All Chapters of Scarred Hearts: A Mafia Billionaire Romance : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Nathaniel was awake. Not that night. After he'd left Leya at the mansion, her silence armor, he'd headed to the east wing. Where the paintings were, where the button-down-bloke blokes with dead eyes in frames—false gods in frames. He didn't switch on the hall light. Didn't switch it on. The weight of her words fell behind him like footprints. I don't need saving, Nathaniel. I need respect. He stood beside the bed, suit jacket still buttoned, tie open but not yet undone. He gazed at the floor for what had to be minutes or maybe hours. He imagined Leya's bruised cheek. Imagine her shaking hands from exhaustion. Recall her eyes—not wide with terror, but level with fire. If she was a fake, then she was the family's finest work. But in a part of him, he knew she wasn't. Still… in the Blackwood house, believing wasn’t enough. You had to be certain. --- The Next Morning – Nathaniel’s Study The morning sun didn’t warm him. He made the call anyway. “St. Delacroix University,

The whisper had stopped. But the silence that followed wasn't silence. It was charged. With purpose. With intent. Leya did not lie well once the voice had stopped—her body outstretched on the bed, back tense against the headboard, every hair on her arms bristling not due to fear, but due to awareness. Not every step is a threat. But there are warnings. And the one that had named her tonight. It hadn't been trying to scare her. It had been trying to communicate something. That she was still being watched. And perhaps—perhaps—that someone still cared that she was worth at least something. That cut deeper at her chest than splintered ribs. She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, seething an angry glare at where the door had existed once in the darkness. Someone had whispered her name as if it still held meaning. And that was what disturbed her most. Because it meant there was someone in this house who still thought she was worth whispering about. And that? That m

Morning came—but nothing was new. The sun struggled weakly through the curtains, filtering down to stone floors still holding remnants of the shadows cast last night. In a house like the Blackwood mansion, nothing ever really changed. Walls didn't merely hold people—They held silence, secrets, and sins. But deep within those walls, everything changed. Something had broken. Something was going to be born. West Wing Lounge – 7:00 A.M. Harrison stood before the fireplace, arms folded on his chest, watching ashes dance as dying suns. He had not slept. He did not need to. The buzz of breakfast cooking was from far down the halls, but where he sat in silence with worry. The door opened without apology. Nathaniel stood, coat still on, face unyielding. He shut the door, movements too planned, too measured. "You were with her," Harrison accused, not even bothering to turn around. Nathaniel was silent. There was no use for him to do anything else. "She's manipulating yo

The corridors of Blackwood Mansion were never still. When the rest of the world slept, inside the house something breathed. Moved. Watched. Nathaniel leaned against the chill of the stone wall at the rear of the east wing, the mist of his breath foggy in the morning. He hadn't slept. Hadn't even tried. His mind was a war-torn area of old fear and new doubt, each thought colliding with the next. > Leya. Her name resonated off his ribcage like an open sore. --- Nathaniel's Study — 3:00 A.M. The room reeked of stale smoke and remorse. Nathaniel was sprawled across his massive oak desk, a whiskey glass nearly full near his elbow. The fire spat, but he'd yet to add another log. Outside, the world slept under a shroud of mist. And here, in this room, so did he. She'd told him she worked nights. She'd told him she did it for her brother. And God have mercy on him—he'd not believed her. Because trust was a risk. Trusting had gotten Harrison killed once—and

The East Wing Dining Room was never more beautiful.Low, waltzing candelabras in gold frames.The air was heavy with smoky fragrance of roasted meat, wine and herbs.The chandelier above shed a thousand sparkling ice diamonds upon walls and marble floors.It was a party.It was a wake.Leya's arrival cut short the conversation.All eyes were on her.Vivian stood up, silk folds catching on the rug."Darling," she breathed, lifting a crystal wineglass. "So glad you could make it."Leya smiled her wide, signature smile. "You didn't have a choice."A momentary glint danced on Vivian's face—haha, maybe approval. Or amusement.> Good, Leya thought. Let them think me still playing theirs.Eleanor did not even bother to conceal contempt. Her eyes darted from the dress on Leya's body to her hair with a sneer that curled her lip, but she remained silent.Nathaniel sat stiffly, glass unspilled, staring at his plate as though it might charge him with treason.And Harrison…Harrison simply watched