Rachel POV

I tore through the large drawer, pushing aside endless layers of clothes before rushing across the room. My college books and worn textbooks sat stacked on the desk, waiting. I shoved them into my tote, a nervous excitement buzzing under my skin.

My phone sat on the cosy, oversized bed, my father's voice crackling through the speaker.

"I hope he's treating you well," Dad said, his tone thick with worry.

"I guess," I murmured, grabbing my skirt and tugging it on. "He hasn't done anything. In fact, I haven't even seen him these past few days. He's rarely around. Unlike his son."

"Son?" came my father's confused reply.

I let out a small, nervous laugh. "Apparently, the mafia king has a little boy. He calls me 'Mama.' It's... strange."

The line went silent for a moment as I brushed my hair and sat at the vanity. My reflection looked composed-a stark lie my frantic pulse betrayed.

"I-I'm sorry, Rachel," Dad said suddenly, his voice cracking. "This is all my fault."

I sighed softly. "It's fine, Dad. I made this choice. It was either me or you getting hurt, and he wouldn't-" I stopped mid-sentence, the words catching in my throat. "He wouldn't hurt me," I finished quietly. "At least... I hope not."

"I'll fix this," Dad promised. "I'll find a way to pay him back and get you out of there. I'll be better for you and your brother, I swear."

I smiled faintly, the sound of his words too familiar. I'd heard that promise all my life-after every lost job, every bad bet, every broken temper.

"It's fine, Dad," I said softly. "We'll talk later, okay? I need to head to college."

"Oh?" he asked, pausing. "Did he agree to that?"

I froze, the lip gloss tube poised in my hand.

Did he agree to that?

My heart fluttered nervously as I remembered the rule Mr. Vance had stated so clearly: Always ask permission.

I stared at my reflection, my glossed lips trembling. I hadn't asked.

And I had no idea how to.

I stepped out of my room, tote slung over my shoulder. The two guards at their usual post by the staircase straightened, alert and unreadable.

One glanced at my clothes-the modest blouse and long skirt, my books tucked neatly in my arm. "You're dressed up, Mrs. Montrel?"

I offered an awkward smile. "Yes. I have lectures to attend."

The younger of the two frowned slightly, exchanging a look with his partner. "You'll need to request permission from the boss first," he said carefully.

I sighed, annoyed but trying to stay polite. "And where is the boss?"

The older guard straightened. "In his office. We'll escort you there."

My pulse quickened.

Of course, he was.

I'd avoided that office since the day I arrived. The dark hallway leading to it always felt colder, heavier, as if the house itself warned me away.

Still, I nodded. "Alright."

As we walked down the corridor, I felt their eyes on my back-not threatening, just watchful. Every step echoed against the marble floor.

By the time we reached the large wooden doors of his office, my palms were damp.

One of the guards gave a short nod. "He's inside. Just knock once."

Just once.

As if more might wake a sleeping beast.

I swallowed hard, faced the door, and knocked.

"Enter."

The word came low and firm through the wood, quiet but enough to make my stomach twist.

I pushed the door open slowly.

Damien sat behind a grand mahogany desk, sleeves rolled up, the faint smell of smoke and ink clinging to the air. His attention was fixed on the papers before him, his pen gliding across a document with precision.

He didn't look up. "You need something, Mrs. Montrel?"

I hesitated. "Yes... I was hoping to ask permission to attend my lectures today. I'm in my second year, and missing more classes might-"

"Denied."

The single word dropped like a hammer.

My fingers tightened on the strap of my tote. "You didn't even let me finish."

Now he looked up-slow, deliberate. His dark eyes met mine, cold and assessing. "I don't need to. You made a deal. You stay here until I decide otherwise."

I took a shaky breath, forcing my voice steady. "That deal didn't mean I had to stop living my life. You can't expect me to just-"

He stood.

The chair scraped softly as he moved from behind the desk, each step measured. The air shifted, growing colder, heavier.

"Careful, Mrs. Montrel," he murmured. "You forget whose house you're standing in."

My heart pounded, but I refused to step back. "I'm not your prisoner."

A hint of amusement flickered in his gaze. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "Aren't you?"

I swallowed hard, my defiance faltering under his closeness. His presence was overwhelming-the quiet authority, the scent of his cologne, the danger lingering in the space between us.

The door clicked open before I could answer.

