The next morning, Mila woke up feeling like she hadn't slept at all.
The garden. Elias's almost-touch. The quiet way he'd stared at her like she was a question he didn't want to answer.
It haunted her.
She got dressed in silence, pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, and made her way to the west training hall, expecting another session with Kade.
But it wasn't Kade waiting for her this time.
It was Elias.
Wearing black again, his sleeves rolled up, hands behind his back. He looked like he'd stepped out of a dangerous dream — one that shouldn't feel comforting but somehow did.
"No lessons today?" she asked.
"Today," he said, "we're learning something more important than how to throw a punch."
He turned and nodded for her to follow.
She didn't hesitate.
---
They walked through a part of the mansion she hadn't seen yet. The halls here were narrower, older — lined with portraits of grim-looking men and women dressed in black and navy. Their eyes followed her as she passed, cold and watchful.
"Who are they?" Mila asked.
"My ancestors," Elias replied. "Founders. Leaders. Monsters."
She glanced at him. "You said that without flinching."
"Because it's the truth."
He stopped in front of a thick wooden door and opened it with a brass key he pulled from his pocket.
Inside was a private study — dimly lit, filled with old books, maps, and newspaper clippings pinned to a corkboard. A wall safe sat behind a curtain, slightly ajar.
Elias closed the door behind them and gestured to a stack of files on the desk.
"Open it," he said.
Mila hesitated. But then she reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and flipped the top folder open.
Her breath caught.
There were photos.
Dozens.
Black-and-white surveillance images. Secret reports. Newspaper headlines.
One of them read:
"Ashbourne Shipping Company Linked to Disappearances"
Another:
"Brutal Slaying at Ashbourne Estate: No Arrests Made"
Mila looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper. "What is this?"
"The truth," Elias said. "The part no one prints anymore."
"You're saying… your family is involved in… murder?"
"Not just murder," he said grimly. "Cover-ups. Bribery. Organized deals that built the Ashbourne name on blood and silence."
Her hands went cold.
"But you have money. Power. Everything. Why show me this?"
"Because," he said, stepping closer, "you walked into a war, Mila. One you didn't choose. And if I don't prepare you... you'll be collateral damage like everyone else."
She backed up slightly. "You said I was safe here."
"You are. As long as I'm alive."
She stared at him. "That's not exactly comforting."
He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "You want the truth? Fine. The truth is, someone in this house wants you gone. I don't know who. Yet."
Mila's stomach twisted.
"I didn't just find you that night by accident," he added, his voice low and rough. "I was following someone. The same person who probably killed the man you ran from. And now you're a witness. Whether you saw anything or not, you're a threat."
A threat.
The word made her chest tighten.
"You saved me," she said slowly, "because I was bait?"
"I saved you because I saw what they were going to do to you," he said, voice sharp. "And I made a decision I don't regret."
She didn't know what to say.
Elias moved to the window and stared out at the courtyard.
"I wasn't supposed to be the heir," he said suddenly. "That was my brother."
Mila blinked. "You have a brother?"
"Had."
Silence fell like a heavy blanket.
"He was older," Elias continued, jaw tight. "Smarter. Colder. Everything they wanted in an Ashbourne. Until he made one mistake—he fell in love with someone beneath our name."
Mila's heart stuttered.
"What happened to her?"
"They made her disappear. No body. No investigation. Just... gone. And my brother?"
He turned toward her, eyes hard.
"He put a gun in his mouth two weeks later."
Mila covered her mouth, horrified. "Elias..."
"They said he was weak. That he broke under pressure. But I knew. I knew. That was the day I realized this name — this family — is a cage made of gold and knives."
Tears burned behind her eyes.
"And now you?" he said, stepping closer. "You remind them of her. Beautiful. Defiant. Poor. And dangerously impossible to control."
Mila's breath caught. "Why tell me all this?"
"Because you deserve to know what you're up against. And because…" His voice dropped. "I won't let them do to you what they did to her."
The words hung in the air between them, sharp and trembling.
She swallowed hard. "So what now?"
"Now," he said, "you learn how to survive. How to see through lies. How to fight the people who smile at you while planning your fall."
Mila looked down at the file again. One image showed a familiar man — one she'd seen in the hallway portraits.
She touched the edge of the photo. "Who is he?"
Elias stiffened.
"My grandfather. The one who started it all."
She traced the scar that ran across the man's jaw in the image.
"He's dead?" she asked.
"No."
Mila's blood ran cold.
"He's the one who ordered her disappearance. He's the one who wants control again."
"And where is he?"
Elias looked her dead in the eyes.
"Locked in the north wing. Watching. Waiting. And still pulling strings."
---
That night, Mila dreamed of blood-red roses growing through cracks in marble. Of masked figures whispering her name. Of Elias standing in a sea of shadows, reaching for her hand — but too far away.
When she woke, her sheets were soaked in sweat.
And on the windowsill… sat a single white rose.
Freshly cut.
She hadn't put it there.