Lelo had always been good at pretending not to notice things.
She could sit in a room full of adults and make them forget she was even there. Small, quiet, obedient. A child. That's what they saw. But under her lashes, her eyes moved like a hawk's — catching things others missed. The shift in tone, the twitch of a jaw, the way a glance lingered just a second too long.
It started with Serene.
At first, it was small. The way she stopped humming when she cooked. The way her eyes flickered toward the clock too often, like she was counting hours instead of living them. Lelo caught her once staring at her phone, not texting, not scrolling — just staring — as if waiting for something that never came.
Then came the whispering.
Serene had never whispered around her before. She'd always talked to her like an equal, like Lelo could handle anything. But now, she bent down to whisper things in her ear, soft and cloying. "Be good today, okay?" "I love you. Always remember that."
Love.
Lelo had never trusted that word.
She didn't know what exactly Serene was planning, but she knew it wasn't good. Not for Papa. Not for her. Not for anyone.
And Papa — he noticed too.
He'd been different lately. Not loud, not angry. Just... alert. Like a snake coiled and waiting, sensing the vibration of something just beyond reach. He watched Serene like he used to watch the stock market — carefully, calculating risk. His touch had changed too. Not rough, but possessive. A hand at the small of her back that didn't ask — it warned. Fingers on her chin that tilted her face up like she was a doll who had forgotten her place.
Lelo didn't flinch when she saw it.
She didn't need to ask what it meant.
She knew.
Then, that morning, Papa told her she wouldn't be going home after school. That she'd be staying over at her grandmother's.
He said it like it was casual. Like it was nothing.
But it was everything.
Because Papa didn't make last-minute decisions. Papa didn't like interruptions. And Papa never sent Lelo away unless something was about to happen — something he didn't want her to see.
Her grandmother's house smelled of old wood, too much furniture, and powdered perfume. Lelo sat there, swinging her feet beneath the table, untouched snacks on a plate in front of her, eyes fixed out the window like she could see beyond the streets and rooftops and miles.
She wasn't angry. Not confused. Just... still.
She knew Serene was trying to run.
She didn't know how, or when, or with who — but she felt it. Like the air before lightning.
And if Serene thought Papa wouldn't notice, if she thought he was distracted or softened or slow —
She was wrong.
Lelo didn't know what Papa would do.
But she knew he would do something.
Because Roman Ashborne didn't lose. Not games. Not power. Not people. And certainly not a woman who still wore his last name.
Lelo looked back down at the untouched cookie, the chipped floral plate, her tiny hands curled in her lap.
She didn't cry.
She didn't pout.
She waited.
Because Papa wasn't the only one who knew how to hold his breath before the storm.
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