The smell of warm pastries and fresh coffee drifted into the bedroom, pulling Ayla from her sleep. She blinked slowly, stretching her legs beneath the soft sheets before sitting up. The golden morning light spilled through the curtains, making the room feel deceptively peaceful.
Her gaze fell on the tray neatly arranged on the side table—croissants, fresh fruit, a small pot of honey, and her favorite tea. Leon's attention to detail was always sharp, but something about the careful arrangement felt… deliberate, as if he was trying too hard to make everything perfect.
She slipped out of bed, wrapping the robe around her before stepping into the living area. Leon stood near the window, his back to her, sleeves rolled up, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. The faint reflection in the glass showed his face—tense, distant, as though his mind was miles away.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.
Leon turned instantly, a small smile tugging at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're awake."
She glanced at the tray. "Breakfast in bed? I didn't know you could be this… domestic."
His chuckle was short, almost mechanical. "You should eat before it gets cold."
Ayla tilted her head, studying him. "You're being nice. Too nice."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "Is that a bad thing?"
"Not unless you're trying to distract me," she said softly, moving closer. "You've got that look… the same one you had the day you found me after the death of one my favorite worker of yours. What's wrong?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. His fingers tightened slightly around his coffee mug, his jaw flexing as though holding back words.
"Leon," she pressed, placing a hand on his arm. "Tell me."
He finally met her gaze, and the quiet weight in his eyes made her stomach twist. "Something happened last night, Ayla… and I don't know how to tell you without hurting you."
Her heartbeat quickened. "Just say it."
Leon took a deep breath. "Viper's house was attacked. It was an ambush… no one made it out alive."
Her face went pale. "My father?"
He gave a slow, regretful nod. "I'm sorry."
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Ayla's knees weakened, but Leon was already there, pulling her into his arms before she could stumble. She gripped his shirt, her voice breaking. "No… he can't be…"
Leon rested his chin on her head. "There's one thing you should know—Kalen survived. He was hurt, but nothing serious. Just scratches. He called Nico after the attackers left, and I got the news early this morning."
A sob escaped her, relief and grief colliding inside her chest. "Kalen…"
Leon held her tighter. "I've already called for my jet. We'll leave as soon as you're ready."