"Mr. Montrel," came a calm voice. "Perhaps we could discuss this rationally?"

Mr. Vance stepped in, ever composed, a silver tray in one hand as though he hadn't just walked into a storm.

Damien straightened, annoyance flashing across his face. "You have something to say, old man?"

"Yes," Vance said simply, setting the tray down. "Mrs. Montrel is studying child development and care. That's the reason her bond with Master Leo is so natural. Allowing her to continue her education would only help the boy-and help you."

Damien's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

Vance continued gently, "You brought her here for Leo, didn't you? To give him something real."

For a moment, silence filled the office.

Then Damien spoke, his voice lower. "Leo will be alone. He has no one to play with, old man."

The words were rougher than he intended-softer somehow.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "He doesn't go to school?"

The question hung in the air.

Damien's gaze snapped toward me, sharp as glass. "I decide what's best for my son," he said evenly.

I froze, realising I'd crossed a line, but Mr. Vance's measured tone softened the moment.

"He has a private tutor, Mrs. Montrel," Vance said gently.

Damien's eyes shifted to him, cold but strained. "The authorities are breathing down my neck. I can't risk anyone connected to me being out there-not her, not Leo."

I blinked, trying to grasp his meaning. Was it fear? Or control?

Vance met his gaze, unflinching. "She's a young woman, sir. For her own well-being, she needs to go out sometimes. Don't keep her shut in, or you'll-"

"Enough," Damien cut in sharply.

The old man's mouth closed, but his eyes held a quiet sadness.

Damien turned back to his desk, his voice low. "That will be all."

Vance bowed slightly. "Yes, sir."

I lingered by the door, unsure whether to thank them or simply disappear. The tension pressed on my skin, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, I turned the handle and slipped out. The door clicked shut, sealing in the unspoken words.

But just as I started down the hallway, I caught Mr. Vance's voice, low and gentle, carrying truth like a weight.

"You're not him, son."

The words stilled me.

I froze mid-step, glancing back at the closed door. You're not him.

The sentence replayed in my mind, heavy and strange. Who was "him"? And why did it sound like it hurt to say?

I pressed a hand to my tote, the textbooks inside suddenly feeling useless. I'd come to ask about school, about the outside world-but now, even that hope felt small.

The hallway stretched before me, quiet and endless. Outside, a slice of blue sky was visible through the tall windows, bright and far away.

I hadn't stepped beyond these walls since the night I arrived. Suddenly, the idea of sunlight on my skin felt like a memory I might never reclaim.

I let out a shaky breath, swallowing the sting in my throat.

Mr. Vance's words echoed again, softer this time, like a warning I wasn't meant to hear.

You're not him, son.

Whoever "him" was, I had a feeling he was the reason this house felt haunted.

"Mama!"

Leo's small voice broke the silence. I turned as he ran toward me, stuffed bear in hand, curls bouncing.

I forced a smile and crouched to meet him, wrapping my arms around his little frame. His warmth eased something inside me, if only for a moment.

"Where were you?" he asked, looking up with wide hazel eyes.

"Just talking to your papa," I whispered.

He smiled, content, and tugged my hand. "Can we play now?"

I nodded, letting him lead me down the hall. His laughter echoed softly, but my smile didn't reach my eyes.

Because even as I walked beside him, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was living in a house full of ghosts-and that Damien Montrel was still fighting one of his own.

Rachel POV

"Family dinner?" I repeated, staring at Mr. Vance from my doorway.

He nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Montrel. Young Master Leo specially requested it. He wants you there."

I blinked. Leo never asked for something like this. We usually ate quietly in his room, just the two of us.

"Will... Damien be there too?" I asked carefully.

Mr. Vance sighed. "Leo hopes so. But you know how the Boss is. He's always busy."

I let out a quiet breath of relief. "Alright. I'll be down soon."

---

The dining hall stunned me the moment I walked in.

Candles glowed softly across a long, beautifully prepared table. Warm food, spices, and a hint of fresh bread filled the air.

Leo saw me first.

"Mama! Sit here!" he laughed, patting the chair beside him.

I smiled and sat. "You set all this up?"

Leo puffed his chest proudly. "Yes! I did everything!"

Mr. Vance gave a subtle eye roll. Definitely not true.

Leo leaned toward me, whispering loudly, "We just need Papa now... I hope he comes."

