She’s getting too close. This needs to stop.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I snap as I step into the office and slam the door behind me.
Mia jolts in her chair, eyes darting to mine. The sound clearly rattled her, and while she’s frozen mid-stare,Atëseizes the moment to casually shift a few pieces on the board, throwing me a conspiratorial wink. Color creeps into her cheeks when she realizes it’s me, and she quickly looks away—only for her gaze to snag on the chessboard.
Her head jerks back towards it. “What did you do?” she exclaims.
“I believe I just won,”Atësmirks as he makes his final move. “Checkmate.”
I’ve never seen him this jovial, this visibly engaged and having genuine fun, since he woke up from his coma. A pinch of guilt stabs at me for interrupting his good time.
But fuck that.He can play chess with anyone he wants—any of the other maids, any of the workers, literally anyone buther.
“Is this the job you were hired to do?” I ask caustically, my voice harsher than ever. “Or are you doing what you’re really here for? Getting close to my father? Is that your actual role here?”
Spy. Infiltrator. Whatever the hell you are.
“Roan,”Atëmurmurs, looking at me with reproach when she flinches. “Mia isn’t like that.”
“Mia,” I repeat mockingly. Because we both know that’s not her real name. That much is clear as fucking day.
She scrambles up from her seat, murmuring some half-formed excuse. Then, head ducked, she hurries past me—so careful not to so much as brush against me it almost feels deliberate. The restraint only pisses me off more, and my glare follows her all the way out.
“What was that for?”Atëasks, eying me warily. “Did she do something wrong I should know about?”
“Not yet.”Not on my watch.I close the door Mia left open and turn back to face him, crossing my arms. “You know better than to fraternize with the help.”
His lips press into a thin line, and he mirrors my defensive stance. “Well, there isn’t much else I can do, is there? I feel like I’m going crazy.”
Oh.
In that moment, my strong, unshakeable father reminds me of a belligerent toddler whose favorite toy just got taken away. Reminds me of Elira before her marriage—angry, frustrated, feeling caged by restrictions meant to protect her.
He’s bored.
I’ve been so focused on protecting him, keeping stress away, handling everything myself, that I’ve inadvertently imprisoned him in his own home.
I exhale heavily, suddenly feeling like the weight of the world is on my shoulders as I cross the room and take the seat Mia just vacated. It’s still warm.
Don’t think about that.
“Sounds like I should put you to work then. Can’t have you going crazy.”
Atëglances at me swiftly, the excitement in his eyes unmistakable.
There it is. That’s what he needs.
So against my better judgment—against every protective instinct screaming at me to keep him wrapped in bubble wrap—I tell him my suspicions about Fabian, starting from his repeated refusal to meet with me on Long Island and my conversation with Gjon.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the wine shipment you never received?”
Atëshrugs, but I can see him processing, reevaluating past interactions through his new lens. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of what I thought was just an honest mistake.” He pauses. “Are you sure about this?”
I nod. “I am. I had Lorik investigate him, and almost all the information I just shared comes from his report. The pattern is undeniable once you see it all together.”
“Hmm.” He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “I wonder what’s going on in his head. Why would he do this?”
That’s the million-dollar question.
