"We’ll see," is all he says as he pushes the front door open.
The drive to Ilay's estate is suffocatingly quiet. I stare out the window at the passing city, noticing how empty the streets are, as if the entire population is holding its breath waiting for the next bomb to detonate. Roman drives with a casual arrogance, one hand on the wheel, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes constantly scan the mirrors for threats.
When the iron gates of Ilay's estate come into view, my stomach drops to my feet.
The place usually looks like a fortress, but today it looks like a military encampment preparing for a siege. There are twice as many guards as usual patrolling the perimeter, all of them armed with assault rifles, and the air around the property feels thick with a lethal tension that makes my skin crawl.
Roman slows the car as we approach the checkpoint. The men stationed at the perimeter raise their rifles instantly, aimingdirectly at the windshield with cold precision. I roll down the window before Roman can say anything stupid. "It is me," I call out, my voice trembling slightly.
The guard nearest to us freezes. He squints through the glass, and the moment his eyes land on my face, the aggression drains out of him, replaced by a stunned recognition. He lowers his weapon immediately and taps his earpiece, murmuring something urgent to the rest of the team.
"Open the gates!" he shouts to the men in the booth. "It is her! Let them through! Now!"
The heavy iron gates groan as they swing open, and the guards step back with their heads bowed, looking at me like I am a ghost who has returned from the grave.
Roman drives us up the long, winding driveway, and I can feel the eyes of every sniper on the roof tracking our movement. The atmosphere is so tight that it feels like a single spark could ignite the entire property.
"Friendly place," Roman mutters as he parks the car in front of the main entrance.
I open the door and step out, my legs feeling like jelly. Roman is beside me in a second, his presence a solid weight at my back as we walk toward the massive double doors.
The house is silent. It is not the peaceful silence of a home, but the heavy, suffocating silence of a mausoleum. We walk through the foyer, our footsteps echoing loudly on the floor, and every member of the staff we pass stops dead in their tracks, staring at me with wide, fearful eyes before hurrying away.
They know. Everyone knows that the master of this house has lost his mind, and they are terrified of what he might do next.
I know exactly where he will be.
I walk toward his office, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The hallway feels endless, stretching out before me. I can feel the dangerous energy radiating from behind the closed office doors even before I reach them.
I reach out with a shaking hand and push the heavy doors open.
Ilay is sitting behind his desk, staring at a map of the city spread out before him, looking like a man who has not slept in days. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, his hair is a chaotic mess, and the dark circles under his eyes make him look haunted.
The sound of the door opening makes his head snap up, a snarl already forming on his lips.
But then he sees me. The pen drops from his hand, rolling across the desk and falling to the floor with a soft clatter. In a flash, he is moving. He clears the distance across the room with terrifying speed, crashing into me before I can even take a full breath.
He grabs me in the tightest hug I have ever felt, lifting me slightly off the floor as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. He is shaking. The man who threatened to burn the world is trembling against me, holding me like he is trying to absorb me into his own skin.
"You are here," he whispers against my skin, his voice rough and broken. "You are actually here."
"I am here," I whisper back, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I am okay."
He pulls back abruptly, his hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise as his eyes scan every inch of my face.He looks desperate, starving, checking for any sign that this is a hallucination.
Then his gaze lands on the dark purple bruise blooming on my cheekbone. The relief vanishes instantly. His face transforms into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees.
"Who did this to you?" he asks, his voice dropping to a demonic growl.
I try to shake my head. "Ilay, please, it doesn't matter—"
"I asked you a question," he snaps, his grip tightening. "Who touched you?"
"Some men tried to hurt me," I admit, my voice shaking. "They tried to assault me, but they didn't because he stopped them." I gesture behind me to where Roman is leaning casually against the doorframe.
Ilay's eyes flick to the door.
“Hey,” he waves.
