Seven

Brielle’s POV

I leaned against the balcony railing, staring at the fading streaks of orange across the sky. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been here. A whole day in Desmond’s house- his world. The sun had vanished behind the endless forest of pines, and shadows crept across the estate like they belonged here.

The air smelled warm, rich- garlic, grilled meat, spices. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since morning. The promise of food tugged me downstairs.

The staircase groaned softly under my weight, the dim lights from the chandelier glowing like tired stars. At the bottom, I froze.

The dining table was set for two, dark polished wood, black plates, wine glasses glimmering under the low light. My chest tightened at the sight of it. Almost romantic. Too intimate.

But it wasn’t the table that made me pause.

It was the voices.

There weren’t supposed to be voices.

I knew only Desmond and I were here. But what I heard, low, steady, belonging to another man.

The sound wasn’t coming from the kitchen. Not even the dining room. No, it drifted from that closed-off hallway, the one he told me not to enter. The same place I’d seen that picture of the blonde woman.

I crept closer, bare feet silent on the hardwood. My pulse thudded in my ears.

“…She’s here?” The unfamiliar man’s tone was sharp, cutting.

“She’s under my protection,” Desmond’s voice replied. Cold. Final.

Protection?

I swallowed and edged closer, careful not to be seen.

“This wasn’t supposed to involve her,” the stranger continued. His voice was deep, firm, nearly as intense as Desmond’s but with a sharper edge. “If those people figure out she’s with you,”

“They won’t,” Desmond cut in. His tone brooked no argument.

“You’re playing with fire,” the man snapped. “You know what she represents. What her father did…”

“She’s not involved.” Desmond’s voice grew harder. “She’s just a girl.”

The other man gave a bitter laugh. “Just a girl? She’s his girl. That stain he left years ago doesn’t fade. And they’ll take her apart to get to him. You know that.”

My hands trembled. My dad? What stain? What had he done?

I chewed my thumbnail, that old nervous habit I thought I’d outgrown.

A chair scraped against the floor. My heart leapt and I darted back behind the corner near the dining room.

Moments later, the door creaked open. I pressed myself flat against the wall, breath shallow, praying they wouldn’t notice me.

The man stepped into view, tall, shoulders like stone, silver hair that caught the light in streaks. Salt-and-pepper, Mirren would’ve called it. He wore a long black coat, the hem brushing against his boots as he moved.

Desmond followed. They exchanged something quickly. A file. Or maybe a photograph, I couldn’t be sure.

“Burn it,” Desmond said flatly. “No trace.”

“And the girl?”

“She stays,” he answered, firm as steel.

My chest tightened.

I stumbled back a little too fast. My elbow hit the edge of a wine rack, sending a sharp clang echoing through the quiet room.

Shit.

The sound carried like a gunshot.

Footsteps shifted, heavy, moving toward me.

“Brielle?” Desmond’s voice cut through the air, sharper than usual.

I stepped out slowly, caught. My lips curved into a weak, guilty smile. “I… uh, came down for dinner.” I pointed at the untouched plates like that would make it believable.

His dark eyes flicked over me, then toward the hallway behind him. With one smooth motion, he shut the door to whatever meeting he’d been having.

“You should’ve called me,” he said, voice controlled, too even. “I would’ve come up.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” I searched his face, noting the tension in the lines around his jaw. He looked… wired. Restless.

“I had a meeting,” he added after a beat. “An old friend. Nothing important.”

I raised a brow. He was lying. I knew it. But I wasn’t going to push him, yet.

“It sounded… intense,” I said carefully.

His gaze hardened. “You shouldn’t wander this house alone, Brielle.”

“Why not? It’s just a house. Big, yeah, but still a house.” My arms folded across my chest. “Afraid I’ll find something you don’t want me to?”

His eyes darkened, the air tightening between us.

“Eat,” he ordered quietly, moving past me toward the stairs. “And stay out of that hallway.”

He didn’t wait for my answer. His footsteps echoed up the staircase, each step louder than it should have been.

I turned back to the glowing table, to the steaming plates, to the empty seat across from mine. Suddenly, the food didn’t seem so inviting anymore.

Later, I sat curled up in the living room, laptop balanced on my knees. The screen glowed against the dark, lines of code waiting for me to finish. My summer project, my ticket to that scholarship, it used to matter so much. Tonight, my fingers hovered above the keys, paralyzed.

I typed a few lines. Deleted them. Tried again. Deleted again.

The conversation I’d overheard replayed in my head like a broken record.

“She’s his girl.”

“Burn it. No trace.”

“She stays.”

I rubbed my temples, eyes blurring. What the hell had my dad done? And what the hell had Desmond pulled me into?

I pushed back from the couch and wandered to the kitchen for water, trying to shake the paranoia that clung to me like a second skin. Just exhaustion, I told myself. Stress.

But when I came back, my blood ran cold.

The screen wasn’t the same.

My code was gone. Closed.

Instead, a black terminal window flickered across the screen, white text streaming down like rain. Fast. Unreadable.

My breath hitched.

Then, just as suddenly, it disappeared. The window blinked out on its own.

I grabbed the mouse, hands trembling, and pulled up the system logs.

One line stood out, bold and terrifying:

Access: Remote attempt detected.

Origin: Unknown IP.

Firewall: Breached.

Time: 9:46 PM.

Fifteen minutes ago.

Less than fifteen minutes ago.

I wasn’t imagining this. Someone had been inside my laptop.

Inside my world.

The same people who shot at me? Or someone else entirely?

I yanked the cord free, shutting the machine down, panic roaring in my chest. Desmond had promised me safety, locked gates, security, hidden in the woods. But this?

The danger wasn’t outside anymore.

It had followed me in.