Author's POV
The library at St. Damaris was no quiet sanctuary. It was a chessboard, silent and deceptive. Between its towering mahogany shelves and velvet armchairs, deals were whispered, truths were buried, and secrets passed hands like currency.
Vivienne Sinclair had always appreciated silence. It wasn't emptiness—it was clarity.
And right now, she needed clarity more than ever.
She sat alone at the window, pretending to read an advanced politics textbook, though her eyes skimmed the pages without absorbing a word. Her mind was elsewhere.
Watching.
Waiting.
Vivienne's POV
Ezra was late. Not that we'd arranged anything. But I knew his patterns already. Tuesdays after lunch, he stayed here. Second floor. Back alcove. Always alone. Always with that black leather journal.
It was where he calculated his world.
In the novel, this was the week he would meet Emilia and begin opening up to her. Share his past. Trust her.
But I'd disrupted that.
And I needed to know if I was too late to undo the damage.
My fingers tapped the book cover rhythmically. A nervous tic I hadn't indulged in years.
I hated not being in control.
Footsteps echoed against the wooden floor, slow and precise. I didn't turn.
I didn't have to.
"Miss Sinclair," Ezra's voice came, even and cool, "studying international law already?"
I turned the page. "Trying to stay ahead. You know how it is. Reputation matters in a place like this."
He didn't reply immediately. Just slid into the armchair across from me. No invitation. No hesitation.
Just like a king.
Author's POV
Ezra Belcastro didn't trust easily. And yet, something about Vivienne—her calm demeanor, her unnerving confidence—drew his curiosity like a moth to flame.
He didn't like her.
But he noticed her.
And that was far more dangerous.
"What do you want?" he asked, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
Vivienne smiled. "Maybe I want to learn."
"Learn what?"
"How to survive you."
Vivienne's POV
He blinked. Just once. But it was a tell. I'd struck a nerve. Or maybe it was admiration. Hard to tell with a man like Ezra.
He opened his journal. Pen in hand. The pages were dense with writing, symbols, diagrams—like war plans.
"People don't usually say things like that to me."
"Maybe people are too afraid to admit they see the knife behind your smile."
His eyes, ice-blue and sharp, watched me with a silence that felt like a test.
Then—he smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It was real.
Author's POV
Somewhere on the second floor, Emilia Rowe passed by the hallway.
She peeked into the library, searching for Ezra.
She saw him.
But he wasn't alone.
And he was smiling.
At someone else.
---
Later that day, Luca Moretti cornered Vivienne near the art wing. Hands in pockets, charm oozing from every step, he leaned in close.
"You're playing a dangerous game, bella."
She arched a brow. "And you're watching like you want to join."
He laughed. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to see how long you can keep Ezra's attention before he decides you're a threat."
She stepped closer, close enough for him to smell her perfume—orange blossom and steel.
"Maybe I am a threat."
He grinned. "Good. It gets boring around here."
Vivienne's POV
I was attracting too much attention. And yet, I couldn't stop. My instincts were pulling me into this web—one I'd been crushed in before.
But this time, I had knowledge.
I had history.
And if the Kings wanted to circle me like wolves, I'd be the flame they couldn't help but dance around.
Still, one truth lingered at the back of my mind:
If I changed too much, the plot would snap.
And if that happened, no one would be safe—not even me.
---
That night, Kai Takeda stood alone on the rooftop.
He lit a cigarette. Inhaled.
Watched the stars.
Then he said quietly to himself, "Vivienne Sinclair... Who are you?"
And for the first time in years, he felt something shift.
Something dangerous.
Something exciting.