The office was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp and the blue light of a tablet displaying the mansion's layout. The rival leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, a faint smirk curving his lips. Across from him, Leah's parents sat stiffly, their expressions hard and unyielding.
"She is delicate," the rival said, voice low and measured. "But that is what makes her useful. And he—." He tapped the tablet lightly, tracing a finger along a section of the mansion. "—is predictable when she is in danger. That is our advantage."
Leah's stepmother shifted in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "We cannot… harm her. Not seriously," she said, though the hesitation in her voice was minimal.
The rival's smile widened, cold and sharp. "We will not kill her. That would be foolish. We only need her threatened. A bruise, a scare, a moment of discomfort. Enough to break his focus, enough to make him act emotionally. That is what we want."
Leah's father leaned forward, voice clipped. "And if she resists? If she faints or… collapses?"
"She will survive," the rival replied smoothly, almost amused. "Do you not see? That is irrelevant. What matters is that she is exposed, that he reacts. That's when he is vulnerable. His judgment falters, and we control the situation."
The stepmother's lips pressed into a thin line. "So… we are risking her well-being deliberately."
"Not her life," the rival corrected. "Her safety is secondary. Her role is a trigger. He is the one who must react. The moment she is in jeopardy, I promise you—he will respond exactly as we predict."
He swiped across the tablet, highlighting rooms, staircases, and corridors. "We'll create a controlled scenario. She will appear alone, lightly guarded at best. Enough to raise concern, not enough to kill her. We'll time it precisely. Every angle, every possible movement of him, monitored."
Leah's father leaned back, a shadow of doubt in his eyes. "And if he arrives too soon? What if he intervenes before the plan is complete?"
The rival chuckled softly. "Then we adjust. The beauty of it is he cannot ignore her. He never does. And that is why this works. A single look at her, a single hint of threat, and he reacts instantly. Without thought. Without restraint."
The stepmother's fingers drummed lightly against the tabletop. "And the curse?" she asked cautiously, a hint of curiosity threading through her controlled tone.
The rival's gaze sharpened, his voice a whisper now, almost intimate. "Ah… the curse. He is tied to her, bound to sense her danger. He feels everything she feels. And he cannot ignore it. When Leah is threatened, even slightly, it will pull him—emotionally, physically. That is our leverage. That is how we control him."
Leah's father frowned, leaning forward. "We are talking about manipulating him through her pain. Even minor pain… Are you sure it's safe?"
"Safe?" the rival echoed, eyes glinting. "Safety is not the goal. We are not here to protect her. We are here to gain advantage. A bruise, a scare, a moment of vulnerability… and we achieve control. She is a pawn. He is the king we wish to check."
The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the tablet and the soft scratching of pens on paper.
Finally, the rival leaned back again, hands clasped behind his head. "Timing is everything. The scenario will be flawless. When he is pulled by the curse, when he sees her exposed… we will have the upper hand. And even if she cries, even if she hesitates… he will be forced to act without caution. That is our opening."
The stepmother nodded slowly, her expression cold. "We can do this."
"Yes," the rival said. "We can. And we will. She is our tool, whether she knows it or not. And he… he will reveal himself exactly as we predicted."
Leah's father exhaled sharply, a trace of resignation in his voice. "So we proceed. But we must ensure she does not get hurt beyond what is necessary. Minimal exposure, maximal reaction."
"Precisely," the rival said, smiling faintly. "She will survive. He will not. And that is all that matters."
The three of them leaned over the mansion schematics, marking entry points, exits, and timing. Every detail was calculated. Every risk weighed. Leah's parents no longer cared for her comfort or her fear. They only cared about what she represented: a key to Izana's weakness, a way to manipulate him.
Outside, the mansion slept, unaware of the silent plotting within. Inside their room, Leah shifted in her bed, her hand resting lightly on her stomach. She had no idea that she would soon be at the center of a carefully orchestrated danger, one that would test both her courage and Izana's unyielding protection.
Leah drifted into a restless sleep.
The dream was different this time. She stood in a bright field, grass swaying gently under an impossibly blue sky. The sun was warm but not harsh. A soft voice called her name, echoing through the air.
"Leah."
She turned to see the little boy again—the one who had appeared before, strange and silent, with wide, knowing eyes under his blindfold. His presence was comforting yet unsettling.
"You must not let him go," he said, stepping closer. "Whatever happens… do not let him go."
"I… I don't understand," Leah whispered, her hands clutching at her nightgown. "What do you mean? I can't… I don't know how."
The boy smiled faintly, though there was a seriousness in his eyes that made her heart pound. "You will know. You have to be strong… for both of you. He will need you, even if you cannot see why yet."
She opened her mouth to ask more, but the dream shifted suddenly. Shadows stretched over the field. A cold wind swept across her face, and she felt an invisible tug, a sense of urgency that made her chest tighten.
"Wait—. " she tried to call out, but her voice faded. The boy's form blurred at the edges.
"Do not let him go, Leah…" the echo of his voice whispered as she woke with a start.
Her eyes snapped open to the dim light of the bedroom. She was alone, the mansion silent except for the faint hum of the air system. Her hand instinctively went to her abdomen, her chest tightening with the echo of the boy's warning.
"I… I don't understand," she whispered to herself, voice trembling. "…What did he mean?"
The rival leaned back one last time, reviewing the plan with meticulous satisfaction. "When he comes… we'll be ready. She is the bait, he is the hunter. And no light, no obstacle, will keep him from reacting. That is the power we hold now."
And with that, the room darkened further, the lamps dimmed, and the mansion outside remained quiet, oblivious to the danger slowly approaching its heart.