The morning sunlight spilled into the grand dining hall. It was soft gold across the marble floors. Alexa came down the staircase quietly, her steps careful, her mind was still heavy with the weight of the night before. She had barely slept, turning over Marcus's words again and again, his anger cutting deeper than she had ever expected.
She had faced guns, knives, and even shadows from her past without flinching. But Marcus's cold voice? That alone had haunted her.
He was already seated at the head of the table, his papers by his side, and his coffee untouched. His dark eyes flicked up when she entered—but they held none of the warmth she had seen before. Just a chill, a barrier.
"Good morning," she said softly, almost shyly. Her voice carried an apology wrapped within it, a plea for him to hear what she couldn't quite bring herself to say outright.
Marcus gave a small nod, nothing more. His eyes dropped back to the file in front of him.
She swallowed hard, summoning her courage. "About last night… I—I shouldn't have said what I did. I didn't mean it like that. I just—"
"Alexa." His voice cut sharp as a blade, not cruel, but firm, dismissive. "We don't need to talk about it."
Her breath hitched. He didn't even look at her. Not once. His eyes were just on the papers, coffee, silence.
The sting burned more than she cared to admit. She forced a smile, brittle and thin. "I understand."
The words felt like glass in her throat.
She turned, blinking back the heat in her eyes, reminding herself she wasn't supposed to be fragile, wasn't supposed to care this much.
But just as she reached the staircase to call Aaron down, her steps froze.
Nina was already there—draped in soft lavender, her hand gently guiding Aaron's small one as they descended. She bent low, whispering something that made him laugh, a sound too innocent for the venom Alexa knew lingered behind Nina's every smile.
"Careful, sweetheart," Nina cooed, brushing imaginary dust off Aaron's shoulder, her tone sickeningly maternal. "We don't want you to trip."
Aaron nodded, clutching his toy car, and leaned closer to her as though she belonged there, as though she had every right to hold him that way.
The sight twisted in Alexa's chest, sharper than any blade.
Nina's eyes flicked up, meeting Alexa's. A sly smile ghosted over her lips, too subtle for Marcus to notice—but unmistakably victorious.
Alexa's hands clenched at her sides, her apology dying on her lips, replaced with silence.
And in that silence, something inside her broke just a little.
Scene 2: You can't claim anything.... yet
The clinking of cutlery filled the dining hall. A hollow sound echoed in the heavy silence. Alexa sat stiffly beside Aaron, as she watched as he poked at his eggs half-heartedly while Marcus was across from them, still focused on his plate, his expression unreadable.
Then, without warning, Marcus spoke.
"Nina. Join us."
The air shifted. Alexa's fork froze mid-air. Nina, who had been lingering by the doorway with a perfectly calculated sweetness, glided into the room as though she had been waiting for that invitation all along.... which she was though.
"Of course," she said smoothly, her smile all silk and poison.
But instead of sliding into one of the open seats, she sank gracefully into the chair that Alexa always used. Alexa blinked, as her lips parted.
"That's—" she started, her voice steady but edged with disbelief.
Before she could finish, Marcus's voice sliced the air like ice.
"You don't have the right to claim anything in this mansion, Alexa."
The words struck harder than she could prepare for. Her chest tightened, and her breath caught, but she forced herself to still keep her composure. Her pale eyes flickered toward him, searching for some crack in his armor, some trace of the man who had brushed Aaron's hair so tenderly, or the man who had once said she did a good job. But all she found was stone.
Even Aaron noticed. The boy looked back and forth between his father and Alexa, his small hands curling into fists. "Papa," he said quietly, "that's not fair—"
"Enough, Aaron," Marcus snapped, his tone as cold as steel.
"But papa, that's Alexa's—" Aaron tried to speak again.
"I said enough, one more word from you and I'll send you to the YOTTA" Marcus said, like it meant nothing, like it was a playground when everyone knew it was the opposite.
The sharpness of it cut the boy down instantly. Aaron's face crumpled, his small body trembling as he shoved back his chair. His eyes, bright with tears he refused to shed, darted to Alexa's before he turned and bolted from the room.
"Aaron—" Alexa whispered, her chair screeching against the marble as she rose.
She didn't spare Marcus or Nina another glance. She simply hurried after the boy, her steps quick, her heart pounding with something between anger and pain.
Nina's lips curved in satisfaction, her hand brushing lightly against Marcus's arm as though to stake a silent claim.
Marcus, jaw tight, didn't react. But the silence he wore was louder than any words.
Scene 3: What's YOTTA
Aaron sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed tightly, his little chin jutting out in stubborn defiance. His small frame trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of holding back tears. Alexa stepped quietly into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
For a moment, she didn't say anything. She just walked over, crouched down in front of him, and waited.
It was Aaron who broke first."I don't get it," he muttered, his voice raw. "Why's he being so mean? To you… to me…"
Her heart clenched. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that Marcus was blinded by his own scars, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she smoothed his hair back gently, her fingers brushing through the soft strands."Sometimes," Alexa said softly, "grown-ups say things they don't mean. Sometimes they get… lost in their own storms."
"But you didn't do anything wrong," Aaron said fiercely, finally meeting her eyes. "You never do anything wrong, Alexa. You protect me. You play games with me. You're not like…" He stopped himself, biting his lip.
"Not like who?" she asked gently, but Aaron shook his head and buried his face against her shoulder.
For a moment, Alexa just held him. His small arms wrapped tightly around her neck, his fragile but fiery heart pressing close to hers. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected to feel the boy's pain as though it were her own. Her mission, her blades, her secrets—they all seemed to blur in the face of Aaron's small, desperate trust.
"I don't need anyone else," he whispered into her shoulder. "Just you. I don't care if Papa gets mad. You're the only one who doesn't treat me like… like I'm just some heir."
Alexa froze, her throat tightening. This child… he saw her differently. Not as a tool. Not as a spy. Not even as an assassin hiding behind a mask. Just Alexa.
She pulled back slightly, studying his face. His eyes were still watery, but fierce, determined, like Marcus's—yet softer, warmer.
"Aaron…" she murmured. "There's something I need to ask you."
He tilted his head, curious.
"What's… YOTTA?"
The word slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. The moment it left her tongue, she saw it—Aaron's whole body stiffening, his face going pale. His grip on her sleeve tightened like a vice.
"You… you heard that?" he whispered, voice barely audible.
And the room fell into silence, heavy, tense.