Night had settled fully over the Moretti estate.
The chaos from earlier had disappeared as if it had never happened. The guards outside resumed their silent patrols, the mansion lights glowed warmly through tall windows, and the long marble hallways had returned to their usual quiet.
But the calm felt like pressure.
Like the house itself was holding its breath.
Inside her room, Elena stood beneath the hot stream of water in the shower. Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the large mirror and softening the harsh edges of reality. The water rushed over her shoulders, sliding down her back in steady waves.
She closed her eyes.
For a moment she tried to focus only on the warmth of the water, but it didn't work.
Every time she blinked, the images returned.
The basement, the chair. The prisoner tied
to it. Blood.
And Dante's knife flashing under the light.
Her stomach tightened.
Elena pressed her palms against the cool tile wall as the water continued pouring down.
Lucian's voice echoed in her memory.
We extract information.
The calm way he had said it made it worse.
There had been no anger or hesitation in his voice. Just certainty.
She turned off the shower slowly.
Silence filled the room immediately.
Elena wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out, the cool air of the bathroom sending a slight shiver down her spine.
Her reflection stared back at her through the fogged mirror. For a long moment she simply looked at herself.
The same face, the same person.
But something inside her felt different.
As if a door had opened tonight that she could never close again.
She wiped the steam from the mirror with her hand.
Her expression looked tired.
Unsettled.
Still trembling slightly beneath the surface.
Elena changed into something comfortable—soft cotton sleep shorts and an oversized shirt that hung loosely over her frame.
Usually, that would have been enough to help her relax but tonight, it did nothing.
She climbed into bed. Then immediately sat back up again.
Her mind refused to be quiet.
The mansion felt too silent. Too still. And somewhere deep inside the estate…
A man was still tied to a chair.
Elena swallowed.
By morning, he would probably be dead. The thought made her shiver.
She pushed the blanket away and stood again, pacing slowly across the room.
The wooden floor felt cool beneath her bare feet.
Her thoughts spun in circles. Why had those men attacked the estate? Why were they after her?
And the question she couldn't escape…
Why was Lucian protecting her?
She stopped near the window.
Outside, the estate grounds stretched into darkness, the faint glow of security lights casting long shadows across the garden paths.
Two guards walked slowly along the perimeter wall.
Everything looked peaceful. So normal.
But Elena knew now that peace inside this house was only an illusion.
Behind closed doors, violence existed as naturally as breathing.
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how small she felt inside the enormous mansion.
A pretty prisoner.
That was what she had believed she was when she first arrived here. But tonight had changed that.
If enemies were attacking the estate because of her…
Then she wasn't just a prisoner. She was part of something much larger and far more dangerous.
Elena turned away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed again.
Lucian's face appeared in her thoughts.
The cold authority in his voice, the effortless violence when he fought, the control in the interrogation room.
And something else she couldn't quite understand.
Even in the middle of chaos…
He had always placed himself between her and danger.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet.
Why?
That question lingered in her mind longer than any other.
Eventually, Elena lay back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
Sleep still refused to come.
But somewhere below the mansion…
The interrogation had probably already begun again.