The air in the hidden chamber grew heavier with each passing second. What little light remained had flickered out, plunging Mariluna and Lorenzo into a suffocating blackness that clung like a shroud. It wasn't just dark, it was consuming. Every sound was amplified: their breathing, the static hum of lifeless machinery, the faint crackle of wires gone dead.
Mariluna's voice cut through the silence. "What was that voice?"
In the dim greenish glow of his watch, Lorenzo's face was only a shadow of sharp lines. His jaw tightened. "Someone with access. Someone reckless enough to challenge me."
"To threaten you," she murmured, struggling to steady her voice.
"No one threatens me," he said, low and cold. "Not without consequence."
But even she could hear it—something off in his tone. A flicker of doubt, buried beneath the bravado.
He pulled out his phone, thumbed at it. Nothing. Dead signal. No bars. No help.
"This whole section's been jammed," he muttered.
She swallowed. "Then… how do we get out?"
"There's another exit. Lower corridor. It's hidden, but locked from the outside."
Her voice faltered. "So… we're trapped."
He didn't respond. Instead, he walked the perimeter with calculated calm, checking each seam of the stone wall, feeling for shifts, weaknesses. The control he wore like a second skin was cracking, just enough for her to see it.
"You weren't expecting this," she said quietly.
He glanced at her, then away. "No. I wasn't."
"Who would even dare to do this?" she asked. "You're supposed to be untouchable."
His body stilled. Then, slowly, he turned toward her, eyes cold.
"You don't get to be untouchable without stepping on people to get there," he said. "Your father, your family, dragged me deeper than I ever intended to go."
"What does that even mean?" Her voice spiked, a bitter edge in her throat.
"Sebastian Valez crossed every line that existed," Lorenzo said, walking back toward her. "And now, because I tried to protect you, I'm paying for his sins."
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Protect me? You dragged me from one cage into another."
He took a step closer. "You still see me as your enemy."
"You are my enemy," she snapped. "But maybe I'd rather face the devil I know than the one hiding behind notes."
Their gazes locked. The tension between them pulsed like static in the air. If one of them made a move, it could go either way, an explosion or an embrace.
Then his hand reached for her wrist, not harshly, but with a quiet, firm grip. Just enough to stop her shaking.
"You belong to me now, Mariluna. And no one lays a hand on what's mine."
Her breath hitched. Not from fear, though it twisted in her stomach, but from something more dangerous. The way his voice dropped, the way his presence pressed in closer.
She yanked her wrist free. "I don't belong to anyone."
His smirk, slow and unreadable, returned. "Not yet."
Time passed, how long, she couldn't tell. The lights stayed out. The air stayed thick. Nothing moved above them. The whole house had gone quiet in a way that felt unnatural, like the calm before a storm.
She tried to sleep, but her mind wouldn't let her rest. That note still sat in her thoughts like a splinter under skin.
"Lorenzo," she said softly.
He lifted his eyes to her.
"Do you know someone who signs their name with just a 'V'?"
He stilled. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes. "Why?"
"There was a note left in my room. Someone's been inside."
He sat forward slightly. "What did it say?"
She recited it from memory, every word carved into her mind.
Lorenzo's jaw tensed. "Veritas," he muttered.
"Who is that?"
"A name. A codename, really. An associate of your father's from years ago. No real identity. No records. Ghost-level anonymity."
"You think he's the one behind this?"
"Maybe. Veritas was your father's contingency plan. If anything happened to Sebastian, Veritas was supposed to finish what he started."
A chill ran through her. "Finish what?"
He met her gaze steadily. "Expose everyone your father worked with. Everyone tied to the corruption. Even me."
Before she could respond, a metallic groan echoed through the chamber.
The door.
It cracked open, then slid fully with a hiss.
Emergency lights blinked to life above them, cold and flickering. But the hallway beyond was empty.
No footsteps. No voices. No shadows moving.
Mariluna instinctively stepped back.
Lorenzo was already moving. He shoved her behind him and, in one fluid motion, drew a sleek pistol from beneath the table. The ease of it was terrifying, he'd done this before. Many times.
"Stay close to me," he said, eyes fixed on the corridor.
She obeyed.
They stepped out together, but the moment they crossed into the East Wing, something felt wrong. The house wasn't just silent, it was deserted.
No guards.
No staff.
Nothing.
Mariluna's skin prickled as they turned the corner, and found one of the guards slumped against the wall. Alive, barely. Breathing shallow.
A note had been stabbed to his chest with a silver dagger.
Lorenzo ripped it free, read it once.
"One more secret, and she dies.
Next time, I won't knock."
—V
The handwriting matched the note from her room.
Mariluna's voice came out in a whisper. "They're already inside. Inside your home. Inside your world."
Lorenzo folded the paper with slow precision. His eyes met hers.
"They're not after me anymore," he said quietly. "They're after you."
That night, while Lorenzo locked down the estate and called in every resource he trusted, Mariluna wandered back into her bedroom. Sleep was a lost cause.
She opened the drawer where she'd hidden the journal, her father's journal.
It was gone.
In its place lay a single photograph.
A girl, no older than six.
Standing beside her father.
And on her other side, Lorenzo. Younger, but unmistakably him, one hand resting on her small shoulder.
Beneath the photo, scrawled in faded ink:
"She was never yours to protect.
She was always mine."
Mariluna's knees gave way, and she sank to the floor.
The little girl in the picture…
It was her.