I jolt upright, pulse exploding, and practically leap off the bed like it’s suddenly caught fire. “What the hell am I doing?”
This isn’t good. I can’t let this happen. I can’t start falling for him. I’m supposed to be playing a role. I’m supposed to kill him.AndAfrim.
I already know I’ll never hurt Afrim. I can’t. He’s so warm and kind, so full of stories and laughter. He reminds me of something good, something safe—feelings I haven’t experienced in so long they almost feel foreign. Even with Kayla’s life on the line—I can’t do it. My heart aches when I realize I’ve gotten attached despite every intention not to.
And now Roan too?
If I start feeling something real for him, something beyond physical attraction and strategic manipulation, we’re fucked. Me and Kayla both.
This has to stop.I can’t stay in this house anymore.
The walls are too thin and he's everywhere—his voice, his cologne, his stupid thoughtful gestures. He makes it impossible to focus on my mission. I’m not here to get attached; I’m here for Kayla, and that’s it. To either betray the Përmetis or find my sister before time runs out.
But being around Roan twenty-four seven is only making everything harder. I can’t leave the estate to chase leads, can’t snoop without being caught on camera. I’m just stuck here, drowning in domesticity and attraction I can’t afford.
So I make a decision.
I shove the few things I own into my bag and place it on the bed, then I throw on some clothes and head back to the mainhouse. I’m going to talk to Afrim about moving back into the maid’s quarters. I’ll even give him an ultimatum if he resists—let me come back here or I’ll quit. I just hope to God he doesn’t call my bluff.
The second I step through the front doors, the scent envelops me like a hug—familiar, warm, safe—and I can’t help the faint smile that tugs at my lips. Cigars, lemon cleaner, old furniture. I didn’t even realize how much I’ve missed it until I’m breathing it in again.
It feels like coming home, and I hate that it does.
This isn’t my home.
I haven’t had a real home in over a decade.
I let out a long breath as I walk down the hallway towards Afrim’s office, hoping he’s there this early in the morning. I miss the old man. Miss playing chess with him even though he always tries to cheat, always insists with twinkling eyes that it’s not really cheating if he doesn’t get caught. I actually chuckle at the memory. I even miss hearing him ramble on and on about his favorite Albanian poets—which honestly can get so incredibly boring but is somehow endearing anyway.
I reach his office, my smile fading a bit when I notice the door is cracked open instead of closed and locked like it usually is this early. So I peek in cautiously, not wanting to interrupt if he’s busy.
He’s sitting up in his big leather chair, hands resting on his chest, eyes closed, clearly fast asleep.
My smile widens involuntarily as I take in the sight of him—I can’t help it. He looks so peaceful.
“That can’t be comfortable,” I whisper, stepping in quietly, careful not to make any sudden noise. I don’t want to startle him awake. I know he has high blood pressure, and the absolute last thing I want is to scare him and cause some kind of cardiac episode.
So I make sure he can see me as I walk over, keeping myvoice calm but louder this time. “Shef, wake up.” Nothing. Not even a flutter of his eyelids.
He must be really tired, probably stayed up too late reading or working on estate business. I walk as loudly as I can manage towards his desk, my footsteps deliberately heavy now, and rap my knuckles on the wood surface. “Afrim?” Still nothing. He doesn’t stir at all.
My heart gives an uncomfortable jerk as a cold feeling starts spreading through my chest. Something’s wrong. Something’s awfully wrong.
I round the desk quickly and reach out to gently shake his shoulder. “Afrim, you need to wake up.”
He doesn’t respond, but his body shifts slightly with my touch. Then suddenly, far too easily, he slumps forward and falls out of the chair, landing hard on the floor with a sickening thud.
I freeze for half a second, staring down at him, lips parted.
He’s not getting up. And his chest—his chest isn’t rising and falling like it should be.
No.No, no, no.
Please get up. Please.
My heart squeezes so tight that for a moment I can’t breathe, my vision fizzing at the edges. I drop to my knees beside him, my hands shaking as I grab his wrist to feel for a pulse, any sign of life.
Nothing.
