The man in the doorway didn't move.
He stood half in shadow, half in light—a tall, lean shape with a tilted posture, like someone who enjoyed watching reactions more than giving answers. His face remained hidden beneath the low brim of his dark cap.
Rhea's pulse thudded painfully.
Luca stepped forward, shielding her with his body.
"Get out," he said sharply. "Now."
The man chuckled softly, tapping something against the doorframe—metal against wood. A ring? A coin? A weapon?
"I came to say hello," the man said. His voice was smooth, unhurried. "Or should I say… welcome back."
Rhea's breath caught. "Back?"
Luca shot her a warning look. Don't talk to him.
But the man already tilted his head toward her. "You look like her. More than the pictures."
Rhea's throat tightened. "Who are you?"
He ignored the question. "You walk like her too. Same careful steps. Same hesitation."
Luca moved closer, jaw clenched. "Touch one hair on her head, and I'll—"
"Oh, relax," the man interrupted. "If I wanted to hurt her, you think I'd do it in your studio?"
He dragged a finger along the doorframe, leaving a faint smear of mud.
The same mud from the footprints.
Rhea's stomach dropped.
"You were in here," she whispered. "You touched the portrait."
"I did more than touch it," the man said casually. "I corrected it."
Rhea's blood chilled.
Corrected.
As if slashing Serena's throat on the canvas was an improvement.
Luca stepped forward—danger in every line of his body.
"What do you want?" he growled.
The man smiled. They couldn't see his mouth under the shadow, but they felt the smile in the air. "Just watching. Observing."
"Observing what?" Rhea asked despite Luca's warning glare.
"You." The man's voice dipped. "Your hands."
Rhea froze.
"My… my hands?"
He nodded slowly. "You paint like her. Same hesitations. Same tremble when you're afraid."
Her hands trembled harder.
Luca snapped, "You need to leave. Now."
The man lifted both hands in mocking surrender. "Fine. I'll go. But I'll be seeing you around, Miss Vale."
Rhea's heart slammed. "Don't call me that…"
He stepped backward, still smiling. "Why not? It's your name."
Luca lunged toward him—
—but the man slipped back into the hallway with a whisper of laughter, his shadow melting into the dim corridor.
The moment he disappeared, Luca slammed the studio door shut and locked it.
Rhea stood shaking, her chest tight.
"Who was that?" she whispered.
Luca didn't answer. He leaned both hands on the table, shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths.
"Luca."
His fists tightened around the table edge.
She moved closer, voice trembling. "Tell me."
He lifted his head, eyes dark with something sharp—fear, anger, regret. "Someone who shouldn't be here."
"That doesn't tell me anything."
"It tells you enough."
Rhea stepped closer until she stood right in front of him. "No. It doesn't."
He finally looked at her and something in his expression softened. Just barely.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
"Of course I'm shaking," she said. "He knew my name. He knew Serena. He knew…"
"He came here because of me," Luca interrupted. "Not you."
"That's not what he said."
Luca's jaw tensed. "I don't care what he said."
Rhea swallowed hard, lowering her voice. "What did he mean when he said I paint like Serena?"
Luca's gaze drifted down to her hands.
Her fingers were still trembling.
Slowly, he reached for them.
"Don't…" she whispered.
He touched them anyway.
His thumbs brushed her knuckles gently, almost reverently. "You do paint like her."
Rhea's breath faltered. "Is that a problem?"
"It's a complication."
"Why?"
"Because someone noticed."
His eyes drifted over her hands as if studying every tremor, every line, every memory.
"Your hands," he said quietly, "carry her habits."
Rhea felt heat rise to her face. "I don't want to be compared to her."
"I'm not comparing you." His voice deepened. "He is."
Her pulse skipped.
Luca still held her hands lightly not restraining, not gripping. Just… holding. As if grounding himself on her trembling fingers.
"He said he's been observing me," she whispered.
"I know."
"And that he'll see me again."
"I know." Luca answered gently, as if trying to calm a crying child.
Rhea pulled her hands free.
