Maya’s POV

The silence between us is a living, breathing thing. It follows me from the car into the penthouse, clinging to me like a second skin. Saint doesn’t speak a word as he locks the door behind us, and I don’t bother looking back at him. My legs move on their own, carrying me down the hallway, my chest tight with the weight of everything I haven’t said.

I want to scream. I want to throw something heavy against the pristine walls just to see if anything in this cold, perfect space can break. I want him to hurt the way he makes me hurt, every time he cuts me off with that voice like steel, every time he feeds me silence instead of the truth.

I don’t stop until I’m standing in the middle of the guest room, hands shaking as I clutch the edge of the nightstand. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror above the dresser. My face is pale, my eyes rimmed red, and I hardly recognize myself anymore.

The woman in the glass isn’t the nurse who clocked in and out of shifts, who dragged herself home to an apartment that smelled faintly of old books and burnt coffee. She isn’t the girl who laughed with Ava until her ribs hurt, who carried grief like a weight but still managed to breathe under it.

This girl is different. She’s restless, unsettled, trapped.

I slam the drawer shut, the sound sharp enough to make me flinch. My anger has nowhere to go, because the person I want answers from refuses to give them.

Saint’s voice haunts me. Some truths don’t protect you. They bury you.

I bury my face in my hands. I don’t know what terrifies me more, the possibility that he’s right, or the possibility that he’s lying.

The memory of Nico’s warning presses into me like a bruise. Everyone who gets close to Saint ends up bleeding. The words keep circling my mind, looping over and over, as if my body wants me to believe them.

I lie awake long into the night, staring at the ceiling, listening to the low hum of the city beyond the glass walls. Every creak of the building, every gust of wind feels like a threat, like someone is just outside waiting. By the time sleep finally drags me under, it’s restless, filled with broken dreams of flames licking at the bookstore and shadows whispering my name.

When I wake, the room is filled with soft morning light. For a moment, I forget where I am, the unfamiliar ceiling stretching above me. But then the memory crashes back. Saint’s cold expression. Gianna’s poisonous smile. Nico’s warning. Lucio’s suspicion.

I drag myself into the shower, scalding water spilling over me. I press my forehead against the tiles, eyes closed, and tell myself to breathe. When I step out, I pull on the clothes Ava once called my “comfort uniform” jeans, a white blouse, and my worn jacket. Except here, in Saint’s penthouse, even comfort feels out of place.

When I enter the kitchen, Lucio is already there. He leans against the counter like he owns the place, arms folded, eyes sharp.

His gaze follows me as I move toward the coffee machine. I ignore it, pouring myself a cup, though my hands tremble enough to spill a few drops on the counter.

“You’re making things complicated,” he says finally.

The words hit harder than they should. I turn to face him, coffee clutched in my hand. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t belong here. Saint has enough on his plate without you asking questions and poking at things you don’t understand.”

My temper flares hot. “My brother’s death is not something I don’t understand. My apartment being burned down isn’t something I don’t understand. Being dragged into a world I never asked for isn’t something I don’t understand, Lucio. Don’t stand there and tell me I’m just some problem Saint doesn’t need. I never wanted any of this. He brought it to my door.”

For the first time, Lucio’s expression shifts. Not much, but enough. A flicker of something crosses his eyes, a shadow that looks too much like pity.

“You should walk away while you still can,” he mutters.

I let out a sharp laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “Walk away? And go where? My home is gone. My life as I knew it is gone. Saint made sure of that. Whether you like it or not, I’m already in this.”

We stare at each other, the tension stretched tight, until the sound of footsteps breaks it.

Saint strides into the kitchen, every inch of him polished perfection in his black suit. His tie is sharp, his watch gleams, and his presence fills the room until it feels smaller. My chest tightens, my hands curling around the edge of the counter to keep myself steady.

His eyes find mine instantly. I hate the way it makes me feel, like he sees too much, like he strips me bare even when I try to hide.

“Eat something,” he says curtly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re coming with me today.”

My stomach lurches. “Where?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even pause. He just grabs a folder from the counter and heads toward the elevator.

I look down at my coffee, untouched and cooling in my hand. My instincts scream at me to stay behind, to reclaim whatever scraps of normal life I still have. But normal doesn’t exist anymore. Not with Saint Lachlan.

I set the cup down and follow him.

The elevator ride is suffocating. Saint stands beside me, silent, his shoulders broad enough to block half the mirror’s reflection. His cologne wraps around me, sharp and clean, reminding me of everything I shouldn’t feel but do anyway.

When the doors open, the world outside feels colder. A black car waits at the curb, sleek and intimidating. Lucio opens the back door without a word, his eyes flicking to me once before settling on Saint.

I slide into the leather seat, my pulse drumming in my ears. Saint joins me a moment later, his presence overwhelming even in the spacious car.

The city slips past the tinted windows as we drive, but I barely see it. My thoughts are tangled, restless. I think of Ava, how she’d laugh at me for letting myself get pulled into this. I think of my mother, who always said grief makes you reckless. I think of my brother, his smile flashing in my memory, and wonder what secrets Saint is still hiding from me.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Where are we going?” I ask, my voice tight.

Saint’s eyes shift toward me, unreadable, cold and burning all at once.

“To remind Nico why he should have stayed out of my business,” he says.

The car moves faster, the city blurring, and I realize this isn’t just about Nico. This is about control. About Saint showing me, and everyone else, that no matter how close the shadows creep, he is still the man who commands them.

And I am trapped inside his world, whether I want to be or not.