POISON IN THE WALLS

Calla woke with the taste of him still on her lips.

Her body ached deliciously — a reminder of last night, of his hands, his words, his hunger. She reached across the bed.

Empty.

Damien was already gone.

Of course he was.

For a man who demanded complete control, he was a master at slipping away. And that, more than anything, scared her. Because every time she touched him, he felt a little further from reach.

She rose, wrapped herself in his oversized shirt, and moved toward the window.

The mansion grounds stretched before her — trimmed hedges, silent fountains, armed guards who pretended not to look up when she appeared.

And then she saw him.

Julian. In the east courtyard.

With someone else.

She squinted.

A woman. Lean, athletic. Red lips, short platinum hair, a serpent tattoo curling around her exposed shoulder.

Not Elira.

Someone new.

She looked like trouble.

Calla made a mental note and left the room. Something in her stomach coiled — not quite jealousy. Suspicion.

---

Downstairs, she found Julian alone in the wine cellar. He stood beside a barrel, rolling a glass of whiskey between his fingers like it held secrets.

“Didn’t peg you for a drink-before-noon type,” she said lightly.

Julian didn’t look at her.

“Didn’t peg you for the type who makes Damien lose his mind.”

She leaned against the stone wall. “That what he’s doing?”

“He’s slipping. You’ve turned his world upside down, and for a man like him, that’s chaos.”

“Maybe he needs it.”

Julian turned to her now. And for once, he didn’t smile.

“Chaos gets people killed.”

The warning sat heavy between them.

Calla studied him.

“Who was the woman in the courtyard?”

Julian sipped slowly. “An old friend.”

“That tattoo on her arm says something different.”

He smirked. “You’ve got a good eye.”

“I’ve got good instincts. And right now, they’re screaming at me that I’m being watched.”

Julian said nothing.

“I want the truth,” she said. “No more riddles. What’s really happening here?”

Julian set the glass down.

“There’s a leak in this house. Someone is feeding your father information. Damien suspects three people.”

“Let me guess,” Calla said. “You’re one of them.”

Julian smiled faintly. “Always am.”

She moved closer, voice quiet. “And the others?”

“Elira Vale.” His eyes held hers. “And you.”

Calla recoiled. “What—?”

“It makes sense. You’re the new element. You’re the wild card. And no one saw your father’s resurgence until after you walked through those doors.”

She shook her head, backing away. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re being played by someone who’s two steps ahead of all of us.”

---

That night...

Damien returned with blood on his knuckles.

Calla met him at the entrance.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

He brushed past her.

“Damien—”

He turned so fast she gasped.

His eyes were feral. “Did you talk to Julian?”

“Yes. And he thinks I’m the leak.”

Damien’s nostrils flared. “I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Is he right?”

“No,” Damien said. “But he’s right about one thing. Someone is feeding your father information. And we’re running out of time.”

She stepped in front of him. “Then let me help you.”

“You are helping. By staying out of it.”

She grabbed his shirt. “You don’t get to cage me and tell me I’m precious and then treat me like a damn burden.”

His jaw tightened.

“You want me, Damien? All of me? Then trust me. Let me in.”

His eyes softened for a second — just long enough for her to see the fear underneath.

“You want in?” he whispered. “Fine.”

He pushed her against the door, kissing her like he needed her to breathe. His hands were rough, frantic, like he couldn’t decide whether to protect her or possess her.

“Then don’t run,” he said against her throat. “When the darkness comes. When the blood starts spilling. When you find out what I really am.”

“I’m not running,” she breathed.

“Good,” he said darkly, lifting her. “Because the real war starts tomorrow.”

---

Elsewhere…

In a sleek hotel across the city, a man in a gray suit poured himself a drink.

He stared at the photograph on the table — Calla, caught in a moment of laughter through the mansion window.

“She’s inside,” a voice said through the phone.

“And Damien?”

“Hooked.”

The man smiled.

“Perfect. Begin Phase Two.”