At the D'Este's residence,
Xavier didn't sleep.
He stood his watch, jaw locked, hands steady, mind burning.
Andrea's name echoed in his head.
Sixteen. Cuffed. Terrified.
A gun on the ground that had never belonged to him.
By morning, he knew two things with certainty:
This had not been an accident.
And Otilla D'Este had moved too far.
The house emptied itself of protection almost politely.
General D'Este departed at dawn, duty-bound and unreachable—six months of borders and briefings and places where phones rang too late to matter.
By noon, the General's wife was gone too.
A cruise. Three months. Sun and champagne and distance.
The estate breathed differently when she left.
Looser. Quieter.
Exposed.
Xavier waited until night.
Then he walked to Otilla's wing without asking permission.
Otilla was reading when he entered.
She didn't look up.
"You're out of uniform," she said calmly. "That's a choice."
"So is what you did," Xavier replied.
She closed the book slowly and finally met his eyes.
"Careful," Otilla said. "You're forgetting where you stand."
"No," he said. His voice shook once—then steadied. "I'm remembering."
She rose, smooth and unhurried. "You're emotional. That never helps."
"My emotions didn't put a child in handcuffs," Xavier snapped. "Yours did."
Otilla's smile thinned.
"Allegedly," she said. "The boy made his own decisions."
"He was desperate," Xavier shot back. "Because you crushed his family."
Otilla stepped closer. "I corrected an imbalance."
"By destroying a father's health?" he demanded. "By breaking a family that never touched you?"
Her eyes flashed.
"They touched what was mine."
Silence slammed between them.
Xavier stared at her like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.
"Your house," he said quietly. "Your walls. Your power. They don't give you the right to ruin people."
Otilla laughed softly. "Rights are for equals."
He took a step forward.
"For the first time since he'd known her, Otilla took a step back.**
"Do not threaten me," she said coldly.
"I'm not," Xavier replied. "I'm warning you."
Her voice dropped. "You're a soldier. You exist because my father allows it."
"And you exist," Xavier said, "because no one has ever said no to you."
That landed.
Otilla's face hardened into something sharp and beautiful and dangerous.
"You think you can stop this?" she asked. "You think your anger matters?"
Xavier leaned in, close enough that she could hear the truth in his breath.
"I don't need to stop you," he said. "I just need to survive you long enough to expose you."
Otilla's eyes darkened.
"You won't touch me," she said. "And you won't save them."
Xavier straightened.
"Watch me."
He turned and walked out before she could speak again.
Otilla stood very still.
Then she smiled.
"So," she whispered to the empty room. "You finally chose."
She reached for her phone.
"Phase two," she said calmly. "Begin."
Outside, Xavier stepped into the night air, heart pounding—not with fear, but with resolve.
For the first time since Isabella had walked through the gate with a box of pastries, he was no longer standing still.
And Otilla D'Este had just learned the most dangerous thing of all—
He was done obeying.