The first morning in La Brune didn't bring the sun. Instead, a thick, suffocating fog clung to the mountains, swallowing the world whole.
Ava hadn't slept. She had spent the night pacing the length of her room, counting the steps twelve paces from the velvet bed to the locked mahogany door, eight paces from the vanity to the window.
At exactly 8:00 AM, the bolt slid back with a heavy thud. A maid entered, her eyes fixed on the floor, carrying a tray of porcelain and silver. She was followed by two armed guards who stood like statues at the threshold.
"I want to see Liam," Ava said, her voice raspy from the cold.
The maid didn't answer. She placed the tray on the table and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Ava grabbed her arm. The maid flinched, a flicker of genuine fear crossing her face.
"The Master is busy, Miss," the maid whispered, her voice trembling. "He does not like to be disturbed before the meetings."
"What meetings?" Ava pressed, but the guards stepped forward, their hands resting on their holsters. The message was clear. Ava let go, watching them retreat and lock her back in.
She looked at the breakfast—smoked salmon, fresh fruit, and coffee that smelled of expensive beans. It was a meal fit for a queen, served to a prisoner. She pushed it away. She didn't want his charity; she wanted his truth.
Ava spent the next few hours examining her surroundings. The room was filled with books in languages she couldn't read, but behind a heavy curtain, she found a small door. It was a service elevator, used for laundry, and it was small barely enough for a person of her stature.
He forgot, Ava thought, a small spark of hope igniting in her chest. In his quest to become a tyrant, Liam forgot that I know how to disappear.
She waited until she heard the shift change of the guards at noon. With the digital chip tucked securely into her boot, she squeezed into the cramped, metal space of the elevator. The gears groaned, a sound that felt like thunder in the silent wing, but it began to descend.
When the doors opened, she wasn't in the kitchen. She was in a sub-basement, a place where the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and electricity. This was the nerve center of Liam's new empire.
Through a cracked doorway, she saw them. Liam was standing over a large digital map of Europe. Beside him was Silas and several men in dark suits.
"The Volkovs are moving their assets to Zurich," Silas was saying. "If we strike now, we can decapitate their leadership in one night."
"No," Liam's voice was cold, devoid of the hesitation he once had. "We wait until they think they are safe. I want them to feel the ground disappear beneath them. I want them to know it was a Moretti who ended their lineage."
Ava watched him. The way he leaned over the table, his muscles tensed under his black shirt, he looked like a god of war. But then, he did something that broke her heart. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of golden silk the same piece Ava had kept in her Providence apartment.
He pressed it to his palm, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second, a moment of pure, raw agony.
"Sir?" Silas asked.
Liam's eyes snapped open, the ice returning instantly. He shoved the silk back into his pocket. "Continue. I want the snipers in position by midnight."
Ava gasped, her hand hitting the metal door. The sound echoed through the basement.
"Who's there?" Silas shouted, drawing his weapon.
Ava froze. She had seen the man Liam had become, but she had also seen the piece of her he still carried. Now, she was caught in the lion's den.
The shadows in the basement seemed to stretch and claw at Ava as Silas moved toward the sound. The metallic slide of a gun being cocked rang out—a death knell in the sterile, high-tech room. Ava's heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't run. She couldn't.
"Show yourself!" Silas barked, his weapon leveled at the laundry lift's door.
Ava stepped out from the cramped space, her chin tilted upward despite the trembling in her knees. She looked small against the backdrop of war maps and cold steel, but her eyes were defiant.
"Lower the gun, Silas." Liam's voice didn't rise, but it carried a vibration that froze everyone in the room.
Silas hesitated, his gaze flickering between his master and the intruder. "Sir, she was spying. Protocol dictates—"
"I know what protocol dictates," Liam interrupted, walking slowly toward Ava. The men in the room stepped back, sensing the shift in the air. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees with every step he took. He stopped right in front of her, so close she could feel the cold aura radiating from his skin. "I told you to stay in the North Wing."
"And I told you I wasn't your property," Ava replied, her voice gaining strength.
Liam looked at her for a long, agonizing beat. Then, he turned to Silas. "Clear the room. Now."
Silas looked like he wanted to argue, but one glance at Liam's deadened eyes changed his mind. Within seconds, the basement was empty, leaving only the two of them under the harsh hum of the fluorescent lights.
Liam grabbed her arm—not roughly, but with a firm, inescapable grip—and pulled her toward a private alcove. He slammed his hand against the wall next to her head, pinning her in place.
"You think this is a game?" he hissed, his face inches from hers. "This basement is where I plan the deaths of men who would tear you apart just to see me bleed. You shouldn't have seen that map. You shouldn't have seen me."
"I saw the silk, Liam," Ava whispered, tears finally blurring her vision. "I saw you hold it. You can pretend to be a monster to the world, but I know you're still in there. The man who saved me is still in there."
Liam's jaw tightened so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. He looked like he wanted to scream, or perhaps to break something. "That man died in the fire, Ava! He was weak. He was a fool who thought love could survive in a world of wolves. Look around you! This is my world now. Blood, debt, and shadows."
"Then let me be in your world!" Ava cried out, grabbing his shirt. "Stop trying to protect me by hurting me! I have the secrets they want. I have the chip. If I'm going to be a target, I'd rather be one by your side than in a locked room."
Liam's gaze softened for a fraction of a second—a crack in the glacier. His hand moved from the wall, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. For a moment, Ava thought he might kiss her, that the ice might finally melt.
But then, his eyes turned back into flint. He pulled away, his face a mask of granite again. "You want to be part of my world? Fine. Tonight, the Volkovs are sending a negotiator to the neutral grounds in the valley. You will come with me. You will see what I do. You will see the blood on my hands."
He leaned in, his voice a cold promise. "By tomorrow morning, you'll be begging to go back to your locked room. Or you'll be running away from me forever."
Ava stood her ground, her hand tightening around the chip in her boot. "I'm not going anywhere, Liam. Not anymore."