“That’s not your decision.”
It absolutely is but the fire in her voice when she challenges me, it does something to my restraint.
I stepped closer.
“Everything I withhold is for a reason.”
“Protection?”
“Yes.”
Her jaw tightened.
“I don’t need protecting.”
No.
She doesn’t need protection, she needs containment. There’s a difference.
Later, alone in my office, I reviewed security feeds again.
Her room.
The hallways.
The gates.
I’ve increased perimeter patrols without telling her because Belladonna isn’t just testing shipments. They’re probing weaknesses and she is one.
Whether she likes it or not.
The estate rarely slept. Even in the quietest hours of the night, there was always movement somewhere within its walls. Security patrols rotating through the outer grounds. Vehicles arriving through the gated entrance. Phones ringing in offices where deals stretched far past midnight. It was the natural rhythm of an empire built on control and vigilance.
Sera had grown accustomed to that rhythm, though she doubted most people ever truly did. Living here meant existing inside a constant state of awareness. Every unfamiliar sound caught attention. Every unexpected visitor raised suspicion. Trust wasn’t something offered freely in this world, it was something earned slowly, and even then it was never absolute.
Yet despite all of that tension, there were moments when the estate felt strangely peaceful.
Tonight was one of them.
The sky outside had cleared after hours of rain, leaving the gardens slick with water and reflecting the pale glow of the moon. Through the tall windows of the hallway, silver light spilled across the marble floors, softening the sharp lines of the building’s architecture. For a moment the estate didn’t feel like the center of a dangerous empire. It simply felt like a home suspended in quiet stillness.
Sera knew better than to trust that illusion.
Peace in this world never lasted long.
Storms had a way of returning when people least expected them.
CHAPTER 14
Seraphina
I found the old greenhouse today. Hidden behind the west gardens, overgrown vines swallowing cracked glass panes. No one uses it anymore. It felt like a secret that belonged to no one.
Inside, dust floated in beams of late afternoon light. Dead plants in ceramic pots. Rusted watering cans. The air smelled faintly of soil and neglect.
For the first time since arriving here, I felt alone.
Not watched.
