Chapter thirteen

Alicia pov

Jealousy doesn’t arrive loudly.

It settles.

It observes.

It waits for the exact moment it can be useful.

I realize this as I stand alone in Dante’s bedroom, staring at the empty side of the bed that used to feel like mine.

He hasn’t slept here in days.

Not because of me.

Because of her.

The house insists nothing has changed. Same staff. Same guards. Same silence that hums beneath the marble floors. But I know better. I’ve lived in this world too long not to feel a shift when it happens.

Power has moved.

Quietly.

And it didn’t move toward me.

I adjust the sleeve of my dress and leave the room before the thought sharpens into something ugly.

Elara doesn’t walk like someone winning.

That’s what confuses me.

I watch her from the balcony above the east wing as she crosses the garden path with two guards trailing her steps. Her pace is measured. Careful. Like someone who knows the ground beneath her feet can collapse without warning.

She isn’t smiling.

She isn’t glowing.

She looks… burdened.

That should comfort me.

It doesn’t.

Because I recognize the posture.

It’s the posture of someone who has become necessary.

And necessity is more dangerous than affection.

Dante hasn’t told me anything directly.

That alone tells me everything.

He doesn’t explain decisions unless he expects disagreement. Silence means finality. It means he’s already decided how much I’m allowed to know.

Which means Elara is no longer a temporary solution.

She’s infrastructure.

I entered his office without knocking.

He’s standing by the desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his tablet.

“You’re busy,” I say lightly.

He looks up. “I always am.”

“I won’t take long.”

“You rarely do.”

I move closer, resting my hand on the edge of the desk. “The house feels tense.”

“It is.”

“Because of her?”

He doesn’t answer.

That's enough to answer.

She’s pregnant,” I say, not asking.

“Yes.”

I nod slowly. “And you didn’t think to tell me yourself.”

“I didn’t think it required a discussion.”

Something sharp twists in my chest, but I keep my voice even. “I’m still your fiancée.”

“You are,” he agrees.

“And yet,” I say softly, “your guards move for her before they move for me.”

He studies me carefully now.

“That’s temporary.”

“Is it?” I ask. “Or is that what you tell yourself so this doesn’t feel like a replacement?”

His jaw tightens.

“Watch your language,” he says quietly.

“I am,” I reply. “Very carefully.”

Silence stretches.

Finally, he says, “This arrangement protects everything I’ve built.”

“And me?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

That’s when I know.

*******

I don’t confront Elara immediately.

That would be crude.

Instead, I wait.

I observe her routine. The times she eats. The times she walks. The moments she’s left alone for just long enough to breathe without guards in the room.

She’s not stupid.

She’s learning the house faster than I expected.

That makes her dangerous.

One afternoon, I intercepted her in the corridor outside the west sitting room.

“Elara,” I say calmly.

She stops. Turns. Lowers her gaze respectfully.

“Yes, ma’am?”

I smile.

“You don’t have to look at the floor every time you see me.”

“I didn’t want to be disrespectful.”

“Disrespect,” I say, “is rarely about posture.”

She nods once.

“I wanted to check on you,” I continued. “Pregnancy can be… disorienting.”

“I’m fine,” she replies.

I tilt my head. “You don’t sound fine.”

She hesitates. Just briefly.

“Adjustment takes time,” she says.

“That’s true,” I agree. “Especially when your life changes overnight.”

Her fingers curl together.

“You should be careful,” I add gently. “Not everyone survives sudden importance.”

She looks at me then. Really looks.

“I don’t feel important,” she says quietly.

That almost makes me laugh.

“That’s what makes you dangerous,” I reply.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “Do you know what happens to women who forget their role here?”

She stiffens.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she says.

“Good,” I replied. “Because Dante doesn’t forgive confusion.”

I leave her there, standing very still in the hallway.

******************

That night, I made my decision.

Jealousy has ripened into clarity.

I won’t touch her.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my phone.

There are names I haven’t called in years. Men who owe me favors. Women who understand how to move quietly inside powerful homes.

I don’t ask for violence.

I ask for information.

Patterns.

Weak points.

“She doesn’t leave,” one voice reports. “But she’s watched more than she’s protected.”

Interesting.

Another says, “The staff is loyal to Dante. Not her.”

Useful.

Then the last call comes.

“There’s tension inside,” the man says. “Someone close to him doesn’t like her.”

I smile.

“Good,” I replied. “Neither do I.”

***************

The opportunity comes sooner than expected.

Dante leaves the mansion for a late meeting. The house shifts immediately when he does. Guards rotate. Authority diffuses.

I watch Elara descend the stairs slowly, one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach.

That gesture ignites something sharp in me.

I intercept her again.

“Walk with me,” I say.

She hesitates. Then obeys.

We stop near the side entrance, where the cameras have a blind spot I helped design years ago.

“Do you trust Dante?” I ask casually.

“Yes,” she replies immediately.

I smile. “You shouldn’t.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“He protects what belongs to him,” I continue. “That doesn’t mean he protects people.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” I say softly. “When he’s forced to choose.”

She swallows. “Between what?”

I step closer.

“Between power,” I say, “and mercy.”

A guard’s footsteps echo nearby.

I step back, expression smoothing.

“Rest,” I say lightly. “You’ll need strength.”

I turn away before she can respond.

************

Later that night, I entered Dante’s office again.

I sit at his desk.

And I opened a file he never meant for me to see.

The plan inside it is meticulous.

Security routes.

False threats.

Calculated risks.

Including her.

I exhale slowly.

So that’s how he intends to protect her.

By turning her into bait.

I close the file carefully.

Pick up my phone.

And send one message.

She’s pregnant.

She’s vulnerable.

And he won’t sacrifice her.

I stand, smoothing my dress.

Jealousy didn’t make me reckless.

It made me decisive.

And by morning

Everything will begin to unravel.