The Enemy Wears A Smile

Adrian POV

The villa is quiet, too quiet.

It’s a different kind of silence today, heavier than the chaos of yesterday. The air still carries the faint scent of smoke and roses, a mix of death and something that used to be beautiful. Wind slides through the shattered windows, whispering against the walls like ghosts that won’t leave.

I sit beside Isabella in the study. The fire crackles softly, fighting the chill that creeps through the ruined glass. She holds a cup of tea between her hands. It trembles ever so slightly. I notice everything—the way her fingers shake, the way her eyes dart to the window, as if she expects the world to crash in again.

I place my hand gently over hers.

“You don’t have to hide your fear, Isabella. I know you’re scared.” I said softly.

She looks up at me. Wide eyes, soft voice. "I am. But I trust you.”

Those words hit deeper than they should. Trust. It’s the one thing this world destroys faster than life itself. But she gives it to me freely, without hesitation. I feel something tighten in my chest. a mix of responsibility and guilt. I shouldn’t need her trust, not when I can barely trust myself.

Still, I want to be worthy of it.

Of her.

I nod slowly, fingers brushing hers. “You don’t have to face this alone,” I say. “I’ll protect you. Always.”

She smiles, small and hesitant, and for a second, I think I see something flicker in her eyes—something unreadable, too fast to name. I push the thought away. Everyone here has ghosts. Maybe hers just haunt differently.

The fire pops, a single spark leaping out before dying in the air. The quiet swells again. My thoughts circle back to my father, to the sound of gunfire echoing through the halls, to his voice—rough and broken—warning me with his last breath: “Someone close.”

I haven’t slept since. Every shadow looks like a threat. Every face, a mask. Except hers.

Luca’s words echo in my head too: "Don’t trust anyone."

I ignore it. At least, I try to.

I stand, moved to the window, and stare out over the courtyard. The men are repairing the gates, sweeping away glass, painting over bloodstains. As if paint could erase what happened here.

Isabella’s reflection glows faintly behind me in the glass. She’s still seated, watching me, or maybe just the fire. Her lips move slightly, like she’s whispering to herself. I can’t hear what she says.

“You should rest,” I tell her. “You’ve been through too much.”

“So have you,” she answers quietly.

I turn, meeting her gaze. She’s right, but I don’t admit it. I don’t have the luxury to break—not yet.

She sets the cup down, and I notice how pale she looks in the firelight. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she leans forward. There’s fragility in the way she moves, but there’s also something else—poise, control.

It draws me in and warns me away at the same time.

I walk over, kneel beside her chair, and reach into my pocket. My fingers close around a small object—a silver necklace with a thin chain and a single pendant. It belonged to my mother. She wore it every day until the night she died.

I hold it out to Isabella.

“This is yours now. Keep it close. Always.”

Her eyes widen. She takes it carefully, her fingers brushing mine. Her hand feels cold, trembling faintly.

“Adrian…” Her voice catches. “I… thank you.”

I watch her lower her head as she looks at the necklace. The pendant glimmers in the firelight, like a drop of light caught between us. For a second, I see hesitation in her movements. A small, almost imperceptible pause.

I choose not to question it.

In this world, you learn when to doubt and when to believe. Right now, I need to believe.

I need something, someone to anchor me to what’s left of my humanity.

And for reasons I can’t explain, that anchor is her.

Night settles over the villa like a bruise, dark and slow-spreading.

The corridors are quiet again, but the silence doesn’t bring peace. It feels watchful. The kind that listens.

I walk through the hall alone, past broken glass and fading stains that no one dares clean properly yet. The guards stand straighter when I pass, but their eyes shift away too quickly. They’ve seen blood on these floors. My father’s blood. Maybe they wonder if mine will be next.

The chandelier above sways slightly, creaking. Every sound feels louder now—the scuff of boots, the whisper of wind through cracked marble.

Someone close.

