The sky above the Hale mansion shimmered with cruel brightness too beautiful, too quiet for what was about to happen.
Damien stood on the terrace, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the faint wind brushing through his perfectly styled hair. His reflection glinted in the glass door behind him calm, composed, charming.
But his eyes… his eyes were a storm waiting for release.
Everything had fallen into place.
Just as planned.
Earlier that morning, he had touched Ayla's cheek softly, the picture of affection.
"You've been cooped up too long," he'd said. "Go get some fresh air. Maybe buy something for yourself."
Ayla had smiled shyly. "Are you sure? You never like me going alone"
He'd chuckled. "I trust you, love. Go."
She left trusting, gentle, unknowing.
Exactly the way he liked her.
Hours later, the house was too quiet.
The kind of silence that doesn't breathe.
When Mrs. Vernes returned from her errands, her instincts stirred.
The mansion felt… hollow. Too polished. Too still.
"Damien?" she called out, her voice echoing down the marble hall. "Where's Ayla?"
He appeared from the corner, holding a cup of coffee, his smile effortlessly polite.
"She's on the terrace," he said. "Said she wanted some air."
Her brows furrowed. "That's strange. She didn't mention it this morning."
He shrugged lightly. "She's been thoughtful lately. You should go talk to her."
Something in his tone made her stomach twist. But she walked upstairs anyway.
One step. Another.
The wind grew stronger with each level until she reached the terrace.
"Damien?" she asked as she pushed open the door.
But it wasn't Ayla standing there. It was him.
He turned slowly, that smile still in place. "Mrs. Vernes. You look worried."
Her heart thudded. "Where's my daughter?"
He tilted his head, amused. "Always so protective. She's fine."
"I'll believe that when I see her," she said coldly.
He stepped closer, the air between them tightening.
"You've been watching me," he murmured. "Spying. Asking the maids questions. Touching things that don't belong to you."
"Someone had to," she said, her voice low but steady. "You might fool Ayla, but not me."
He laughed softly, like a man entertained. "And what do you plan to do, hmm? Tell her I'm a monster? She'd never believe you."
"Maybe not today," she said. "But one day, she will. And when she does, I'll make sure you"
Her words cut off with a gasp.
Damien had stepped forward too close his hand gripping her wrist like iron.
"You talk too much," he whispered. "You should've stayed quiet."
"Let me go, Damien," she hissed. "You'll regret this"
"Regret?" His eyes darkened. "No. You will."
And then it happened.
A single push.
A startled cry.
A flash of red fabric against the blue sky and then silence.
At that exact moment, Ayla entered through the main gate, humming softly with shopping bags in her hand. She looked up and froze.
Something... someone ... fell from above.
Her heart stopped.
"Mama!"
Her scream tore through the air as she dropped everything and ran. The world blurred sound, color, thought everything vanished but the sight of her mother lying motionless on the grass, blood staining her temple.
"Mama, please! Someone help!" she cried, clutching her hand, shaking. "Mama, open your eyes!"
Damien appeared seconds later, feigning shock perfectly.
"Ayla ..what happened?!" he said, rushing forward.
"She… she fell! I saw she was" Ayla choked on her words. "She's not moving!"
He knelt beside them, his expression twisting into practiced concern.
"We'll take her to the hospital," he said firmly. "Now."
As he lifted Mrs. Vernes in his arms, a faint smile ghosted at the corner of his lips too brief to notice, too cruel to forget.
And when his gaze flicked toward the terrace, there was no trace of fear.
Only satisfaction.