All Chapters of Enemies At The Altar : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

For a moment, everything stopped.The mansion corridor—usually polished, quiet, almost museum-still—was chaos frozen mid-breath. The shattered vase lay in pieces, blood streaked across the marble like someone had dragged a paintbrush dipped in crimson, and the heavy scent of gunpowder lingered in the air.Mark’s knees hit the cold tiles with a dull thud, his body folding forward as if his strength had finally evaporated. Mia dropped beside him instantly, her hand flying to his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. His skin felt fever-hot and trembling.“Mark,” she whispered, voice breaking without permission. “Hey—stay with me. Look at me.”He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were blurry but locked on hers, as if she was the only thing anchoring him to consciousness.“Mia…” His voice was rough, dragged across gravel. “Don’t… leave.”Her breath caught.“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”Her fingers brushed along the line of his jaw, instinctively soothing, even though a part

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the mansion, cutting across the polished floors and throwing long, golden streaks across the walls. For most, it would have been beautiful, almost peaceful. For Mia, it was suffocating.The mansion felt smaller than ever, corners sharp, shadows long, and every hallway lined with watchful eyes. Even the air seemed heavy.Don Romano’s orders had come down during breakfast: extra guards, tighter security, no unsupervised movement outside the mansion’s inner walls.Mia pushed her chair back so hard it screeched against the floor.“This is insane!” she snapped, glaring at the empty dining room where only a few silent guards lingered, their eyes trained on her every move. “I can’t even get to the garden without half a dozen men staring at me!”Mark, leaning casually against the doorway, watched her with those unreadable brown eyes, his expression calm, patient—but she could see it twitch when she raised her voice.“You’ve been up all

The Romano dining hall was built to intimidate—long marble floors, chandeliers like frozen storms hanging overhead, and a massive table carved from centuries-old oak. Fifty chairs lined each side, each one ready for another powerful ally, another dangerous enemy dressed as a guest.Tonight, the table was full.Tonight, everyone watched Mia.Her father hadn’t asked her to attend. He had ordered it.And worse—he had ordered Mark to sit beside her.Even now, as Mia crossed the room, Mark walked half a step behind her. Always close. Always watching. Not touching her, but the air around them throbbed with a tension that felt almost physical.The moment they reached their seats, Mark slid into the chair beside hers with the silent ease of a trained predator. His arm brushed the back of her chair lightly—not possessive, just present.Purposeful.A warning to anyone watching.And plenty were.Mafia men in tailored suits, diplomats wearing alliances like thin disguises, and women with calculat

The mansion was silent.Unnaturally so.The kind of silence that felt heavy—like the walls were listening, like the night itself was holding its breath.Mia couldn’t sleep.Not after the fight.Not after seeing Mark break in a way she didn’t know he could.She tossed.Turned.Pulled the covers over her head.Kicked them off again.And finally, with an annoyed groan, she slipped out of bed and padded toward the hallway.A faint orange glow flickered from the far end—the balcony outside Mark’s room.She frowned.Mark didn’t smoke.At least… she’d never seen him do it.Quietly, she approached.When she stepped into the moonlight, the sight hit her like a punch.Mark sat on the stone railing, one hand braced behind him, the other holding a cigarette between tense fingers. Smoke curled around his face, illuminated by the moon’s pale glow. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the bandages from the fight. His hair was messy, pushed back with frustrated fingers.He looked… rough.Tired

The house felt different the next morning.Colder. Quieter. As if someone had iced over the walls in the night and no one had noticed except Mia.She padded downstairs in soft slippers, arms wrapped around herself. The aftermath of last night still clung to her skin—Ethan’s desperation, Mark’s fury, his trembling voice when he said It’s a plea, the way he’d looked at her like he was one breath away from pulling her into him.She hadn’t slept. Not really.But something inside her had shifted.She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. Her eyes were still swollen, her cheeks pale from shock—and something else.Something quieter. Something she didn’t want to name.Until she stepped into the kitchen for coffee.And saw Mark.He stood alone by the counter, stern profile lit by the early sun. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the bandage on his arm where he’d been reopened last night. He poured himself coffee with slow, controlled