Chapter 12

Lilith POV

I woke earlier than usual, though my body felt heavy, like sleep had been something I fought for instead of something that came naturally. The room was dim, the curtains still half drawn. When I reached for my phone on the nightstand, I already knew what I would see before the screen even lit up. The message sat there quietly, waiting.

“What are you doing?”

I stared at it for a long moment. It had no softness, no polite formality, no attempt to conceal intention.

Damien spoke the way he moved: direct, steady, unapologetic. A part of me wanted to write something back. Anything. Even a small reassurance that I was alive and well. But the thought barely formed before Lucian’s voice from yesterday pressed itself sharply into my mind.

“I do not trust him.”

The words knotted inside me. If Lucian ever saw this message, Damien would not just be in danger. He would be hunted. And the way Lucian had spoken about Greece, about betrayal, about his own brother, showed he no longer carried patience for doubt.

I hovered my thumb over the screen, then exhaled slowly and deleted only the notification. I did not erase the message itself. I did not know why. Maybe keeping it there felt like proof that the night before had not been imagined.

I dressed in something simple, something Lucian’s eyes would slide over without studying. I tied my hair back loosely and sent him a message telling him I was going to see Sophia, then stopping by the orphanage. He did not reply, but I had not expected him to.

When I walked downstairs, the driver stood by the car with the door already open for me. The morning light hit the polished black paint and made it look harsher than usual.

“Mrs. Verona,” he said quietly. “Sir instructed that I take you.”

“I will drive myself today,” I said.

The man blinked, caught off guard. “Ma’am, Mr. Verona was very clear.”

“I need to go alone.” I got into the car quickly, so he could not argue, and shut the door. He stepped back, uncertain, but he did not try again.

I started the engine and pulled away from the estate. My hands tightened around the steering wheel until the pressure steadied my breathing.

Sophia’s apartment was a warm contrast to everything I had left behind. When she opened the door, she immediately pulled me into a hug. She smelled like coffee and vanilla, comforting in a way I did not know I needed.

“You should have called first,” she said, ushering me inside. “You looked tired last night. I did not want to bother you.”

I sank into her sofa, grateful for its softness, for the quiet beige walls and the way morning light filtered through the curtains without feeling threatening.

She brought me a mug of tea and sat beside me, watching me with concern she did not try to hide.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked. “You’re pale this morning.”

“I am fine,” I said, though I knew it did not sound fully convincing. “I just needed space.”

She nodded, though her eyes remained searching. “Is this about the stranger you told me about?”

My breath caught. I looked up too quickly. “No. Please do not ask about him.”

Sophia’s expression softened. She reached out and touched my arm gently. “Alright. I will not. But whenever you want to talk, I am here.”

I gave her a small smile. “I know. Thank you.”

We spoke for a while about her work. She complained about a coworker who made her days miserable, about a rude customer, about the little things that filled her week.

I listened as best I could, even laughed at one of her stories, but my mind kept drifting back to the Verona house, to Lucian’s suspicion, to Damien’s unread message, and the small blinking camera I had seen yesterday.

When I finally stood to leave, she hugged me tightly. The warmth stayed on my skin as I walked back to my car. I held onto that warmth for as long as I could.

The orphanage greeted me with its usual noise. Children ran toward me immediately, clinging to my arms, my waist, laughing and shouting my name.

The caretakers waved from the doorway, and Sister Marienne walked over with a smile full of affection. Everything about the place felt softer than the life I lived now. Here, even the air felt safer.

“Lilith, I am glad you came,” she said.

I stepped inside with her. The faint smell of old books and soup simmering in the kitchen wrapped around me. “I missed this place,” I admitted.

She nodded knowingly and guided me toward her office. “You came at the right time. I found something recently that belongs to you.”

Before that, she paused, almost as if remembering something else. “I should tell you. Your husband called.”

My fingers grew cold around the strap of my purse. “He did?”

“Yes. He asked whether you had come here a few days ago.” She smiled, oblivious to the tightness in my chest. “I told him yes. I hope that was alright.”

A thin breath escaped me. “Yes. Thank you.”

Inside, terror tightened. Lucian had not simply been suspicious. He had confirmed my words with others. He was watching the edges of my movements more closely than I realized.

Sister Marienne went to a shelf and pulled down a dusty cardboard box. “We found this in the old storage room. It has some of your old things.”

She handed me a photo album. I sat at her desk and opened it gently. The sound of worn leather made something ache in my chest. There were pictures of me at six, seven, ten. Group photos. My first Christmas there. A birthday cake with uneven frosting. I traced one photo with my fingertip, feeling oddly hollow and full at once.

Then I turned a page and paused.

A boy stared back at me from the photograph. He could not have been more than eight. Dark eyes, hair falling over his forehead, shoulders squared in that serious way some children have when life has not given them many soft things. Something in the picture pulled at a distant spot in my memory.

“Who is he? Isn't this Marco?” I asked.

Sister Marienne leaned over. “His name was Marco. You didn't remember him? You two are quite close.”

Of course , I didn't forget him. I looked at him again. He used to sit with me on the steps in the evenings. He used to share his snacks. He once told me he would come back for me someday. His voice lingered faintly in my mind, not fully formed, like a memory I had buried too deeply.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“That is the strange part,” she said with a sigh. “One day he was here, the next day he was gone. No paperwork. No transfer. His file disappeared. We never found out who took him.”

I stared at the photo, my chest tightening. I tried to imagine what kind of person could remove a child so cleanly that even the administrators could not track it.

“If you want,” she offered, “I can search the old archives. See if anything was left behind.”

I nodded. “Yes. I would appreciate that.”

I closed the album and thanked her. Being here usually soothed me, but today the air carried a heaviness I could not shake.

I walked outside and turned toward the small garden. The sunlight was softer here, and the children’s laughter still drifted behind me. For a breath, my shoulders loosened.

Then I stopped abruptly.

Someone stood near the gate, leaning against the short brick wall as if he belonged there. Dressed in black, posture relaxed, eyes too sharp to ignore.

Damien.

He did not move when I approached. His gaze traced my face as if he had been waiting for me to step outside.

“How long are you going to avoid me?” he asked quietly.

My pulse stumbled. I reached for his sleeve immediately, pulling him into the narrow space behind the wall, hidden from the windows and the children’s view. My voice came out harsher than I intended.

“What are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Lucian has men watching every place I go.”

Damien’s eyes dropped to my mouth for a brief second, then re

turned to mine. A faint, almost amused softness touched his expression.

“I know,” he said. “That is why I came.”