I gave him a small smile, secretly hoping he wouldn't.

And then-

The entire room stilled.

The air shifted before I even heard footsteps.

I turned and froze.

Damien entered like a shadow swallowing light.

Tall. Broad-shouldered.

The black turtleneck clung to him, accentuating the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. His dark hair was swept back cleanly, revealing the sharp cut of his jaw. And his eyes-cold, dark, unreadable-skimmed the room with quiet dominance.

He didn't need to speak to command attention. His presence alone shifted the air.

He didn't acknowledge anyone at first. He simply glanced at his watch with a bored, impatient flick of his wrist, as if questioning whether showing up was a waste of his time.

Before I could breathe, Leo launched himself across the room.

"Papa!"

Damien's expression changed instantly.

A rare softness slipped through as he caught Leo effortlessly, lifting him high. Leo squealed with laughter, and Damien-Damien actually gave a quiet, low laugh back.

For a heartbeat, he looked human. Like a father.

Then his eyes met mine.

The warmth vanished.

He lowered Leo gently, placing him back on the ground. "I trust Mama Rachel has been attentive," Damien said, his voice smooth but sharp beneath the surface.

Leo nodded eagerly. "She drew with me! And taught me about flowers!"

Damien hummed, ruffling his hair before heading to the head of the table.

I lowered my gaze. Leo returned to my side, smiling widely.

"You shouldn't call dinner out of the blue, Leo," Damien said as he served himself. "Your father is very busy."

"Busy is boring," Leo mumbled, sticking out his tongue.

I tried to eat quietly, but I could feel Damien's gaze brushing over me again and again-heavy, measuring.

"Leo is speaking to you," Damien said suddenly.

I flinched, looking up. Leo stared at me innocently.

"S-sorry, sweetheart. I was thinking."

"It's okay, Mama," Leo beamed.

Damien exhaled sharply. "Leo planned this dinner. Be attentive. Get your head out of the clouds."

His tone cut deeper than I expected. My fingers tightened around my fork.

"Bring it," Damien ordered.

Mr Vance stepped forward, carrying a small box. I stared at it, uneasy.

"Open it!" Leo said excitedly.

I slowly lifted the lid.

Inside lay a ruby-red jewel necklace. The colour reminded me of blood. Of this house.

"It marks you as under my protection," Damien said. "Wear it, and no one will dare touch you. I don't like people touching what belongs to me... or to Leo."

Heat flushed through my face-not from flattery, but from humiliation.

"Put it on," Damien added. Not a request. A command.

Swallowing tightly, I fastened the necklace. It was cold, like an icy brand on my skin.

"You look beautiful, Mama," Leo said with pure joy.

I smiled softly. "Thank you, baby."

"Never remove it," Damien said sharply. "If you do, there will be consequences."

Something inside me finally snapped.

"Stop talking to me like that!" I shouted.

The entire room froze. A gasp cut the air. Silverware paused midair. Even the candles seemed to flicker lower.

Damien frowned. "What?"

"You treat me like I'm not a person!" I cried, standing. "I haven't gone to my classes in weeks! My friends think I vanished-look!" I held up my phone, messages flooding the screen. "They've been worried sick!"

Damien's eyes hardened. "I give you a comfortable life and you think that gives you the right to talk back?"

"My life doesn't end because you said so!"

"You made that choice when you signed your name beside mine," he said coolly. "Behave... or I'll take some privileges away. Like that phone."

My chest tightened painfully. "I agreed to save my father's life," I whispered. "Not to live like a prisoner."

Damien stood slowly.

He didn't shout. He didn't rush. But the air thickened, heavy with authority and danger.

"Watch your tone, Mrs. Montrel."

Leo's fork slipped from his hand. The tiny clatter echoed like a scream.

"Or what?" I whispered, my throat tight.

Damien stepped closer. Not touching me. Not even reaching out. But his presence was enough to crush the air from my lungs.

"Or I remind you what happens to people who defy me."

His words dropped into the room like a blade, cold and unquestionable.

Leo's small body went still, food forgotten. His eyes widened, confusion twisting into fear. He just stared between us, as if trying to understand how his family could shatter so easily.

A tiny, broken whisper escaped him. "Mama?"

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't stay.

"Enjoy your dinner," I said quietly, my voice trembling but steady. "I've lost my appetite."

