Casey woke up to a tray of burnt toast and a single orange rose in a mason jar.
"What… the hell?"
She rubbed her eyes as Mirella barged in with a proud grin, apron smudged with flour and dignity.
"Surprise! I made breakfast."
Casey lifted a piece of toast. "You… burned the surprise."
Mirella snatched it. "That's not burnt. That's toasted with trauma."
Casey chuckled. "What's with the rose? Are we romancing ourselves today?"
Mirella winked. "Girl, self-love is survival in this damn house. Eat before your little mafia munchkin wakes up and demands five-star cuisine through your cravings."
As Casey bit into the least blackened piece, the door flung open.
Ivan.
Tall. Suit. No emotion.
"Mirella, out."
"No 'please'? What, your mouth broke this morning?" Mirella muttered under her breath as she shuffled out.
Ivan closed the door behind him.
Casey chewed slower, watching him like he was a grenade with manners.
"I need you to be ready by six."
"Why? Are we attending a funeral or hosting one?"
He didn't answer that. Instead, he walked to her closet and pulled out a long, emerald green silk dress with a slit that threatened laws of modesty.
"You're wearing this."
Casey narrowed her eyes. "No."
"Yes."
"No."
He turned slowly. "Are we really going to do this, Finch?"
She stood. "Yes. Because I'm not a vase. I'm not some doll you can dress and drag around. If you want company, take your ex-lawyer with the blood-red nails and personality of an expired chili."
Ivan's jaw clenched. His voice lowered like a warning. "You're carrying my heir. You represent my name in public. That gives me control."
"Control isn't respect, Ivan."
He stepped forward. "Respect is earned."
"So is kindness," she snapped. "And for someone who wants a family so badly, you sure treat people like collateral damage."
The tension filled the room like fire about to choose which side to burn first.
But then—
A soft knock.
Mirella again, peeking in.
"Sorry to interrupt, but Casey's vitamins just arrived. And also, there's a man at the gate asking for her by full name."
Ivan's head whipped to her. Casey went pale.
"What man?" Ivan asked.
Mirella shrugged. "Didn't give a name. Said his real name would scare you."
Casey's mouth went dry.
Ivan caught it. Every twitch. Every pulse. "Who is it, Finch?"
"I… I don't know," she whispered, eyes cast down.
Lying.
He could smell it. Feel it. But he didn't press further—yet.
Instead, he turned on his heel. "Stay in this room."
"Or what?"
His voice was low. "Or I'll lock it."
Outside, by the black gates guarded by armed men in suits, stood a man with dusty brown hair, sunglasses, and a smirk that looked rehearsed.
He held nothing but a cigarette and a letter with Casey's full name in cursive.
"Name?" a guard barked.
The man smirked. "Tell Ivan Park that 'Silas Ashcroft' is here for payment."
The guard flinched.
Silas watched with delight.
Inside the house, Ivan gritted his teeth as the name was whispered into his ear.
Silas Ashcroft.
The phantom Casey never mentioned.
The name that only showed up when secrets were about to bleed.
Back in her room, Casey's hands trembled.
She stared out the window, watching Ivan walk down the stone path with fury in his stride.
She whispered to her belly again.
"That man out there… he's the reason I signed that contract. And if Ivan finds out the truth, he'll kill us both."
Suddenly, the door burst open.
This time—not Ivan.
A boy.
Barely twenty. Blonde hair. Nervous eyes. Holding a notebook and a pen.
"Who—"
"I'm Noah," he blurted. "Ivan hired me as your translator-slash-schedule manager-slash-prison friend."
Casey blinked. "Translator? I speak Italian and English."
He shrugged. "He said you'd be more polite with a buffer."
She tilted her head. "You're the buffer?"
Noah nodded. "I also make playlists."
Casey laughed, truly laughed, for the first time since arriving in Italy.
Maybe this boy wasn't just a buffer. Maybe he was a crack in the walls.
By evening, Ivan returned. His knuckles were bruised, shirt unbuttoned.
No words.
Just silence and vodka.
She watched him from across the room, seated on the velvet couch.
"Was it him?" she asked.
Ivan's eyes met hers. Red. Raw. Furious.
"Yes."
"What did he want?"
He poured another glass. "To remind me that you're not who you say you are."
Casey swallowed.
"And did you believe him?"
Ivan stood slowly, towering. "I believe you're hiding something. I believe you're playing a game."
"I'm trying to survive."
"I'm trying to build a legacy."
They stared. Breathing each other's fire. Until Ivan turned away, shoving the glass down and walking to the door.
"I don't care about your secrets," he said coldly. "But if they touch my child… I'll bury them with you."
And just like that, he was gone again.
In the hallway, Noah found Casey curled against the nursery door, eyes hollow.
He crouched.
"Want to hear something funny?" he offered softly.
"What?"
"I once translated a full romantic letter for Ivan that turned out to be a threat in Korean."
Casey gave a ghost of a smile.
"You're not alone," Noah said, voice gentle. "Even in this house."
She closed her eyes.
And the baby kicked.
A reminder that even in darkness… life still stirred.