The Blake estate was silent when Ayla woke in the middle of the night. The clock beside her bed read 2:43 a.m., and the heavy curtains did little to stop the silver glow of the moon spilling across the room.
She didn't know what woke her at first—until she heard it. A faint sound. A whisper of movement beyond her door.
Her pulse quickened. She slipped out of bed, pulling her robe around her, and padded quietly to the door. The hallway was dark, the sconces casting soft pools of light that made every shadow feel alive. For a moment, she considered going back to bed, telling herself it was nothing.
But something deep in her gut told her otherwise.
---
The sound came again. Not footsteps, exactly, but the faint creak of a floorboard. Ayla followed the sound, moving carefully down the hall, past the grand staircase and toward the wing of the house Adrian rarely let her enter.
The deeper she went, the colder the air felt, as though the house itself knew she wasn't supposed to be there. At the end of the corridor, a single door stood ajar, light spilling out in a thin line.
She hesitated, her breath shallow. Then, slowly, she pushed the door open.
Inside was a study, lined wall to wall with books and antique furniture. But her attention was drawn to the massive mahogany desk in the center, where a laptop screen glowed faintly. On it, a set of schematics filled the display—the same Orion Tower project Adrian had shown her. Only this time, red marks and notes sprawled across the design, along with a single word scrawled at the top of the page in digital ink:
"Eliminate."
Before she could process it, a voice broke the silence behind her.
"You really don't know how to stay where you're told, do you?"
Ayla spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Adrian stood in the doorway, his face shadowed by the dim light, his expression unreadable.
"I… I heard something," she stammered. "And I saw the light. I wasn't—"
"Spare me the excuses." His voice was calm, but the tension in it was unmistakable. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You're playing with matches in a room full of gasoline, Ayla."
Her fear flared, but so did her anger. "What is this? Who's trying to eliminate the project? And why am I being dragged into something I don't understand?"
Adrian's eyes locked with hers, cold and piercing. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he walked toward her until he was only inches away.
"You're involved," he said softly, "because someone wants you to be. Whether you realize it or not, you're leverage. And in my world, leverage gets people killed."
Her breath hitched. "So what, I'm just bait now? Your bargaining chip?"
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips—not warmth, but something darker. "Not bait. A piece on the board. The difference is how you play the game."
---
The tension between them was electric, charged with fear and something neither of them dared to name. Ayla met his gaze, refusing to back down despite the way her heart pounded.
"If I'm part of this game," she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "then I want to know the rules. All of them."
Adrian studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch was brief, almost gentle, but it sent a shock through her.
"Rules," he murmured. "Rule one: Trust no one. Not even me. Especially not me."
Before she could respond, the faint echo of voices drifted in from somewhere beyond the study. Both of them froze. Adrian's demeanor shifted instantly, his eyes hardening like steel.
"Go back to your room," he whispered, his tone sharp and commanding. "Lock the door and stay there until morning."
Ayla opened her mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced her. Without another word, she slipped out of the room, her footsteps quick and silent against the marble floor.
As she retreated down the hall, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another message from the same unknown number as before:
"He can't protect you forever. And when he falls… you'll fall with him."
Her fingers tightened around the phone, a chill crawling down her spine. She didn't know who to trust anymore—not even the man who held her family's fate in his hands.
---
Back in her room, Ayla locked the door and sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts racing. For the first time, the lines between survival, loyalty, and something dangerously close to desire blurred in ways she didn't want to admit.
Somewhere in the dark halls of the estate, Adrian Blake was fighting a war she didn't understand. And whether she liked it or not, she was now a part of it.