Elara woke to voices drifting through the connecting door.
She lay still in the silk-draped bed, straining to make out words. Dominic's voice was unmistakable—cold, clipped, all business. But there was another voice, warmer, arguing back with surprising boldness.
Luca.
"She's not one of your usual acquisitions, Dom."
"She's exactly what I say she is." Dominic's tone brooked no argument. "A debt payment. Nothing more."
"Look at her. Really look at her. She's terrified."
A pause. Then Dominic's voice, dangerously soft: "Since when do you care about the emotional state of collateral?"
"Since she's barely more than a kid who got handed over by her own father." Luca's voice carried an edge Elara hadn't heard before. "There's a difference between business and cruelty."
"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, they look remarkably similar."
Elara pressed her ear closer to the door, heart hammering. She wasn't supposed to be hearing this. Wasn't supposed to know that someone in this house thought she deserved better.
"Just... be careful with her," Luca said quietly. "That's all I'm asking."
"Careful?" Dominic's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Brother, careful's what got our father shot in the head by someone he trusted. I learned from that mistake. Did you?"
Footsteps moved away from the door, and Elara quickly rolled back to the center of the bed, feigning sleep. But her mind was racing.
*He's defending me,* she thought, warmth spreading through her chest. *He doesn't even know me, and he's defending me.*
It was a complication she couldn't afford. Her uncle had been clear—no emotional attachments, no genuine connections. She was supposed to be a ghost, invisible until the moment she struck.
But Luca was making that impossible.
An hour later, dressed in one of Mrs. Chen's selected outfits—a simple but elegant dress that probably cost more than her old monthly rent—a soft knock came at her door.
"Come in," she called, expecting the housekeeper.
Instead, Luca stepped inside, carrying another tray. This time it held a full breakfast spread.
"I thought you might be hungry," he said, setting it down on the small dining table by the window.
Elara studied his face, looking for signs that he knew she'd overheard his conversation with Dominic. But his expression was carefully neutral.
"Thank you," she said, moving to the table. The spread was impressive—fresh fruit, pastries that looked like they'd come from a French bakery, coffee that smelled like heaven. "This is very thoughtful."
"It's nothing." But he lingered by the window, his gaze distant. "How did you sleep?"
"Well enough." She poured herself coffee.
"Good." He turned to face her fully, and she was struck again by how different his eyes were from Dominic's. Where Dominic's were winter storms, Luca's were deeper waters—calmer on the surface, but with currents running underneath. "Elara, I want you to know something."
She paused with the coffee cup halfway to her lips. "What?"
"You're safe here. Whatever else happens, whatever my brother decides about your situation, you're safe. I'll make sure of it."
The words hit her like a physical blow. Not because they were threatening, quite the opposite. Because they were genuine. Because this man, who owed her nothing, who had every reason to see her as his brother did, was offering her protection.
*Stop,* she thought desperately. *Stop being kind to me. Stop making this harder than it already is.*
"Your brother wouldn't appreciate you saying that," she said instead.
"My brother doesn't appreciate a lot of things I do." Luca's smile was rueful. "But he tolerates them because I'm family. And because, occasionally, I'm right."
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy, purposeful steps that could only belong to one person.
"Luca." Dominic's voice carried through the door, sharp with command. "A word."
Luca's jaw tightened, but he moved toward the door. "Remember what I said," he told her quietly. "You're not alone here."
As he left, Elara sank into the chair by the window, her breakfast forgotten. Through the glass, she could see the gardens stretching toward the lake, beautiful and serene in the morning light. But all she could think about was Luca's promise to protect her.
The thought should have been easy to dismiss. This was what she'd trained for, what she'd agreed to do. Her uncle had been clear about the stakes—her father's life hung in the balance, and the Moretti empire needed to fall.
But as she watched Luca disappear into the mansion, probably to face his brother's displeasure for showing her kindness, Elara felt something crack inside her chest.
It wasn't her heart, that was still safely locked away, focused on the mission.
It was her certainty.
And in a world where certainty was the only thing keeping her alive, that was the most dangerous crack of all.