(Lyn's POV with glimpses of Michael)
Lyn woke to sunlight, birdsong, and the distinct smell of pastry.
Her first thought: The hooded figure. The photo. The charm.
Her second: Did I really yell at both men by the river like a caffeinated debate coach?
Her third: Why is there a croissant on my pillow?
She sat up slowly. The croissant perched like a crown beside her head, buttery and smug. A note was pinned to it: "Sugar stabilizes trauma. – Daren"
A groan escaped her. "He's going to make me diabetic."
The basil plant on her desk looked aggressively cheerful in the sunlight. The fountain-shaped charm she'd placed beside it still glinted, dent catching the morning light like a wink. The photo—she hadn't dared look at it again—was locked in her nightstand drawer, but she swore she could feel its rectangular weight through the wood.
Her locket lay heavy on her chest. She touched it with two fingers, thumb brushing the inscription. For the day you forget, I'll remind you.
"Remind me of what?" she whispered.
Breakfast was awkward.
Michael was already at the table when she arrived, immaculate as always, coffee in hand. He didn't look up when she entered, but the weight of his presence was enough to press the air flat.
Ethan stood behind him, tablet balanced on one arm like a shield. Rosa sat two seats down, flipping through papers so quickly it felt like an act of war. Kai lurked near the window, expression unreadable. Daren leaned against the doorframe, eating something suspiciously crunchy that wasn't on the menu.
"Morning," Lyn said carefully.
"Eat," Michael replied.
She glanced at the plate. Pancakes again. Someone had cut them into perfect even quarters, like geometry homework.
"Right," she said, picking up her fork. "Because nothing says 'post-midnight confrontation with mysterious stalker' like carbohydrates."
Rosa's pen froze mid-scratch. Her eyes flicked to Michael, then back to Lyn. "Excuse me?"
Oops.
Michael's hand tightened around his coffee cup. "Lyn."
"It was a joke," she said quickly, stabbing a pancake square. "You know. Ha ha. Ha."
Daren whispered to Kai, "That's the 'ha' of a guilty person."
Kai didn't blink. "It's the ha of someone alive. Don't ruin it."
The silence stretched.
Finally, Rosa set her pen down with surgical precision. "Mr. Lawrence, if Miss Amster is… receiving visits, we need to escalate security."
Lyn nearly choked on syrup. "Visits? That makes it sound like I invited him in for tea!"
"Did you?" Rosa asked coolly.
"No!" Lyn sputtered. "Unless tea means cryptic riddles and emotional trauma."
Daren raised a hand. "I'd drink that tea."
"Sit down," Kai muttered, dragging him toward a chair.
Michael hadn't moved. He hadn't looked at her. He simply set the coffee down, untouched, and said quietly, "We'll discuss it later."
Lyn's chest tightened. He wasn't angry in the loud way. He was angry in the still way. The way rivers looked calm until they swallowed cities.
She escaped breakfast by declaring an urgent need to "practice walking without tripping over furniture." Rosa's withering look suggested she didn't buy it.
In the garden, she collapsed onto a bench under a magnolia tree, dropping her head into her hands.
"Okay, Lyn," she muttered. "Step one: survive creepy hooded figure. Step two: don't alienate billionaire tycoon who might or might not have broken promises. Step three: stop eating trauma pancakes."
The basil plant was probably laughing at her from upstairs.
Michael found her there an hour later. He moved silently, as always, until his shadow cut across her lap.
"You left without telling me," he said.
She groaned. "I went to the garden. Not the underworld."
His jaw flexed. "You shouldn't have gone to the river."
Her heart jumped. He knew. He knew.
"You followed me," she accused.
"I always follow you."
Her throat tightened. "That's not comforting."
"It isn't meant to be."
She shot to her feet, frustration boiling. "Michael, you promised! Two promises, remember? One was to protect me, fine, you're doing that so well I can't breathe. But the other—" Her voice cracked. "The other was to let me choose. To let me go if I wanted."
The words hung between them, hot and trembling.
For once, his mask cracked. His eyes burned with something raw, sharp, and afraid. "Say the word, Lyn. Say you don't want me, and I'll let you go."
Her stomach dropped. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Because the truth was messy. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to stay chained, either.
"I…" she whispered.
He stepped closer. Too close. "You can't," he said softly, fiercely. "Because part of you remembers. Even if you don't know it yet."
Her breath shook. "That's not fair."
"No," he said, voice breaking on the edge of gentleness. "It's not."
(Michael's brief POV)
He wanted to grab her wrist, to press her palm flat over his chest and say: It's yours. Everything I am. Every empire I've built. Every shadow I've collected. Yours. Keep it or burn it; I will not resist.
But her eyes were wide with doubt, and if he pressed too hard now, she would break in a way that wouldn't heal.
So he only stepped back, hands at his sides, and said, "Stay in the estate tonight."
He left before she could answer.
Lyn's POV
The day dragged like a broken song. Servants whispered about doubled patrols. Rosa snapped at everyone within five feet. Ethan muttered about "weak points in the perimeter." Kai spent three hours staring at a hedge, and Daren tried (and failed) to teach the glitter drone to carry pastries.
Lyn felt like the photo in her nightstand was burning a hole through the floor.
When evening came, she sat in her room, knees hugged to her chest, staring at the charm shaped like a fountain. Her thumb traced the dent again and again.
She remembered the words etched in the stone on the photo's front. First and last catastrophe.
Catastrophe.
That was what Michael was, wasn't he? Her first and maybe her last. A storm that held her steady and knocked her sideways at the same time.
Her phone buzzed. She flinched.
STAY INSIDE TONIGHT.
Her pulse spiked. She almost typed back, Michael, stop being bossy, but froze. The number wasn't his.
It was new.
Her skin went cold.
THE PROMISE ISN'T BROKEN YET. BUT HE WILL BREAK IT. LIKE BEFORE.
Her throat closed. She typed quickly: Who are you? Why do you keep saying "before"?
No answer.
The message dissolved into silence.
She curled tighter on the bed, locket against her lips, the fountain charm digging into her palm.
"Which one of you do I believe?" she whispered.
The wind chime outside trembled off-key.
And somewhere in the estate, a door creaked open where no one should have been.