LOGINSmoke still clung to the corridors when the second wave hit.Mia hadn’t realized she’d let go of Mark until the crush of bodies pulled them apart. Guards surged past her, shouting orders, dragging the wounded, sealing doors. Someone slammed into her shoulder, hard enough to spin her sideways.“Mia—!” Mark’s voice cut through the noise.Then a door crashed shut between them.The sound echoed like a verdict.“Mia!” he shouted again, closer now, angrier.She pounded once on the door, panic rising, but another explosion rocked the wing and the ceiling groaned ominously. Dust rained down. The corridor lights flickered, then died, plunging the hallway into half-darkness lit only by emergency strips along the floor.“Mia, stay where you are!” Mark’s voice came through the door, strained.Footsteps thundered away on his side.She was alone.Her breath came too fast. She forced herself to move, backing slowly toward the wall, senses screaming. The mansion no longer felt like stone and marble—i
The second gunshot shattered her thought just then. She heard the sound already echoing through her bones a sharp crack, then another, followed by the scream of an alarm tearing through the mansion. Red lights flickered to life along the walls, bathing the corridor outside her room in a violent glow. For one disoriented second, she thought it was another nightmare. Then the shouting started. “Breach! East wing—move!” Boots thundered past her door. Somewhere below, glass exploded. Mia’s heart slammed against her ribs as she bolted upright, dragging the sheet around herself. She barely had time to swing her feet to the floor before her door burst open. Mark. He was already dressed, gun in hand, jaw tight, eyes razor-sharp. Blood smeared his sleeve not his, she realized with a jolt, too bright, too fresh. “Get up,” he said, voice clipped. “Now.” “What’s happening?” Her voice shook despite her effort. “They’re here.” He didn’t have time for explaining. Then another explosion r
By morning Mia felt Mark distancing himself — like he intentionally avoided the breakfast table until she had already eaten, in how he answered her questions with efficiency instead of warmth, in the careful neutrality that wrapped itself around him like armor.She hated it more than anger.Anger meant honesty. This.... this was restraint sharpened into distance.By afternoon, she couldn’t take it anymore.She found him in the west corridor, speaking quietly with Luca. Mark noticed her instantly, something flickering across his face before it vanished. He dismissed Luca with a nod.“What is it?” he asked.That tone. Calm. Controlled. Closed.Mia folded her arms. “Why are you pretending nothing changed last night?”His jaw tightened. “Because nothing did.”“That’s a lie.”He took a slow breath. “Careful.”“Careful of what?” she shot back. “Hurting your pride? Or admitting you actually feel something?”That did it.His composure cracked not loudly, not violently but enough that she saw
Because Mia had always believed clarity came with distance.That if she stepped back far enough, emotions would untangle themselves, settle into something manageable. But as she moved through the mansion that evening, everything felt closer instead—sharper, heavier, impossible to ignore.Mark was everywhere.Not physically. He wasn’t hovering, wasn’t following her from room to room. If anything, he was careful not to. But she noticed him in the details now. In the way guards deferred to him with quiet respect. In how conversations stilled when he entered a space. In how he listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, people obeyed.Loyalty clung to him like a second skin.She saw him in the war room later, leaning over a table scattered with maps and reports. Luca stood across from him, speaking in low tones. Mark nodded occasionally, eyes focused, expression unreadable. He looked… burdened. Not powerful for the sake of it, but responsible.When one of the younger men grew agit
The mansion felt different when they returned.Not quieter—never quiet—but sharper. Like every corridor remembered secrets. Like the walls had ears again.Mia stepped inside beside Mark, shoulders brushing for a fraction of a second before he deliberately shifted away. The distance was subtle, practiced. Public.It hurt more than it should have.Don Romano was already waiting, issuing orders, questioning guards, moving pieces on an invisible chessboard. Isabella stood near the staircase, perfectly composed in a pale dress that looked soft enough to lie about who she really was.Her eyes met Mia’s.And lingered.Mia looked away first.The rest of the day passed in fragments—voices, footsteps, closed doors. Mark vanished into meetings. Guards doubled. The mansion locked itself back into routine, into control.By evening, Mia was restless.She was crossing the east wing when a voice stopped her.“Mia.”She turned.Isabella stood a few steps behind her, hands folded loosely in front of he
The silence after his confession didn’t fade.It thickened.Mia stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together took effort now. Mark remained where he was, a few steps away, his presence filling the room without him moving an inch closer.Neither of them spoke.The rain had stopped. The night pressed in.“You shouldn’t have said that,” Mia finally whispered.Mark didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I know.”Her jaw tightened. “Then why did you?”“Because I was tired of lying,” he replied quietly. “And because pretending I don’t feel anything when you look at me like that is becoming impossible.”She turned, eyes flashing. “Like what?”He hesitated—just long enough for honesty to win. “Like you’re standing on the edge of something you don’t want to admit you’re already falling into.”Her breath caught. “You don’t get to decide what I feel.”“I’m not deciding,” he said. “I’m noticing.”She laughed sharply, more defensive than amused. “You notice





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