The morning after the party dawned gray and heavy, as if the sky itself sensed the shift in the house's atmosphere.
Elena didn't sleep.
Even after Lucian ordered the cars, even after she'd been ushered away from the ballroom and locked inside the velvet prison of her room, her mind had stayed awake—churning over the man in the hallway. His voice. That unnerving smile.
He'd known her name. And not like the guests downstairs had. This wasn't rumor.
This was familiarity.
Intimate. Intentional.
Now, the silence outside her door was too perfect, too dense—like something bracing before it broke.
A soft knock finally cut through it.
Elena opened it without thinking.
Rosa stood there, composed as ever, with a tray balanced on one hand. "Lucian said you're not to leave the estate today."
"I didn't plan on going for a jog," Elena muttered, stepping aside.
Rosa set the tray on the table, her movements precise. Toast, eggs, black coffee.
Elena looked at the food but didn't touch it.
"Did Lucian say why I'm being grounded like a teenager?"
Rosa hesitated for half a beat too long.
"He's handling something sensitive. He asked that you stay out of sight."
"Because of the man from last night?"
Another pause.
Rosa didn't confirm it. Didn't need to.
"He's locking me up for my safety," Elena said quietly, sitting. "How poetic."
The housekeeper straightened. "Sometimes confinement is protection. Even when it feels like punishment."
"And sometimes it's just punishment dressed as protection."
Rosa didn't argue.
Instead, she gently placed a folded piece of stationery on the table beside the tray.
It wasn't addressed. But Elena knew who it was from.
Elena—
Stay in your room today. I'll explain tonight. Do not open the door to anyone but Rosa or me. No exceptions.
—Lucian
She read it twice.
The words were clean. Cold. Commanding.
But something about the rushed scrawl of his signature… that was new.
Not carelessness. Urgency.
Lucian Moretti didn't get rushed.
So what the hell was going on?
Hours passed like smoke.
Elena paced her room until she swore grooves had been carved into the rug. She stared at the window, the hallway, the door. Thought of Jeremy. Thought of her old life—too far away now to touch.
By afternoon, the walls pressed in harder.
She'd never realized how oppressive silence could be in a house this big. In her Brooklyn apartment, silence meant peace. Here, it meant surveillance. Secrets.
At dusk, she couldn't take it anymore.
She cracked the door open just a little.
The hallway was empty.
Still, her instincts screamed. Something was wrong.
She didn't leave the room.
But she didn't close the door either.
Lucian came after nightfall.
No knock. Just the sound of a key in the lock and the heavy door swinging open.
Elena stood from the bed. "You could've knocked."
"You could've stayed quiet."
He looked like hell. Not in the disheveled, unshaven sense—Lucian didn't allow himself that—but in the exhaustion lining his shoulders, the faint bruise on his jaw, the blood on his shirt collar he hadn't noticed.
Her breath caught.
"You're hurt."
"It's not mine."
That didn't reassure her.
Lucian stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He didn't approach. Just stood there, watching her.
"They were watching the house," he said.
Elena froze. "The man?"
"Not alone. There were others. We don't know who sent them yet."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means you don't go near the windows. You don't open your door. You don't speak to anyone you don't recognize."
Her spine straightened. "You said I was safe here."
"You were. Until last night."
"Then why didn't you tell me the truth before?"
Lucian's eyes darkened. "Because I needed to see if they'd approach again."
Her blood chilled. "You used me as bait."
"I protected you."
"No," she snapped, fury flashing in her chest, "you used me. And now you want me to just sit here and trust you?"
"I don't need your trust, Elena. I need your compliance."
She laughed—cold and sharp. "You want to control me so badly, but you forget one thing. I didn't ask for this. I'm surviving it."
Lucian didn't flinch. "And you're doing a damn good job."
He walked to the small table, poured himself a glass of untouched water, then turned to her again.
"I'll find out who's behind it. Until then, you don't leave this room."
"And if I do?"
His jaw flexed. "Then I put a guard at your door. And if one isn't enough, I'll use two."
"You'd lock me up like some hostage—"
"You are a hostage," he said, cutting her off. "Just a well-dressed one."
The honesty in that silenced her more than a lie ever could.
Later, after he left, Elena stared at the door, her chest hollowed out by something deeper than fear.
She was beginning to realize that Lucian wasn't just her captor.
He was the storm keeping worse monsters at bay.
And every time she pushed him, she risked removing the only shield she had left.
Morning came with no new note, no Rosa, and no Lucian.
Elena showered, dressed herself in something simple, and paced the room like a caged animal. Her hands trembled when she sat to eat the cold breakfast from yesterday. Not from hunger. From helplessness.
She wasn't meant for this kind of stillness. She wasn't born for obedience.
A soft knock finally came.
But it wasn't Rosa.
"Elena?" a voice whispered from the other side. Young. Female.
She stepped closer. "Who is it?"
A pause.
Then: "I'm Sofia. I work downstairs. Please—I don't have much time."
Against her better judgment, Elena opened the door a crack.
A girl around her age stood outside, eyes wide and anxious, a linen apron tied over jeans.
"I shouldn't be here," she whispered, glancing down the hall. "But I heard what happened. I thought you should know…"
Elena's pulse jumped. "Know what?"
Sofia leaned in. "They weren't just watching the house. They were looking for you."
Elena's skin prickled. "Why?"
"I don't know. But Lucian's people—his guards—they found a symbol on one of the men's phones. It's not local. It's foreign."
"What kind of symbol?"
Sofia hesitated. "An ouroboros. A snake eating its tail."
That meant nothing to Elena.
But the way Sofia looked at her—it wasn't just fear.
It was warning.
"They know your name," Sofia whispered. "But they also know your mother's."