Chapter 3 — First Glimpses

Ace

The storm had left its fingerprints everywhere—on the dampness clinging faintly to the air, on the muted roar of waves breaking against the cliffs below. I stood at the window of my study, staring at the fractured horizon where clouds smothered the sunlight, allowing only reluctant rays to filter through. My reflection hovered faintly in the glass—sharp-edged, pale, and unyielding. It was a reminder of the control I had spent years constructing, a fortress of order that now, suddenly, felt tested.

The study’s dark wood-paneled walls and the scent of old books usually steadied me. The worn leather armchair in the corner spoke of long nights spent in strategic solitude. But today, even here, I couldn’t escape the awareness of her presence. It pressed against the edges of this sanctuary like an encroaching tide.

Angelina Love.

Lila.

Her name didn’t belong in this world of order and calculation. It was raw and alive, like a blade unsheathed, cutting through the defenses I had built. From the moment she had arrived last night, soaked and defiant, she had been a disruption. A stray ember in a house designed to withstand storms. One I hadn’t anticipated.

The memory of her eyes struck me again—green, fierce, and unyielding. Even this morning, cornered and vulnerable, the fire in them hadn’t dimmed. It intrigued me. It annoyed me. It made her dangerous. And dangerous things had a way of unraveling carefully laid plans.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, deliberate and steady, before stopping just outside the door. Vinny stepped inside without knocking, as he always did. His presence filled the room like a solid weight, grounding but heavy.

“She’s awake,” he said, his tone flat and practical, though his sharp eyes studied me carefully.

I turned my attention to the small brass key resting on my desk. Its ivy-patterned engravings were smooth under my thumb as I brushed it absently. “How is she?”

“Uneasy,” Vinny replied, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the desk. “She’s already poking around.”

Of course, she was. I could see it in her eyes, the way they darted across hallways and lingered on details most wouldn’t notice. She was mapping her surroundings, instinctively searching for the boundaries of her confinement. It was what I would have done. The realization was disquieting in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Vinny tilted his head, watching me with his typical pragmatic skepticism. “She’ll test her limits. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

For a moment, I didn’t answer. My hand drifted to the antique globe in the corner, its surface cool and textured under my fingers as I spun it slowly. The motion helped me focus. “She’s not going anywhere,” I said finally. “Not until I’m certain she’s safe.”

Vinny’s expression tightened, his mouth pulling into a faint line of disapproval. “Safe from what?” he asked, his voice low and edged with doubt. “You planning to tell her, or just keep hoping she doesn’t figure it out?”

My gaze hardened, but I didn’t respond immediately. Outside, the waves crashed against the cliffs, their rhythm steady and unforgiving. “You know what’s out there,” I said quietly, meeting his eyes. “She doesn’t.”

His answering grunt was noncommittal, but his unease was clear. “She doesn’t trust you. Hell, she doesn’t trust anyone. That makes her unpredictable.”

“I don’t need her trust,” I replied, though the words felt hollow even to me. “I need her alive.”

Vinny shifted, his weight transferring from one foot to the other, but he didn’t argue further. He knew as well as I did what was at stake. When he left, his footsteps fading into the corridor, I turned back to my desk. The key glinted faintly in the dim light, alongside the heavy gold of my father’s signet ring.

I slipped the ring off my finger and set it beside the key. The wolf’s head crest stared back at me, its expression as unyielding as the man who had once worn it. The weight of it lingered on my skin like a phantom. Control. Power. Dominance. My father’s legacy etched into metal.

Exhaling sharply, I pushed the thoughts aside and left the study. Each step down the hallway carried the weight of the mansion’s silence, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and damp stone. Shadows stretched long and dark around me, and distant echoes of the storm lingered in the faint creak of floorboards beneath my steps.

By the time I reached the dining room, my mask was firmly in place.

She sat at the head of the impossibly long table, her small frame dwarfed by the room’s opulence. A half-eaten pastry rested on her plate, and she cradled a steaming cup of coffee in her hands as if drawing warmth from it. Her eyes—sharp, green, and filled with suspicion—lifted to meet mine as I entered. She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Her defiance was as tangible as the sunlight filtering weakly through the tall windows.

“You didn’t eat much,” I remarked, nodding toward her plate.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she replied curtly, her tone clipped and unapologetic.

I stepped closer, studying her. Her damp hair had dried into soft waves, brushing against the scar above her left eyebrow. She looked fragile under the heavy light, but I knew better. Fragility didn’t sit with defiance. She was a contradiction—small yet unyielding, vulnerable yet brimming with fire.

“You should eat,” I said, my voice measured. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” she snapped, setting the coffee cup down with a deliberate clink. “Planning to lock me in a tower?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth before I let it fade. “You’re not a prisoner here, Lila.”

“Right.” She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the polished floor. Her chin lifted as she faced me, her defiance sharp enough to cut. “Tell that to my phone. Or the locked doors. Or—oh, wait—the cameras.”

So, she’d noticed the cameras. I’d expected as much, but the confirmation was gratifying. She was observant, resourceful. And dangerous.

I took a step closer, my gaze fixed on hers. “You think this is a game,” I said quietly, my voice dipping low. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever felt trapped, who’s ever fought to survive. But you don’t know what you’re up against.”

Her jaw tightened, the flicker of something—anger, fear, or both—crossing her expression. “Then tell me,” she demanded, her voice trembling but fierce. “Stop with the cryptic warnings and just tell me.”

I hesitated, the words forming and unraveling in my mind. Her green eyes burned with a fire that demanded answers, but beneath it, I caught the faint glimmer of something else. Vulnerability. I could crush her defiance with a single truth. But something in the way she stood, unbending despite the weight pressing against her, stopped me.

“You’re not ready for the truth,” I said finally, stepping back.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and for a moment, I thought she might scream—or worse, strike me. Instead, she exhaled sharply and brushed past me, her shoulder grazing mine. The faint scent of rain and jasmine lingered in her wake, curling around me like smoke.

I didn’t turn to watch her leave. Instead, I stared at the empty chair she had occupied, the untouched coffee cooling on the table. My chest tightened with something I couldn’t name, something I didn’t want to name. She was a problem—a dangerous, unpredictable problem.

And one I couldn’t bring myself to let go. Not yet. Not ever.