"You're too calm."
"I'm not calm." His voice cracked just a little. "I'm trying not to tear this house apart looking for him."
She stepped back, putting space between them before her emotions spiraled. "Locking me in the studio won't protect me."
"Didn't plan on locking you in." He turned the lock again, testing its strength. "Planned on locking him out."
Rhea shook her head. "He was inside here while we were talking. He walked past your security. He touched Serena's portrait. He touched my things."
Luca's face darkened. "He won't again."
"You can't guarantee that."
"No." He took a slow breath. "But I can stop him from getting close to you."
Rhea stiffened. "Why do you keep saying that? Why would he come after me at all?"
Luca lifted his eyes to hers.
Because you look like her.
Because you're her sister.
Because someone wants a reaction out of me.
But he didn't say any of that out.
He only said, "Because you're here."
Rhea exhaled shakily. "Then what do we do?"
Luca walked to the center of the studio, scanning the room like he expected the shadow to reappear. "We move you."
"Move me where?"
"A safer room. One closer to mine."
Rhea blinked. "Closer to yours?"
"It's the only part of the mansion with reinforced doors and private security."
"So your wing is safer." Rhea folded her arms. "Or you just want me close so you can watch me."
"Both," Luca said simply.
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer. "I can't protect you from across the mansion."
"I didn't ask for protection."
"I don't care."
Rhea clenched her jaw. "This isn't about me."
"It's entirely about you."
"I think it's about Serena."
Luca froze.
Rhea stepped closer. "Isn't it?"
He didn't answer.
"You're avoiding the truth," she whispered. "Whoever that man is…he knew her. He may have been involved with her death. And now he's watching me because I…"
"Rhea." Luca's voice was low, strained. "Stop."
She shook her head. "No. I won't stop. You're hiding something. Something about her. Something about him. And you need to tell me—"
Luca caught her hand suddenly—not harshly, but firm enough to silence her.
His voice dropped, deep and rough. "If I tell you the truth, you won't stay in this house another second."
She swallowed hard. "Maybe I shouldn't."
"You should," Luca said, stepping closer. "You need to."
"Then tell me why."
He met her stare without flinching.
Then he let go of her hand and stepped back.
"Not here. Not with him watching."
Rhea stared at him. "Watching from where?"
Luca glanced toward the dark corner of the studio.
"Everywhere."
A chill rippled across her skin.
She turned slowly.
The corner looked empty.
But the air felt heavy—dense—wrong.
Then…
A soft sound.
A tap.
Like fingernails against glass.
Rhea's heart leapt.
Luca spun toward the window.
The sound came again.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Rhea stepped back instinctively. "Someone's outside."
Luca moved in front of her. "Stay behind me."
He approached the window cautiously.
The tapping stopped.
The silence that followed was so thick it vibrated.
Then again…
A white slip of paper slid under the window frame, pushed from the outside.
Rhea's breath hitched. "Luca…"
He didn't move for two long seconds.
Then he knelt, picked it up, and unfolded it.
His jaw tightened.
"Give it to me," Rhea said.
"No."
"Luca. Give it."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, then handed her the note.
Rhea's hands shook as she read it.
Her heart crashed against her ribs.
The handwriting was sharp. Slanted.
The same handwriting as the first note.
Three words.
I FOUND YOU.
Rhea's breath broke in fear. "Luca… what does this mean?"
He took the paper from her trembling fingers.
"It means," he said quietly, "you're not safe here anymore."
"What? But you just said…"
He cut her off. "Pack your things."
Rhea stared. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere he won't follow."
"And if he does?"
Luca stepped closer, eyes dark and dangerous.
"Then he dies."
Before Rhea could respond, the studio lights flickered violently—
once,
twice,
three times…
Then the room snapped into darkness.
A voice whispered from the hall, soft and cold:
"Rhea… come out."
Not Luca's voice.
Not the man's voice.
A third voice.
One she recognized.
Her stomach dropped.
It was Serena's.
Her dead sister's voice… whispering her name through the darkness.