The watch

The change was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but Lucien noticed. He always noticed.

Maya moved differently these days, her steps lighter, her hands slower, as though fatigue clung to her like a shadow. At breakfast, her fingers trembled faintly when she poured his coffee, and the faint clink of the spoon against porcelain drew his eyes upward.

He saw the quick flicker of alarm in hers, the way she lowered her gaze, hoping to vanish into silence. She excused herself from the dining room as soon as duties allowed, vanishing before conversation could catch her.

Lucien Santoro was not a man who overlooked details. In his world, the smallest shift could signal betrayal, weakness, or danger. A cough could mean poison. A glance too long could mean disloyalty. And Maya Santoro, quiet and elusive, was fast becoming a detail he couldn’t ignore.

That morning, he caught her leaning briefly against the wall, tray balanced against her hip as though she needed the marble to steady herself. She straightened quickly, but the slip betrayed her.

“You’re distracted,” Lucien said, his deep voice carrying an edge that brooked no denial.

Her eyes widened. “No, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He didn’t raise his tone; he didn’t need to. The weight of his words pressed down like stone.

Maya clutched the tray tighter, fighting for composure. “I’m fine.”

The words were flat, rehearsed. Lucien let them stand, but the tick in his jaw betrayed his displeasure. She wasn’t fine. And he hated not knowing why.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, posture deceptively relaxed, while his fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the armrest. He watched her retreat from the dining hall with quick, measured steps, as if escape were her only goal.

Maya was hiding something. He had no proof yet, but proof wasn’t always necessary. His instincts had kept him alive in a world where hesitation meant death.

The more she tried to disappear, the more she pulled his attention toward her. Her silence had weight. Her avoidance had meaning. And he despised not knowing the truth.

His thoughts flickered briefly to Georgia. If she had noticed such weakness, she would have pounced without hesitation. She thrived on vulnerabilities, twisting them until they became chains. Georgia had always played at being untouchable, moving through his house as though it belonged to her. She draped herself on his arm at gatherings, flirted openly in front of his men, and spoke as if their marriage were a foregone conclusion.

He tolerated it—for now. Not out of desire, but because Georgia was the daughter of his godfather, a connection that couldn’t be severed without repercussion. She mistook his restraint for interest, his tolerance for permission. It was a dangerous miscalculation on her part.

Maya, though… Maya had asked for nothing. She hadn’t demanded, schemed, or even sought his attention. And yet she commanded it without effort. That alone made her dangerous in a way Georgia could never be.

Lucien's thoughts moved back to that fateful night, he had decided to let what happened go... for now..... until he could get to the bottom. Someone had drugged and he would find out who, after biding his time.

Later that day, Lucien found himself in the library, though the open book before him might as well have been blank. His eyes skimmed lines of text without absorbing them, his mind circling back to her again and again.

The tremor in her hands. The pallor of her skin. The way she stiffened beneath his gaze, as if the truth clung to her throat and threatened to spill at any moment.

Was she ill? Perhaps. But illness in his household wasn’t a small matter. A weak link drew predators. His enemies would exploit even the faintest crack in his walls, and Maya’s decline was beginning to look like a crack.

No, this wasn’t ordinary sickness. It was something else. Something deeper, concealed. And her avoidance only made it more suspect.

Lucien snapped the book shut, the sharp sound echoing against the high shelves. Secrets. In his world, secrets always spelled danger. And danger always demanded blood.

The last time he had allowed secrets to go unchecked, it had nearly cost him everything. He would not repeat the mistake.

His instincts, honed razor-sharp over years of betrayal, whispered the same warning again and again.

Maya Santoro was keeping something from him.

And he would find out what.

That evening, the estate glowed in the fading sun, the long windows catching streaks of fire as dusk settled over the hills. Lucien stood in the shadowed hall, posture erect, expression unreadable. Before him, Matteo, one of his most trusted guards, waited with hands clasped neatly behind his back.

“Watch her,” Lucien said at last, his voice low but carrying the weight of a command that could not be questioned.

Matteo blinked, caught off guard. “The maid, sir?”

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. “Everything she does. Everywhere she goes. I want it reported to me. No exceptions.”

The guard inclined his head. “Yes, boss.”

Lucien dismissed him with a flick of his fingers, but he didn’t move immediately. His gaze drifted toward the staircase where Maya had disappeared earlier, carrying linens folded too precisely in her arms, her head lowered as if to hide.

His jaw flexed.

Secrets had no place under his roof. He had built this empire on vigilance, on control, on rooting out weakness before it had the chance to destroy him.

If Maya Santoro thought she could keep something from him, she was mistaken. Nothing in his house stayed hidden for long.

And when he uncovered her truth, he would decide whether it made her a liability… or something else entirely.