The mansion had never felt so quiet.
Not peaceful.
Quiet.
There was a difference.
The silence that followed violence was never peaceful. It was the kind that settled over a place after everyone had seen something they could never unsee.
She stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at her hands.
They were clean.
She had washed them six times.
Maybe seven.
She couldn't remember.
But she could still see the blood.
Her uncle's blood.
The image replayed in her mind every time she blinked.
His body lying across the marble floor.
His eyes wide.
His mouth slightly open as if he had died trying to say something.
She gripped the edge of the sink.
Her breathing became uneven.
"Stop."
She whispered the word to her reflection.
"Stop thinking about it."
But her mind refused.
The gunshots.
The screaming.
The shattered chandelier.
His arms around her.
The way he had thrown himself over her without hesitation.
And then—
You used my wedding as bait!
Yes.
Her eyes burned.
She hated him.
She hated his calmness.
His ruthlessness.
The way death seemed to follow him everywhere.
But what frightened her most was the question she couldn't answer.
Why had he protected her?
A knock sounded against the door.
She immediately straightened.
Her hand slipped beneath her sleeve.
The small knife was still there.
"Who is it?"
Silence.
Her fingers tightened around the handle.
"Who?"
The door opened.
He stepped inside.
She immediately moved backward.
"Get out."
He closed the door behind him.
His suit was still stained with blood.
Some of it belonged to strangers.
Some of it belonged to his men.
She didn't want to know whose.
"You should be sleeping," he said.
"I'm not interested in sleeping."
His gaze moved over her face.
Then to her hands.
"You've washed them six times."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Are you keeping count?"
"I'm keeping an eye on you."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
At least he was honest.
She turned away from him.
"I don't want you here."
"I know."
"Then leave."
He didn't.
She looked over her shoulder.
"Did you come here to remind me that I'm your wife?"
His jaw tightened.
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because after what happened tonight, you're not safe alone."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
"Safe?"
She turned around.
"Is that what you call what happened tonight?"
He remained silent.
"You knew."
"I suspected."
"You knew enough to put snipers on the roof."
"Yes."
"You knew enough to position armed men around every exit."
"Yes."
"You knew enough to have your men watching the guests."
"Yes."
Her voice rose.
"And you still brought me there."
His expression hardened.
"I couldn't cancel the wedding."
"Couldn't?"
She stepped toward him.
"You couldn't cancel your precious wedding?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because cancelling it would've exposed what I knew."
She stared at him.
"People were going to die."
"I know."
"My uncle died."
"I know."
"And you're standing here telling me you knew something was coming."
"I didn't know who would be targeted."
She laughed bitterly.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything."
"Then what do you expect?"
His eyes held hers.
"That you survive."
She went silent.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then she walked toward him.
"You used me."
"Yes."
"You used my family."
"Yes."
"You turned my wedding into a trap."
"Yes."
Her hand moved before she could think.
He caught her wrist.
The room went still.
She stared at his hand around her wrist.
"Let go."
He released her immediately.
She rubbed her wrist and glared at him.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I know."
"You don't even care."
His expression changed.
Barely.
But she saw it.
Something flickered behind his eyes.
"I care more than you think."
She almost laughed.
"That's supposed to comfort me?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"The truth."
He looked away.
She noticed the movement.
Then she saw the tear in his shirt.
There was blood underneath it.
"You were hit."
He glanced down.
"It's nothing."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're bleeding."
"I've been bleeding before."
"You said that before."
She remembered the reception.
Not mine.
She stepped closer.
"Sit."
He raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"I said sit."
For the first time that night, the corner of his mouth lifted.
"You've become very commanding."
"I can also become very annoying."
"You already are."
She stared at him.
"Sit down."
He sat.
She opened the medical cabinet and pulled out the supplies.
When she returned, he was watching her.
"Stop staring."
"I'm trying to understand something."
"What?"
"You."
She paused.
"Don't."
"Why?"
"Because you'll be disappointed."
His gaze remained on her.
"I already know you're dangerous."
She pressed the antiseptic against his shoulder.
He flinched.
"Do that again and I'll let you bleed."
"You care."
"I don't."
"You just cleaned my wound."
"I don't want blood on my floor."
He looked around.
"We're in your room."
She froze.
"Exactly."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
She rolled her eyes.
"You're insufferable."
"And you're avoiding the question."
"What question?"
"Why did you protect me?"
Her hands stopped.
She looked at him.
He wasn't smiling anymore.
"I saw the sniper."
Her heart skipped.
"You saw him?"
"I saw the reflection."
"And you still—"
"I wasn't going to let him shoot you."
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
"Why?"
His eyes met hers.
"Because you're mine."
She immediately stepped away.
"I am not a possession."
"I know."
"Then don't say things like that."
He stood.
"You're my wife."
"Because you forced me."
"I know."
"Then don't expect me to suddenly become devoted to you."
"I don't."
"Good."
He stared at her.
"But I do expect you to stay alive."
Before she could answer, his phone rang.
The change in him was immediate.
Every trace of amusement disappeared.
He answered.
"Speak."
She watched his face.
His eyes narrowed.
"What?"
Silence.
"Where?"
Another pause.