My father’s voice repeats in my mind, and it’s like the walls themselves are whispering it back to me.

I stop outside the study door. Through the crack, I see Isabella sitting near the fire again, fingers brushing the silver necklace I gave her. She looks fragile, lost in thought. The light catches the pendant as it swings gently between her hands.

For a moment, something stirs in me. A strange mix of protectiveness and fear. She’s here, in the middle of all this madness, and I can’t help wondering what she sees when she looks at me—heir, target, or savior.

Luca’s words come back to me. Don’t trust anyone.

I push the thought away again, harder this time. I can’t live like that. Not now.

I step inside, the floor creaking under my boots.

She looks up instantly, like she’s been pulled from far away. “You should be resting,” I say quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Her voice is small, distant, but there’s a tension under it, like she’s holding something back.

“Nightmares?” I ask.

She nods faintly, fingers brushing her necklace again. “Memories,” she murmurs. “Of my parents.”

The firelight flickers against her face, and I see the pain there, raw and real. For a moment, I see the little girl she must’ve been—terrified, running from something she couldn’t understand.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “You don’t have to carry that alone. I’ll protect you from that pain. from anyone who tries to hurt you again.”

Her lips part slightly, eyes glimmering with something unreadable. “You don’t have to promise that, Adrian.”

“I do.” I mean it. Every word. I don’t care how many men I have to bury to make it true.

She looks down, and for a second, I swear I see guilt shadow her face, but it was gone before I can be sure. Maybe I’m just seeing my own reflection in her eyes: the guilt, the grief, the fear of failing again.

The fire crackles, and I feel the weight of everything pressing down. The council’s expectations, Marco’s manipulative smile, my father’s warning, and now, her.

Especially her.

I walk to the window, staring out at the courtyard again. The guards have changed shifts. The night watch moves quietly, efficient and alert. Still, something feels off.

It’s too calm.

A faint movement catches my eye. Someone stands at the far end of the corridor, half-hidden in shadow. A man, tall, watching. I blink, and he’s gone.

My pulse quickens.

I step back into the room. Isabella tilts her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly. “Just… nothing.”

But even as I say it, I feel the lie burn in my throat.

In another part of the villa, unseen, I know Marco is awake.

I can almost feel him watching.

Marco POV:

He’s probably sitting in his office now, lights dim, glass of wine in hand. That calculating smile never leaves his face. He’s the kind of man who sees emotions as weapons, and he knows mine are the sharpest kind.

If he’s watching me and Isabella together, I can already imagine his voice—soft, mocking, satisfied.

Let him love her. Let him believe in her loyalty. Love makes killing easier.

The thought chills me, even though I don’t know he’s thinking it.

Back in the study, Isabella rises from her chair. “You’re restless,” she says quietly. “You can’t keep fighting ghosts, Adrian.”

“Maybe not,” I reply, eyes locked on the fire. “But I can’t pretend they’re not real either.”

She moves closer, her hand brushing my arm. The touch is light, grounding. I want to believe it’s genuine. I want to believe she’s genuine.

But deep inside, there’s a whisper—a single note of warning that refuses to die.

When she smiles, I return it. When she leans in, I let her. I don’t notice how her gaze lingers on the necklace again, or how her expression hardens for a heartbeat before softening back into something warm.

Because all I see is someone who trusts me.

And all she sees is someone who can be controlled by it.

The night stretches on. The fire burns lower.

She eventually falls asleep on the couch, the necklace glinting faintly against her throat. I sit in the chair beside her, wide awake, my thoughts spiraling.

I think of my father. Of Luca’s warnings. Of Marco’s false smile.

And then of her. Always her.

The lines between right and wrong, trust and betrayal, love and manipulation—they blur, twisting together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

I reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “We’ll get through this,” I whisper. “I swear it.”

The fire crackles one last time be

fore dying completely, leaving only shadows and the soft sound of my own heartbeat echoing in the dark.