Celina had never been this aware of silence before.
It wasn't the peaceful kind. Not the hush of a library or the lull of sleep. No, this was the kind of silence that held its breath. Like the house itself was listening.
She stood at the edge of the massive second-floor balcony, peering down into the foyer below. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A staircase that looked like it belonged in a movie.
But no footsteps. No staff. Not even Sera.
Just her and the echo of her thoughts.
Darius had left early without a word. No note. No message. Not even a cold "stay put." But she was learning—he didn't explain things. He just did.
Celina turned, eyes scanning the hallway. The library was unlocked today. So was a new door across from it—a sitting room with antique décor and velvet drapes. Still no exit. Still no freedom.
She was still inside his gilded cage.
But something felt different this morning. Off. Tense.
As she turned into the corridor, she spotted something out of place.
A vase had fallen—shattered, with porcelain shards scattered across the floor.
And beside it… muddy footprints.
Celina's heart thudded.
She bent down and touched the floor. Wet. Recent.
Someone else had been here.
Or still was.
Celina didn't call for help. Didn't scream. Didn't run.
Instead, she backed into the wall and slowly followed the trail. It turned sharply into another wing—one she hadn't seen before. Less polished. Older. Like part of the house had been forgotten.
She passed old portraits and thick wooden doors. Some locked. Some creaked open.
And then she heard it.
A click.
Metal.
Behind her.
She spun around.
Nothing.
The hallway was empty.
Her heart beat so loud she could hear it in her ears. But she didn't stop. She followed the sound to the end of the corridor and found another door slightly ajar. A utility room?
No. A study.
She pushed it open slowly.
Inside, the air felt different. Heavy. Intimate.
There were no lights, but sunlight slipped through the blinds. Papers littered the desk. Weapons lined the far wall. Not decorative ones—real ones. Tactical knives. Silenced pistols. Blueprints.
And in the center of it all—a file folder with her name on it.
"Celina Rowe."
Her hands trembled as she reached for it.
Photos. Surveillance shots. Her apartment. Her work building. Even that coffee shop she visited every morning.
He'd been watching her long before the alley.
There were notes too—dates, times, movement patterns. Medical records. Family history. Financials.
Every part of her life cataloged like she was an assignment.
And then, at the very bottom—an invoice.
"Contract Terminated. Target Acquired. Protection Initiated."
Celina's breath caught in her throat.
She wasn't just the woman Darius saved. She was the woman he was paid to kill.
And now he was her husband.
"You shouldn't be in here."
Celina jumped and spun around.
Darius stood in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
"I—" she swallowed, stepping back. "The door was open. I saw—there were footprints. Someone's here."
He didn't move.
"I followed them and—why do you have a file on me, Darius? Why were you watching me before the alley? Before you—" her voice cracked "—before you married me?"
Still, he said nothing.
The silence was worse than yelling.
"Was this all fake?" she whispered. "The protection? The contract? The wedding? Was I just a job to you?"
Darius finally stepped inside. His presence swallowed the room.
"You were never just a job."
"That's not an answer."
"No," he agreed. "It's the truth."
Celina's fists clenched. "You were supposed to be my husband."
"I am."
"You were supposed to be my protector. But you had a gun pointed at me before I even knew your name."
His expression darkened. "And I never pulled the trigger."
"But you could've!" she snapped. "You knew everything about me. Every step, every detail. That file has more about my life than I even know. And you want me to believe this wasn't planned?"
Darius's voice was low and controlled. "It was planned. But not by me."
Celina froze. "What?"
"I was assigned to you. Yes. But I didn't choose to marry you because of the job. I did it because someone put a bounty on your head and I knew—once the order went out—I was the only one who could protect you."
She blinked. "So you… canceled your own hit?"
He nodded once. "And I've been cleaning up the mess ever since."
Celina stared at him.
He looked so calm. Like this was just… logistics. A routine.
But for her, it was her life.
"Who ordered the hit?" she asked.
"I'm still tracing it. That's why I locked the doors. Why I control your access. Someone wants you dead, and they have deep pockets."
She backed away from him. "And how do I know it isn't you?"
Darius's expression didn't shift. But something in him did. A flicker. A crack.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
"I had the chance to kill you, Celina. I didn't. I had the chance to run after I saved you. I didn't. I could've disappeared—but I chose to stay. To marry you. To bind you to me. Not because I needed to. But because I wanted to."
The words hit like a punch.
She didn't know what scared her more—the calm way he said them, or the way her heart twisted at the idea that it might be true.
He wanted her.
But could she trust a man trained to kill?
That night, she didn't sleep again.
But not from fear.
From thinking.
The file. The contract. The shadows in the hallway. Whoever had been in the house… hadn't left a trace. Like they belonged there.
Or like they knew how to disappear.
Was it a warning?
A message?
Or just the beginning?
She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and whispered to the darkness:
"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
And in the room across the hall, Darius Kael stared at a new message on his encrypted device.
Unknown Sender:
You can't hide her forever. We always finish what we start.