My footsteps echoed sharply across the marble as I turned and walked out, leaving the silence-and Damien's warning-behind me.

Damien POV

I watched her leave, annoyance burning like acid in my veins.

Walking out of Leo's dinner? Out of my presence?

I stepped forward, ready to follow her, to correct her-

A tiny hand tugged my sleeve.

Leo. His eyes were glassy, unsure. "Papa... did we do something wrong?"

I forced myself to kneel, softening my face despite the tightness in my chest. "No," I said quietly. "You didn't."

Leo hesitated. "Then why does Mama look sad all the time?"

The question hit harder than any bullet.

I swallowed, pushing down the emotion clawing at my ribs. "It's not like that," I said. "The outside world is dangerous. I'm only protecting her."

Leo hugged me tightly, his little arms warm and desperate.

I lifted him easily and turned to Mr. Vance. "Dinner is over," I said coldly. "And from now on, we monitor all of her communication."

Mr. Vance's frown was sharp, his eyes full of deep disappointment-but I walked out before he could speak.

In the hallway, Leo rested his head on my shoulder, tired. "I want friends too..." he whispered faintly. "Like Mama has."

My steps faltered. Something in my chest-something I didn't want to name-pulled painfully.

"You have me," I said quietly, staring ahead. "And Mama. And the guards."

Leo didn't answer. He only sighed softly-a lonely sound that felt too familiar.

By the time we reached his room, he was already asleep against my shoulder. I laid him gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over him. 

The innocence on his face tightened something in my chest, then hardened it again.

This should have been a peaceful night.

But she ruined it.

I straightened, my expression turning cold. "Walker. Nolan," I called quietly.

Two armed men immediately stepped forward. "Follow me."

They exchanged a glance before falling into step behind me. My jaw ticked as we walked down the long hallway of the west wing-her wing.

Every step sharpened my irritation. Her voice. Her defiance. Her audacity to embarrass me in front of my son.

When I reached her door, I didn't knock. I never knocked.

I pushed it open.

Rachel jolted upright on the bed, eyes wide, breath catching as if she knew this wouldn't end calmly. The guards stepped in behind me, silent, waiting.

I shut the door with a soft click.

"Stand up."

My voice wasn't loud-just firm enough to make the air tighten.

Her fingers gripped the blanket. "Damien, I-I'm tired. Can this wait-?"

"Stand."

The single word sliced through the room.

She stood, slowly, warily.

I stepped closer, hand extended. "Give me the phone."

She froze. "No."

The refusal was small, but it was a refusal.

"Now."

She backed away a step, shaking her head. "It's mine. I need it-my friends-my classes-"

I snatched it from her before she could finish.

Her breath hitched. "Damien, please, don't-"

I turned the phone over in my hand, expression unchanging. "You walk out of my son's dinner, raise your voice at me, behave like an undisciplined stray-and you think you get to keep this?"

She trembled. "You can't just take everything from me."

I stared down at her, unblinking. "I can."

I slipped the phone into my pocket. Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.

"You won't be leaving this room unless Leo asks for you personally," I said calmly. "You don't step into the hallway. You don't speak to the staff. You don't touch a single door without permission."

She swallowed, voice cracking. "You're locking me in here?"

"I'm keeping you from making stupid choices."

Her eyes flashed with anger and fear. "You don't own me."

I tilted my head slightly. "You signed your name beside mine. Ownership was part of the deal."

She flinched.

I delivered the final blow, cold and intentional. "If you try anything foolish, I'll assume you no longer care about your father's safety."

Her knees nearly buckled. A quiet gasp escaped her lips.

I stepped back. "Walker. Nolan. Outside the door. No one enters. No one leaves."

"Yes, sir," my men said immediately.

I didn't look at her again. I simply turned and walked out, shutting the door behind me.

Rachel POV

I didn't sleep

How could I?

Locked in this room, guards posted outside my door, my phone taken... every choice had been ripped from my hands.

By sunrise, I sat curled beside the window, staring at the horizon as tears slid silently down my cheeks. I kept wiping them away, as if hiding them would lessen the ache.

I had truly sold myself to the Devil.

And now I was trapped.

A soft knock broke through my thoughts.

"...Mama?"

I turned.

Leo peeked from the doorway, dressed in his blue pyjamas, a shy smile on his face. He slipped inside, his tiny hands twisting nervously.

