The staff froze when they saw her storming through the hall barefoot.
"Miss Wren—" one of the housemaids started, clutching her apron.
"I need to see Mr. Hale."
"But ma'am, he doesn't receive anyone this early—"
They exchanged uneasy looks. Someone muttered, "No one enters his room without permission."
But Lena didn't stop. She reached the tall mahogany door and pushed her way in,ignoring the startled protests behind her.The hinges gave a deep groan, as the sound sliced through the still morning.
"Let her be," he said to the stunned staff without raising his voice.They hesitated, then bowed their heads and slipped away, closing the door softly behind them.
Lena stood in the middle of the room, her chest rising and falling as the phone trembled in her hand.
"Someone is threatening me," she said, stepping closer.
She shoved the phone almost into his face. "Look at it! I got this message last night from an anonymous number. They said 'You're not Amara. Leave before he buries you too.'"
He looked at the screen with the same unreadable expression.Then, without a word,he brushed past her without a word, reaching for the dark robe hanging by the chaise-–a black silk,with faint embroidery at the cuffs.
Lena's voice cracked. "Did you not hear what I just said?
"I heard you," he said quietly.
"Then say something! Whoever it is, they know that I'm not her! Does that not bother you?"
He adjusted the robe over his shoulders before turning to her. His expression was unreadable,only the faintest trace of exhaustion at the edges.
"What bothers me, Miss Rowan," he said finally, "is that I can't seem to trust you."
Her breath hitched.She blinked,taken aback by the pivot. "What—what do you mean?"
He walked past her again, crossing to the desk as the robe whispered faintly against the rug as he moved. From one of the drawers, he withdrew something small and metallic, placing it on the desk with quiet precision.It caught the light and she could make out that it was a camera.
"You've been tampering with evidence," he said.
She stared at it. Then at him. "Evidence?"
"I placed surveillance throughout the estate after the accident," he said evenly. "Including your quarters. For security." He paused, letting the word hang between them. "You destroyed one."
"You're admitting that you've been filming me? Without my consent. Do you know how crazy that sounds?" Her voice sharpened.
"Monitoring. Don't be dramatic"
Her pulse surged in her ears. "You plastered cameras in my room," she said slowly,disbelief twisting through her. "To monitor me? For what, Mr Hale? To make sure I breathe like her? Sleep like her? Smile on cue?" Her laugh came out brittle. "You should be lucky I haven't reported this to the police."
He leaned back against the desk, unbothered, watching her like she was the one being ridiculous. "You think that would go well for you? A woman pretending to be another, under a signed contract?"
Her gaze darted to the floor, as well as the ceiling trying to remember all the times she might've been seen without knowing. The times she had wanted to not make use of the dressing room.The thought made her stomach turn.
"Jesus," she whispered.
He saw the realization flicker across her face and said,almost sharply, "Don't be foolish.I could never do such a thing."
She met his eyes. "There's no telling what you can or cannot do."
Something like amusement touched his mouth, but it was faint."So you think I'd want to kill you?" he asked."Like the message says?"
Her voice came out low and steady,laced with venom."It wouldn't be much of a stretch for you,would it? 'Billionaire's girlfriend tragically passes away after near-fall accident.'" She tilted her head, mocking his tone. "Locals claim she was getting better."
He smiled the kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes."You're still useful to me," he murmured."So don't count your luck yet."
The air between them crackled. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. Every instinct screamed to hit him, scream at him,anything–but she didn't. Instead, she turned on her heel.
"You are such a monster Mr Hale," she said softly, and left the room before her voice could break.
—
By mid day, Damon Hale had already been awake for hours.
He stood by the tall windows of his office, the ones that overlooked the clipped lawns and glinting glass roofs of the greenhouse. The blazing sun threw long, pale bands across the room, illuminating the fine dust that hung motionless in the air.
He had now changed from the loose shirt and robe into his usual dark tailored suit,the tie knotted with mechanical precision. His hair was slicked back now, every trace of sleep has long been scrubbed away.
The phone on his desk buzzed once as he pressed the speaker button without looking up.
"Report," he said.
A male voice came through."Sir, we ran a trace on the message Miss Wren received. It was sent from a prepaid device.No GPS signature,but it pinged a local cell tower three miles from the estate perimeter. We're pulling surveillance from the service roads now."
Damon leaned back,expression unreadable. "What time?"
"00:41. Roughly past midnight."
He nodded slowly,thumb dragging against the line of his jaw. "That's within range of the outer fence."
"Yes, sir. But no cameras picked up movement. Whoever it was,they avoided the sightlines."
"Meaning they've been here before."
The man hesitated on the line. "Possibly."
Damon's gaze flicked toward one of the screens — the front gate,frozen on a still frame of Lena stepping out the day before, sunlight spilling over her hair. A faint muscle in his cheek twitched.
"Run a cross-check," he said. "Every delivery vehicle, every driver that's come through the estate in the past seventy-two hours. I want license plates, faces, ID cards. If there's one discrepancy, flag it."
"Understood."
He pressed his fingers together, elbows resting lightly on the desk. "And send a memo to Clara.She coordinates with security from now on.
"Yes, sir."
He paused. "And I want a background check on every staff member currently inside the house. Everything must be discreet. This mustn't get out to the public."
"Understood."
The line went silent. Damon exhaled slowly, then reached for the second phone. He dialed another number.
"Clara," he said when the line picked up.
"Mr. Hale."
"I'm sending you a copy of the message Miss Rowan received. Forward it to Cyber Security. I want an identity profile, any digital residue that could tie to an IP or burner line."
"Of course."
"And Clara," he added with a tinge of firmness.
"Yes?"
"Effective immediately, Miss Rowan doesn't leave the property without my approval. Not for errands, not for air. If she asks why, tell her to refer all questions to me."
There was a short perceptible pause. "You think whoever sent the message might try to make contact again?"
"I think people don't issue warnings unless they plan to follow through."
Another pause. "Understood, sir."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing for a brief moment. "And make sure security rotates fresh personnel tonight. No one who's worked more than a week here stays on the grounds. If this is internal—"
"We'll find out. You always do"
He let out a stiff laugh. "That's what I'm worried about."