Shortly after sunset, the rain came again.
I sat by myself in Victor's study, listening to the steady rhythm of it tapping against the large windows, which sounded to me like an unreliable heartbeat. The bookcases and the tall image of Victor above the fireplace, which now seemed more like a warning than a tribute, were lit by a dim orange glow from the fire's embers.
I'd given Caleb the key that morning.
And he hadn't said a word since.
Every creak of the old manor made me look up. Every shift of shadow down the hallway made my breath catch. I hated how alert I felt. Even when he wasn't in the room, I could feel his presence.
I told myself it was fear.
But, deep down, I knew better.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him: they were heavy, slow, and purposeful. The study door creaked open, and Caleb came inside, holding the silver box under one arm. His coat was soaked from the rain, his hair was slightly ruffled, and his eyes, oh my God, they looked sharper than ever.
He did not speak right away.
He simply walked over to the desk, set the box down gently, and poured himself a drink.
I stood. "Well?"
He took a slow sip. "You were right. The key fit."
"And?"
He leaned back against the bar cart, watching me.
"Victor kept things even darker than I thought," he said. "Bank statements. Offshore accounts. Photos. A ledger."
I crossed my arms. "Photos of what?"
"Of you. Of me. Of other women. Some I don't recognize. Some... I do."
My throat tightened. "Was I in danger?"
"No." His gaze softened slightly. "But you were insurance."
The room felt colder.
He reached into his coat pocket and took out a little snapshot. He walked across the room to me while holding it between two fingers.
I took it.
It was me.
Sleeping. In Victor's bed. My face turned toward the camera, my lips slightly parted. Vulnerable. Exposed.
My stomach turned.
"When was this taken?"
"Six months ago."
"Six..."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"He was watching me?"
Caleb nodded. "Always."
I felt sick. But I didn't cry. I wouldn't give Victor that satisfaction, even from the grave.
"There's more," Caleb said quietly.
I looked up.
"Another file. With your name. And mine. Tied together."
I swallowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means Victor knew about us. Or at least suspected."
I turned away. My chest ached like something ancient was cracking inside me.
"There was never an us," I whispered.
"Don't lie to me, Zarela. Not now."
I spun on him. "I married your father, Caleb. Do you understand what that means? I chose a cage. I chose silence. I chose to bury that part of me."
He took a step closer. "You buried it. I didn't."
I laughed, but it came out broken. "You think this is some twisted love story? You hated me the night I married him. You made that very clear."
"Because I wanted you."
The room stilled.
He said it without flinching. Like it wasn't the first time he'd admitted it to himself.
"I was twenty-two, Zarela. Angry, reckless... but I knew what I felt. And you? You looked at me like I was fire and you were already burning."
My breath caught. I hated that he remembered. I hated that I remembered.
That one night.
That one mistake.
That one near-kiss.
"It was a moment," I said hoarsely. "A stupid, dangerous moment."
He stepped even closer, and suddenly the air between us thickened.
"Then why did it change everything?"
His voice was low now, quiet, intimate.
"Tell me it meant nothing. Look me in the eye and say it."
I couldn't.
Because even now, four years later, with Victor dead and the world upside down, I remembered how it felt.
Caleb had stared at me as if I were holy and forbidden at the same time.
My body had betrayed me, leaning in when I should have been running.
"This isn't helping," I murmured, but only in a whisper.
His hand lifted, just slightly, fingertips brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.
I froze.
"You're still pretending," he murmured.
"And you're still pushing."
"Because you want me to."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
The firelight danced across his face, casting gold into his dark eyes. His lips were inches from mine. And for a breathless second, I didn't know if I was going to slap him or kiss him.
But I did neither.
I stepped back.
"We need to focus. On the files. On what Victor left behind. Not... this."
Caleb nodded slowly. But he didn't look away.
"Fine," he said. "Let's talk about what else was in the box."
I was relieved by the change in subject, but my pulse did not slow down.
He removed something else from his coat. A single, folded document.
"There was a name."
He handed it to me.
Dorian Black.
"Who is he?" I asked.
"No idea. But he's listed as a contingency. Just like you. Just like me."
"Contingency for what?"
Caleb's jaw tightened.
"That's what scares me."
Later that night, I couldn't sleep.
I walked the halls in silence, barefoot, the manor lit only by slivers of moonlight. When I passed the east wing, I paused outside Caleb's door.
It was slightly ajar.
I should've kept walking.
Instead, I pushed it open.
He sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, with his back to me, scarred and stiff.
"You always walk into bedrooms uninvited?" he inquired without turning.
"You left the door open."
He eventually turned to face me.
God help me, he looked like sin engraved in stone.
"I can't sleep," I admitted.
"Neither can I."
For a minute, we just stood there, without moving and breathing the same air.
"This thing between us," I began.
"Isn't over," he finished.
My hands trembled.
"Then what are we going to do?"
He approached me slowly and deliberately.
"We begin with the truth. All of it. About Victor. About the past. About us."
He stopped inches away.
"But I need to know something first."
"What?"
His voice was a whisper.
"Did you ever want me the way I wanted you?"
The lie was on the tip of my tongue.
But I couldn't say it.
I just looked at him.
And that was enough.
He closed the distance.
And this time, I didn't step away.