His eyes lifted to mine, wide and worried.

"Did Papa make you sad?"

The question cut straight through me. I walked toward him and knelt, pulling him into my arms.

"No, sweetheart," I whispered, a lie that my tears betrayed.

He hugged me tighter, as if afraid letting go would make me disappear.

After a moment, he tugged on my sleeve.

"Do you want to go to the garden with me? Just me and you. Please?"

I froze.

Damien's rule echoed in my mind: "You won't leave this room unless Leo asks for you personally."

If Leo took me out... the guards would obey.

I could get past them

I could run.

Maybe call my brother. Have him buy us tickets to another continent. Anywhere far from Damien.

My breath caught.

This was my chance.

"Alright," I whispered.

Leo clapped, smiling brightly as he grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door.

The guards straightened immediately, then relaxed when they saw Leo leading me.

We walked down the hall, and my heart hammered with every step.

Ahead, several staff members were busy carrying trays and folders toward the east wing.

At the corner, a maid passed with a basket of folded laundry.

"Miss Anita," I said softly. "Could you take Leo to get some juice? He's hungry."

She bowed slightly. "Yes, Mrs. Montrel."

Leo blinked up at me, confused. "But we're going to the gar-"

"It's okay, baby," I cut in gently. "I'll be right behind you. I just need to grab something."

Leo hesitated but obeyed, taking Anita's hand as she led him away.

The second they turned the corner, my chest squeezed painfully.

This was it.

I turned and walked as fast as I could-not running, not yet-down the hallway.

I slipped past the west wing, through the general sitting area, trying to look natural.

My pulse thundered as I spotted more men by the front door.

One of them narrowed his eyes at me. "Mrs. Montrel, you're out of your room? Where is Leo?" he asked, his voice polite but his eyes suspicious.

My voice remained soft and steady. "Leo is in the kitchen. He forgot his toys in the courtyard. I'm just going to fetch them."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "My apologies, ma'am. You may go."

I forced a tense smile and walked past him through the door before my legs gave out.

I reached the back of the manor and slipped through the servants' path into the backyard. 

A stone wall loomed ahead-high, cold, and covered in thick, green vines.

I stared up at it, my breath shaking.

This is it. Do it now or die here.

I grabbed the vines. They held.

Good enough.

Hand over hand, foot over foot, I climbed. My palms burned, and my arms shook under my weight. The vines dug into my skin, scraping it raw and red.

By some miracle, I reached the top.

I swung my leg over and dropped.

The impact shot pain up my back, knocking the breath from my chest.

But I didn't care.

I scrambled to my feet. The open world lay before me.

"I did it," I whispered. "I'm free."

Then I heard shouting.

Voices. Men calling out from the manor. Footsteps rushing toward the outer gate.

They heard my fall.

Shit.

Panic jolted through me. I bolted into the trees, feet pounding the earth, branches slapping against my face and arms.

I ran.

And ran.

Never once turning back.

Leo POV

Leo hummed as he sat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs while sipping apple juice. The workers moved around him, cooking breakfast and laughing softly.

He kept glancing at the doorway.

Waiting.

Mama should have been here by now.

He frowned, sliding off the counter with a soft thud.

"Where is she...?" he whispered.

He walked out of the kitchen, his little slippers tapping quickly against the marble floor.

"Mama?" he called, peeking around the corner.

No answer.

He checked the sitting room next.

Empty.

"Mama...?" His voice grew smaller.

He ran down the hallway, checking room after room.

The staircase.

The guest rooms.

The hallway outside her bedroom door.

Still nothing.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing.

"Maybe she's hiding..." he whispered, though his voice cracked.

He ran toward the courtyard, hope rising for a second.

But the courtyard was quiet.

Wind moved the leaves.

That was all.

Leo's throat tightened as he hugged himself.

"Mama... did I do something?" His voice shook. "Are you mad at me...?"

He took one slow step forward and stopped when he heard rushed footsteps behind him.

Several guards hurried toward the courtyard, their faces tense. They paused when they saw Leo.

"Young Master?" one of them asked, confused.

Leo looked up at them with wet eyes.

"She... left," he said quietly. "Mama left."

The men's expressions changed instantly-shock, concern, fear.

Leo wiped his tears fast, embarrassed, shaking his head as more tears fell.

"She said she would be with me soon... but she's gone... I can't find her."

