Chapter 66: The First Shadow

The air inside L’Eclat smelled like expensive lilies and aged wine. It was the kind of place where the floors were polished so bright you could see your own nervous expression staring back at you. Leo adjusted his tie for the tenth time, feeling the silk pull against his throat.

"Stop fidgeting, Leo," Dmitri said, his voice low and smooth. He reached over, his hand steady as he brushed a stray hair from Leo’s forehead. "You look perfect. You always look perfect."

Leo forced a small smile. "I just feel like everyone is staring. Is it the suit? Is it too much?"

Ivan, sitting on Leo’s other side, chuckled. He leaned in, his shoulder pressing comfortably against Leo’s. "They aren't staring at the suit, Leo. They’re staring at us. The Volkov twins out for dinner? It’s a rare sight for these people. And having you between us makes them even more curious."

"I don't like being a curiosity," Leo muttered. He looked down at the heavy silver fork at his setting.

"You aren't a curiosity to us," Ivan whispered, his tone softening. "You’re the center of the world. Just focus on the menu. What looks good? The sea bass?"

Leo scanned the names of dishes he couldn't pronounce. Everything here costs more than my dad’s first car, he thought. It was a recurring thought, a heavy stone in his stomach that reminded him he didn't belong in this world of effortless wealth.

"The sea bass is fine," Leo said. "Honestly, I’m not that hungry."

Dmitri’s eyes darkened slightly, a flash of concern crossing his face. "You need to eat. You’ve been pale all day. Is it the new studio? Is the light not right? We can have the windows adjusted tomorrow."

"No, the studio is amazing," Leo said quickly. "It’s... it’s more than I ever dreamed of. I just... I think I’m still adjusting."

"We have all the time in the world," Ivan said, reaching under the table to squeeze Leo’s hand. His grip was warm and grounding. "We aren't going anywhere. And neither are you."

Leo felt a rush of heat at the words. It was a promise, but sometimes, late at night, it felt like a sentence. He pushed that thought away. He loved them. He knew he did. Their presence was like a constant, humming heater in a cold room.

The waiter arrived, moving like a ghost. Orders were placed, wine was poured, and for a while, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about a new exhibit opening downtown and the twins’ plans for the upcoming charity gala.

"Father wants you to be prominent in the photos this year," Dmitri mentioned, swirling his red wine. "He thinks your face adds a certain... softness to the family image."

Leo stiffened. "Softness? Is that a polite way of saying I look like a pushover?"

Dmitri laughed, a genuine, rich sound. "No, Leo. It means you look human. Sometimes, people look at Ivan and me and they see statues. They see power. But when they see you with us, they see that we are capable of something more. They see that we have a heart."

"And you are that heart," Ivan added, his eyes locked on Leo’s.

Leo felt a lump in his throat. "I don't know if I’m ready for cameras and reporters, Dmitri. I just want to paint."

"You’ll do great," Dmitri insisted. "We’ll be right there. One on each side. Nothing can touch you when you’re with us."

Leo nodded, wanting to believe him. He took a sip of his water, and that’s when it happened.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. A sudden, sharp chill raced up Leo’s spine, making the small hairs on his arms stand up. He shivered, his glass clinking slightly against his teeth.

"Leo? You’re shaking," Ivan said, his brow furrowing. He immediately put an arm around Leo’s shoulders. "Are you cold? I’ll tell them to turn down the air."

"No, I..." Leo trailed off.

He felt a pair of eyes on him. It wasn't the usual curiosity of the wealthy diners or the watchful gaze of the staff. This was different. It felt heavy. It felt like being watched by a predator from the tall grass.

Slowly, Leo turned his head toward the bar area.

The bar was dimly lit, a haze of amber bottles and shadows. Sitting at the far end was a man. He wasn't dressed like the other guests. He wore a simple, dark jacket and had a face that looked like it had seen too much weather. He wasn't drinking. He was just sitting there, a notebook open on the counter in front of him.

The man’s eyes met Leo’s.

They weren't angry eyes. They were analytical. They were the eyes of someone taking apart a clock to see how it worked. He didn't look away when Leo caught him. He simply stared, a small, unreadable expression playing on his lips.

"Leo, talk to me," Dmitri’s voice was sharper now. He followed Leo’s gaze toward the bar. "What are you looking at?"

By the time Dmitri’s eyes reached the end of the bar, the man had looked down at his notebook. He was scribbling something, his head tilted.

"That man," Leo whispered. "He was staring. Really staring."

Dmitri squinted, his posture going rigid. He looked at the man for a long moment. "I don't recognize him. He doesn't look like he belongs here."

Ivan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want me to have security check him out? We can have him removed if he’s making you uncomfortable."

"No!" Leo said, perhaps too loudly. A couple at the next table glanced over. Leo lowered his voice. "No, don't make a scene. It’s probably nothing. I’m just being paranoid. You guys always say I have an overactive imagination."

"Our job is to protect you from everything, Leo," Ivan said, though he didn't look away from the bar. "Even your imagination."

The man at the bar stood up. He closed his notebook and tucked a pen into his pocket. He didn't look at their table again. He walked toward the exit with a steady, purposeful stride. He moved like someone who knew exactly where he was going.

Leo watched him leave, the chill still lingering in his bones.

"He’s gone," Dmitri said, patting Leo’s hand. "See? Just a stranger. Probably some journalist trying to get a scoop on the 'Mystery Guest' of the Volkovs."

"Yeah," Leo said, but his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. "A journalist. That’s probably it."

But journalists usually look excited, Leo thought. That man looked... patient.

"Eat your dinner, Leo," Ivan urged, sliding a piece of sea bass onto Leo’s plate. "We’re here. You’re safe. Nothing is going to happen."

Leo picked up his fork and took a bite. The food was delicious, prepared by one of the best chefs in the city, but to Leo, it tasted like nothing at all. He kept looking at the empty stool at the bar, wondering what the man had been writing in that notebook.

He felt the twins’ eyes on him, full of affection and possessiveness. They were his shields, his lovers, his everything. But for the first time since he had moved into the penthouse, Leo felt like the walls weren't just keeping people out.

They were keeping him in. And somewhere out there, in the dark streets of the

city, someone was finally looking for him.