing taken. But… it was targeted."
My vision blurred.
Rafael turned to me slowly.
"What's in the nursery?" he asked.
I couldn't speak.
My knees went weak.
His eyes sharpened.
"Tamara," he said. "Answer me."
I forced the word out.
"Our child."
The room went silent.
Rafael stared at me.
Then something inside him broke.
A sharp pain flashed across his face.
He staggered back, pressing a hand to his temple.
"A child," he whispered. "I have… a child?"
I rushed forward, catching his arm.
The moment I touched him, he gasped.
Like he'd been stabbed.
Images flickered behind his eyes.
Blood.
A cradle.
A scream.
"Get her out of my head," he growled. "Get it out."
"I can't," I cried. "You're remembering."
"I don't want to!"
He shoved me away.
Not hard.
But enough.
"Everyone," he shouted, "OUT!"
Marco dragged the guards back.
The door slammed.
Rafael stood there, shaking.
Then he looked at me.
Not with confusion.
With fear.
"If you're lying," he said hoarsely, "I will tear this city apart."
"I know."
"And if you're telling the truth…"
His voice dropped.
"Then someone took something that belongs to me."
He stepped toward me again.
This time, there was no hesitation.
No distance.
He pulled me into his arms.
Hard.
Possessive.
My face pressed against his chest.
"I don't know your face," he said into my hair. "But I swear on everything I am…"
His grip tightened.
"I will find our child."
And in that moment, I knew.
The war had already begun.