Another set of fast footsteps echoed from behind.

Mr. Vance appeared, breathing a little harder than usual, clearly warned about the noise near the back wall.

He stopped when he saw Leo's red eyes and trembling hands.

"Young Master...?" Vance crouched down. "What happened?"

Leo shook his head, voice breaking. "Mama didn't come back."

"I think she... she left us..."

Mr. Vance's face fell into deep, troubled silence.

Behind him, two men exchanged grim looks.

Everyone already knew what it meant:

Rachel had escaped.

And Damien was not going to take this well.

Damien POV

I was in my office reviewing reports when heavy footsteps rushed down the hallway.

Too fast.

Too loud.

Someone was panicking.

Before I could move, my door burst open.

Walker stood there, breath uneven.

"Sir-"

He hesitated.

Never a good sign.

I lifted my head slowly, coldly. "Where," I said, my voice low, "is my son?"

Walker swallowed. "He's safe. He's with Mr. Vance, but-" 

"But what?"

A smaller pair of footsteps suddenly echoed behind him.

Leo.

He ran into the office, tears streaming down his cheeks.

I stood immediately. "Leo?" My voice softened for a second. "What happened?"

Leo threw himself into me, gripping my shirt with shaking hands. "Mama's gone!" he sobbed.

Everything inside me went still.

"...What?"

He cried harder, burying his face in my chest. "She left... she left without me. I looked everywhere. She's gone..."

My jaw tightened, a storm rising behind my eyes.

I crouched and held his face gently. "Leo, look at me," I said firmly. "Who told you she left?"

Leo sniffed. "I saw... she wasn't in the garden... she wasn't in her room... and the guards outside said they heard something by the back wall."

Walker stepped forward carefully. "There were signs of climbing, sir. Vines pulled down. Footprints outside the property line."

My eyes darkened. Anger burned low in my chest at her audacity-to leave and make my son cry after everything.

Vance arrived next, looking tired, concerned, and disappointed. "The girl escaped, sir," he confirmed.

Leo cried harder, shaking. "Papa... why would she leave me? Did I do something wrong?"

The question hit me like a blow.

"No," I said immediately, pulling him closer. "You did nothing wrong."

Leo kept crying into my shirt, his small shoulders trembling.

After a moment, I lifted my gaze to Vance. My voice turned to ice. "Why didn't anyone stop her?"

Vance met my stare, calm but firm. "We didn't notice, sir. We didn't think she would try escaping so soon."

My nostrils flared. "That girl had one job-"

"-to be a mother to Leo," Vance cut in, frowning. "Not a prisoner."

My eyes flickered-anger, then something else.

Vance continued quietly, "If you trap a young woman, you cannot expect her to stay. Or to be happy. Or to be good for the boy."

Leo's sobs softened, but he clung to me tighter.

"And," Vance added, his voice lower, "you forget your mother was once a young woman too. You know what isolation can do to someone."

Silence.

I froze completely.

The mention of my mother didn't anger me. It shut something down. Made me think.

Only for a second.

Then the coldness returned.

I stood, lifting Leo into my arms. "Vance," I said sharply, "assemble the cars."

He nodded.

"We're bringing her back," I growled. "Alive. Unhurt. No one touches her."

Walker stepped forward. "Yes, sir."

I turned my gaze to Vance, my voice cold and cutting. "Vance... when we bring her back, she won't be leaving her room again without my permission. This time, no mistakes."

Leo's head snapped up. "Papa, no!" he cried. "She'll be scared!"

That hit harder than it should have.

My jaw flexed before I forced myself to answer. "...Fine," I muttered. "We'll... talk to her first."

Leo's small shoulders loosened, and he rested his forehead against my collarbone.

I placed a hand on his back, once, steady.

Then the softness vanished.

My expression hardened again, shadows returning. "Move," I ordered.

The men scattered instantly, their footsteps disappearing down the hall as they prepared to launch the search. 

Vance sighed, tired and troubled, but followed them, already giving quiet orders.

I held Leo tightly as we walked out of the office.

"Papa?" he whispered, voice weak and breaking. "You... you'll bring Mama home, right?"

My voice dropped low, gentle only for him. "Yes," I said. "I'll bring her home."

Leo exhaled in relief, clinging to me.

But as soon as he lowered his head again, the warmth in my voice died.

And the darkness returned to my eyes.