The alarm wasn't loud.
It wasn't the blaring, panicked kind you hear in movies. It was low. Controlled. A deep, pulsing hum that vibrated through the floors and into my bones, like the mansion itself had just woken up.
Marcel released my arm and turned sharply, already issuing commands.
"Lock down the east wing. Seal all exits except Gate One. I want eyes on every corridor."
Guards moved instantly, voices low, footsteps precise. No chaos. No confusion.
This wasn't an emergency.
This was protocol.
I stood frozen beside the dining table, my brother's face flashing in my mind—his crooked smile, the way he always tried to act brave even when he was scared.
"You said he was safe," I whispered again, my voice barely working.
Marcel didn't look at me. "He was safe under my control."
"That's not an answer."
He finally faced me, his expression carved from ice. "It's the only one that matters."
The alarm stopped as suddenly as it started. Silence rushed in, heavier than the sound had been.
"Come," he said.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere no one else can reach you."
Fear spiked. "I don't want to be hidden away like a prisoner."
His eyes flicked to me. "Elena, if someone was bold enough to move your brother, they won't hesitate to use you next."
"I thought you said you weren't cruel."
"I'm not," he replied calmly. "But I am efficient."
He led me out of the dining hall and into a corridor I hadn't seen before. The mansion felt different now—less like a gilded cage, more like a fortress preparing for war. Hidden doors slid open silently. Guards stood at intersections, hands resting near concealed weapons.
I hugged myself, trying to steady my breathing.
"Who would do this?" I asked. "Who would challenge you?"
Marcel didn't answer right away.
That terrified me more than anything.
We descended a private elevator, deep underground. The doors opened into a space that felt nothing like the rest of the house—cold steel, glass walls, glowing screens. A command center.
Maps pulsed with red and blue markers. Surveillance feeds flickered across massive displays. Men and women in dark suits spoke in hushed, urgent tones.
This wasn't just a powerful man's home.
This was an empire.
Marcel walked in, and the room subtly shifted. Conversations stopped. People straightened.
"Report," he said.
A woman stepped forward. "The transfer happened thirty minutes ago. Hospital records were altered, security loops replaced. Whoever did this had inside access—or resources comparable to ours."
My heart dropped. "You mean someone like you."
Marcel's jaw tightened. "Yes."
He turned to another screen. "Any demands?"
"Not yet."
He nodded once. "They'll contact us. People who take leverage always do."
Leverage.
My brother reduced to a word.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself. "This is my fault."
Marcel's gaze snapped to me.
"If I hadn't tried to run—"
"Stop," he said sharply.
The room went very still.
"This is not punishment," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "This is a declaration of war."
War.
The word echoed in my head.
He dismissed the room with a gesture. "Clear this level. I want privacy."
One by one, they left. Screens dimmed. Doors sealed.
Now it was just the two of us.
I hugged my arms tighter. "You said I was bait."
"Yes."
"You're using me."
"I'm protecting you," he corrected.
"By turning me into a target?"
He stepped closer. "You already were one the moment you became my wife."
I laughed weakly. "You make it sound like I chose this."
"You didn't," he admitted. "But now you're in it."
I looked up at him. "Then tell me the truth. Who are you really fighting?"
For the first time, Marcel hesitated.
That single pause cracked something open in me.
"There are families," he said finally. "Old money. Old power. They don't appear in headlines. They don't tolerate disruption."
"And you disrupted them."
A humorless smile touched his lips. "I replaced them."
My blood ran cold.
"They think taking your brother will destabilize me," he continued. "Force me to negotiate."
"And will it?"
"No."
The certainty in his voice was terrifying.
"What happens to people who challenge you?" I asked quietly.
He looked at me for a long moment. "They disappear."
Panic surged. "Then my brother—"
"Is alive," Marcel said firmly. "For now."
I swallowed hard. "Then let me help."
He frowned. "You don't understand what you're asking."
"I understand that you need me," I said, forcing my voice steady. "You said it yourself. I'm bait. So let me choose to be."
His eyes searched my face, as if trying to decide whether I was brave or foolish.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because he's all I have left."
The silence stretched between us.
Finally, Marcel exhaled slowly. "If you do this, there is no pretending anymore."
"Pretending what?"
"That you're just a victim."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "From this moment on, every move you make will be watched. Every word will be weighed. People will smile at you while calculating how to break you."
I met his gaze. "I'm already broken."
"No," he said quietly. "You're untested."
He turned toward one of the screens and tapped a command. An image appeared—grainy, zoomed in.
My breath caught.
It was my brother.
Alive. Restrained, but conscious. His eyes darted nervously around a dim room.
Tears burned my vision. "Where is he?"
Marcel's expression hardened. "That's the problem."
The image shifted.
A symbol was carved into the wall behind my brother.
Marcel went very still.
"What is that?" I whispered.
"A signature," he said.
My stomach twisted. "Whose?"
He looked at me, something dark and dangerous rising in his eyes.
"The one enemy I hoped would never notice you."
The screen went black.
And somewhere above us, the mansion lights flickered—once, twice—like a warning.
The hunt had begun.