The fire in the drawing room had burned low. Most of the estate had gone quiet, retiring for the night, shadows grew long across the marble floors and the ancient walls. And somewhere far off in the east wing, a door closed with too much silence. Zane was seated curled up on one of the velvet armchairs, a book open in his hands but unread. His mind was elsewhere. He rose and moved to the hallway. Something tugged at him. Not instinct—instinct would’ve told him to stay put. This was something else. The feeling of being watched. The warning of danger that almost felt like déjà vu. He walked. The corridors were dim. No guards in sight—not unusual this late. But the absence felt curated. It felt too convenient. He walked past the winter gallery. The southern exit. Down a hallway he’d never seen empty before. Then he heard it. A sound. A faint click behind him. He turned with sharp reflex. And saw the shadow. But it was too late. A figure emerged from the darkness li
The snow fell softer today. As if the storm had exhausted itself. But inside the estate, the silence still held a weight that was more dangerous than any blizzard. Zane walked alongside Andrei as they descended the main staircase. It was subtle, but noticeable. They were two figures instead of one. And together, they crossed the marble floor of the grand foyer toward the receiving room, where a minor visiting envoy from the Volkov trade family waited. It was nothing formal. Just optics. The butler announced them with a bow. The envoy rose from his seat when they entered. His eyes flickered first to Andrei. Then Zane. And lingered. Andrei’s tone remained calm, almost courteous. But it was Zane who spoke first when the conversation shifted to route revisions and estate-led contracts. The envoy didn’t question him. And that was the shift. When they exited the room twenty minutes later, Andrei didn’t speak. But Zane felt the glance—the quick, sharp flick of his gaze as if
The moon hung low, casting a silver spell on the entire estate’s landscape. It was late and most of the house was already asleep or pretending to be. But Zane couldn’t. Not tonight. He moved through the hallways barefoot like he used to, the marble cold against the soles of his feet and the silence deafening. He should have gone to bed. He should have ignored the ache in his chest. But pretending wasn’t a language he could speak anymore. He found Andrei in the eastern conservatory, standing alone beside one of the massive glass walls, a glass of untouched vodka in his hand. He didn’t turn when Zane entered, but his shoulders tensed. Zane stopped behind him. “Is this how it goes now?” he asked softly. “You take what you want... and then disappear?” Andrei didn’t answer. He stared out at the snow-dusted trees like they were the only things that made sense. Zane stepped closer. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t come here to be yours. But you took me. You changed the rules. And now y
It was nearing dusk when Zane stepped into the southern courtyard—the one without cameras, the one left unguarded by design. Snow still fell and the cold in the air had teeth, but he moved like the chill didn’t touch him. He was shirtless again, his skin humming with heat as he sparred with one of the estate’s chosen trainers. The movements were quick, sharp causing the beading of sweat at his temple, breath measured and sure. He struck, deflected, spun, dropped, disarmed. He didn’t know how long Andrei had been watching. From the shadowed edge of the corridor, Andrei stood still as stone, his coat open, eyes locked on every movement Zane made. It had started as a curiosity. Now it was something else. Something harder to contain. The instructor reset. Zane took his stance again. Andrei stepped forward. "Leave us." The words were quiet, but final. The trainer turned without question and disappeared through the archway. Zane straightened, sweat glistening across his collar
The next morning arrived with the snowfall having blanketed the estate in a otherworldly white. It looked too deceptive. Too beautiful. Zane ate alone. A quiet meal in one of the smaller breakfast rooms. His place was now regularly set, and his tea poured without question. No one asked where Andrei was. No one needed to. He was still being watched, though. Not just by the cameras tucked in corners or the silent servants trained not to speak, but by the very walls, by the history built into the floors, by the ghosts of men who had once sat at this same table—who had ruled, killed, conquered. And now… Zane. The anomaly. He folded his napkin and rose from the table and as he did, a figure appeared in the doorway. “Fancy seeing you alone,” Dimitri said, dressed immaculately in grey slacks and a coat that gleamed like wet silk. Zane didn’t respond immediately. “What schemes do you have up your sleeves this time?” Dimitri stepped closer, the smile never quite reaching his
The snowfall had thickened by the time they returned to the estate. It covered the grounds completely. Zane didn’t go to his quarters, not yet he didn’t. He didn’t want to sit in silence staring at the walls, wondering where Andrei had gone or if he’d ever truly been beside him at all. Instead, he walked. He walked past the conservatory, past the unused ballroom, past corridors lined with ancestral portraits whose stares now seemed to follow him with their judgment. He stopped only when he reached the glass corridor overlooking the eastern gardens. There, Joana was already seated—draped in pale lavender silk and fur, like she’d been waiting. “You always end up here,” she murmured, not looking at him. "Like a wandering ghost." Zane didn’t answer right away. He stepped beside her and stared out at the white expanse of snow, watching it erase all footprints. “Do ghosts ever leave?” She smiled faintly. “Only when they’re seen.” A moment passed. “They say you’re rising.” Zane’s