"How many?"
His jaw tightened.
"Don't touch anything."
He ended the call.
She immediately knew something was wrong.
"What happened?"
He reached for his jacket.
"One of my men has been found dead."
Her stomach tightened.
"From the attack?"
"No."
He slipped his gun into his waistband.
"He wasn't killed during the shooting."
She stared at him.
"Then when?"
"After."
A chill traveled down her spine.
"Someone came back."
"Yes."
"To kill him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know yet."
She stepped closer.
"Where is he?"
"I'm going to find out."
"I'm coming."
"No."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"Excuse me?"
"You stay here."
"You just told me I'm not safe."
"You'll be safer here."
"Behind your walls?"
"Yes."
"With your guards?"
"Yes."
She folded her arms.
"And what happens when someone inside your walls is the traitor?"
He stopped.
The question hung between them.
His expression became unreadable.
She knew she had struck something.
"You said it was an internal betrayal."
"Yes."
"So you're saying someone who was at my wedding could have helped arrange the attack."
"Yes."
"And you're leaving me here?"
"I've doubled the guards."
"That doesn't answer my question."
He walked toward the door.
She followed.
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Yes."
He turned.
"You don't know what you're walking into."
"Neither did my uncle."
His face hardened.
She stepped closer.
"I'm tired of being the person everyone protects by keeping in the dark."
"You think knowing the truth will make this easier?"
"No."
"Then why?"
Because I'm already involved.
She pointed toward the bloodstained suit hanging from his shoulders.
My uncle died because of your world,her voice cracked.
"So if someone started a war tonight, I want to know why."
His eyes softened for half a second.
Then the cold mask returned.
"Stay behind me."
She gave him a humorless smile.
"I make no promises."
He opened the door.
They stepped into the hallway.
Immediately, four armed guards straightened.
He spoke quietly to them.
"No one enters this floor without my permission."
One of the guards nodded.
She looked at him.
"You really don't trust anyone."
"No."
Not even your men?
Especially my men.
They walked down the stairs.
The mansion was filled with people cleaning the aftermath of the reception.
Broken glass.
Bloodstained carpets.
Bullet holes.
Everyone became silent when they saw them.
No one dared meet his eyes.
She noticed something.
The servants were frightened.
Not of the attack.
Of him.
They reached the back corridor.
Two guards opened a reinforced door.
Beyond it was a private underground passage.
She stopped.
You have a bunker under the house?
Several.,of course you do.
They continued.
The further they went, the colder it became.
Finally, they reached a room.
The door was open.
Two men stood outside.
One looked pale,boss.
He entered.
She followed.
The body lay on the floor.
A man.
One of the guards from the wedding.
His throat had been cut.
But that wasn't what caught her attention.
There was a symbol carved into the man's chest.
She stared at it.
"What is that?"
He didn't answer.
She looked at him.
"You know it."
His expression had changed.
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
He crouched beside the body.
His fingers hovered over the symbol without touching it.
"It means this wasn't random."
She swallowed.
"Then what is it?"
He stood slowly.
"The Black Crown."
The words meant nothing to her.
But judging by the reaction of everyone in the room, they meant everything to them.
One of his men whispered,
"They're back."
He turned sharply.
"Don't say that."
The man's face went pale.
"Boss, if it's really them—"
"I said don't."
She looked between them.
"Who are they?"
Nobody answered.
She stepped closer to him.
Who are the Black Crown?,His eyes met hers.
For the first time since she'd met him, she saw something she had never seen before.
Fear.
Not for himself for her.
People who should have stayed dead,he replied.
Her heart pounded,that's not an answer.
It is the only one you're getting tonight.
"No."
She stepped closer, you dragged me into this.
He stared at her.
"You married me."
His silence was answer enough.
She pointed at the body.
"Then tell me the truth."
He looked at the symbol again.
Then back at her.
"The Black Crown disappeared eight years ago."
"And now they're back?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
His face became cold.
"Because someone gave them a reason to return."
She felt a strange pressure in her chest.
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into the dead man's jacket.
He pulled out a small black envelope.
Her eyes immediately went to it.
"What is that?"
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
He stared at it.
Then his expression changed.
She stepped forward.
"What?"
He didn't respond.
She snatched the photograph from his hand.
Her breath caught.
It was a picture of her.
Not from the wedding.
Not from tonight.
It had been taken weeks earlier.
She was standing outside a café.
On the back, four words had been written in black ink.
"WE KNOW WHO SHE IS"
She looked up slowly.
"What does this mean?"
He took the photograph from her.
His eyes were dark.
"It means they weren't after your uncle."
She felt the blood drain from her face.
"Then who?"
He looked directly at her.
"You."
The room suddenly felt too small.
She shook her head.
"Why me?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't know yet."
She stared at him.
"And you're going to find out?"
"Yes."
"What if they come for me?"
His answer was immediate.
"Then they'll have to come through me first."
She didn't know whether that should comfort her.
Because for the first time, she realized something far more terrifying than the attack.
Her marriage hadn't made her part of his world.
It had made her a target.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond those walls, someone had been watching her long before she ever knew his name.
The war had begun.
But perhaps, she had been the main reason all along.