The morning after the Council session, the estate buzzed like a hive of restless bees. Servants hurried down corridors with trays and folders. Rosa barked orders at assistants. Ethan stalked around with his tablet, his expression grim as always.
Lyn, however, had only one thought swirling in her head:
Ask Michael.
The hooded figure's words clung to her like wet clothes. She hadn't slept properly. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that crooked smile in the gallery, the message on her phone, the weight of her locket.
Now she sat in the breakfast room, staring at a plate of pancakes she'd begged the chef to make. They looked perfect—golden, fluffy, stacked high. But her appetite had gone missing.
Michael entered silently, as he always did. One moment, the doorway was empty; the next, he was there, dark suit immaculate, hair brushed back, eyes sharp as blades. He sat across from her without a word.
She pushed the pancakes toward him. "Want some?"
He arched a brow. "You hate sharing food."
"I'm generous when I'm nervous," she admitted.
His gaze sharpened instantly. "Why are you nervous?"
Her throat went dry. She fiddled with her fork. "Hypothetically speaking… if someone said you broke a promise, what would that mean?"
He stilled. Not a flicker of expression, not a blink. Just stillness, so complete it made her want to squirm.
"Who said that?" His voice was calm, too calm.
"No one," she said quickly. "Just—just a dream I had."
"Lyn." His tone dropped, warning and gentle all at once.
She stared at him, heart pounding. Should I tell him? Should I ask him outright?
Her courage wavered. The memory of the hooded smile slithered into her thoughts.
Instead, she forced a laugh. "Relax. It was just a stupid dream. Don't look like you're about to declare war on my subconscious."
For a moment, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he reached forward, plucked one of her pancakes, and took a bite.
"You used too much syrup," he said, as though the entire conversation had evaporated.
Her jaw dropped. "I didn't even put syrup yet!"
His lips twitched. Barely. "Exactly."
Michael's POV
She thought she hid it well.
But Michael had built an empire on watching people pretend. He saw the tremor in her fingers when she set down her fork. He saw the way her eyes darted to the locket at her throat. He heard the hesitation in her voice when she asked about promises.
The hooded figure had reached her. Again.
His fury was silent, a storm banked beneath layers of steel.
But he could not tell her the truth. Not yet.
He remembered the day of that promise like it was carved into his bones. A summer afternoon years ago, when they were young. She had been sickly, fragile, too often hidden away. He had promised her two things:
That he would protect her. And that if she forgot him, he would remind her.
One promise he had kept. The other…
His jaw tightened. He had failed her once, in ways she could never know.
And now some shadow was using that failure as a weapon.
Lyn's POV
The rest of breakfast was a strange blur. Michael ate her pancakes with alarming seriousness, like each bite was part of some grand strategy. She managed to nibble at toast, though her stomach was too knotted to enjoy it.
Finally, she set her fork down. "I'm going for a walk."
"I'll come with you," he said immediately.
"You don't have to."
"I will."
"You're impossible."
"You married impossible," he said.
She choked on her juice. "We're not married!"
His expression didn't change. "Yet."
She smacked her forehead. "I'm going to die young. Not from curses. From you."
Daren's muffled laugh carried from outside the door. Kai muttered, "Statistically accurate."
Lyn stomped out of the room, dragging Michael with her because he refused to let her walk alone.
Michael's POV
He let her tease. Let her throw up walls of humor. It was her defense.
But inside, the shadow's words coiled like smoke. Ask Michael.
He had to keep her safe—not just from the world, but from the truth that stalked them both.
Yet he knew one thing with certainty: sooner or later, she would demand an answer.
And when that day came, he would have to choose. To tell her the promise he had already broken… or to break her trust trying to keep it.
That night, as Lyn curled on the balcony with a blanket and her phone clutched in her hand, Michael stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching. She didn't know he was there.
She thought she was alone when she whispered into the night, "Who are you? What do you really want from me?"
The wind stirred the chimes. Off-key again.
And Michael's heart sank, because he realized the enemy wasn't just chasing her.
The enemy was already here.