I didn't sleep. I couldn't.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of that silver knife in Silas's hand. I saw the blood on my father's face. The silence of the mansion was too heavy, broken only by the distant sound of the ocean hitting the cliffs below. It felt like the house itself was breathing, watching me through the tiny black lenses of the security cameras in the corners of the ceiling.
I sat at the desk Silas had provided. The three monitors glowed, casting a pale blue light over my skin. The gear was incredible—faster than anything I'd ever touched. It was a hacker's dream, but for me, it was a golden leash.
My fingers flew over the keys. I wasn't just looking for the forty million dollars anymore. I was looking for a way out. I was looking for the cracks in Silas Vane's armor.
"Let's see what you're hiding, Silas," I whispered to the empty room.
I started by mapping the mansion's internal network. Most people think a house is just walls and doors, but a place like this is a nervous system made of fiber-optic cables. I could see the smart locks, the climate control, the reinforced shutters, and the massive server room buried somewhere in the basement.
The security was tight. It was a fortress. Every time I tried to bypass a firewall, a new one popped up. It was like playing chess against a ghost.
Then, I saw it.
Deep within the encrypted files of the "South Wing" server—the place Silas told me never to go—there was a hidden folder. It wasn't labeled with a name or a project. It was just a string of numbers: 09-12-22.
A date. Three years ago.
I chewed my lip, my heart racing. I knew I should stop. If Silas caught me poking around his private files on the first night, he might decide I was too dangerous to keep alive. But the curiosity was a burn in my chest.
I began to crack the code. It took me three hours. My eyes were burning, and my back ached, but finally, the folder clicked open.
Inside were photos. Not of business deals or Syndicate meetings. They were photos of a young woman. She looked a lot like Silas—the same dark hair, the same sharp jawline. But her eyes were bright and full of life, unlike his.
I scrolled through the files. There were medical reports, police statements, and a final, grainy video from a security camera.
The video showed a girl standing on a balcony—this balcony, in this very house. She looked terrified. She was talking to someone off-camera, her hands shaking. Then, the video cut to static.
The police report said it was a suicide. Isabella Vane. Jumped from the North Cliff.
"She didn't jump," I murmured, staring at the screen.
I zoomed in on the last clear frame of the video. In the reflection of the glass door behind her, I could see a shadow. A man. He wasn't stopping her. He was watching.
A sudden noise behind me made me jump nearly out of my skin. I slammed the laptop shut and spun around, my heart in my throat.
Silas was standing in the doorway.
He had changed out of his suit. He was wearing a simple black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing thick, corded muscles and a jagged scar that ran down his forearm. He looked less like a king now and more like a predator.
"You're still awake," he said. His voice was low, vibrating through the quiet room.
"I'm working," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You want your money back, don't you?"
He walked into the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't look at the computer. He looked at me. He stopped just a few feet away, his presence making the large room feel tiny.
"You've been busy, Elara," he said. He reached out and touched the edge of the monitor. It was still warm. "My security team tells me there was a 'glitch' in the South Wing server ten minutes ago. A very sophisticated glitch."
My blood went cold. He knew.
"I was just testing the boundaries," I lied. "I can't fix your security if I don't know where the holes are."
Silas leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could smell the sandalwood on his skin again, mixed with the smell of expensive tobacco. "Don't lie to me. I don't like it. And I especially don't like people digging into things that don't concern them."
He reached down and picked up the velvet box I had left on the desk. He pulled out the black gold ring and held it up. The diamond caught the blue light of the screens.
"Give me your hand," he commanded.
"Silas—"
"Hand. Now."
I slowly reached out. He took my hand in his. His skin was hot, his grip firm but not painful. He slid the ring onto my finger. It felt heavy, like a shackle.
"You chose this path, Elara," he whispered, his eyes locked onto mine. "You offered yourself as collateral. That means everything you are belongs to me now. Your mind, your skills, and your loyalty. If I find you in my private files again, I won't send you back to your father. I'll make sure you join the other ghosts in this house."
He let go of my hand, but he didn't move away. For a second, the coldness in his eyes flickered. He looked tired—older than he was.
"Get some sleep," he said, his voice turning back to stone. "Tomorrow, the Syndicate Council meets. I am going to introduce you as my wife. You will wear the dress I sent over. You will smile. You will act like you love me."
"And if I don't?" I asked defiantly.
Silas walked toward the door. He paused at the threshold without looking back. "Then your father's medical bills will stop being paid. And the men I sent to guard his hospital room will walk away. Do we have a deal?"
I gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white. "We have a deal."
"Good."
The door shut behind him with a heavy thud.
I turned back to the computer, but I didn't open the files again. I stared at the black ring on my finger. Silas Vane wasn't just a man with a debt. He was a man with a secret—a secret that had killed his sister.
I realized then that I wasn't just here to pay back forty million dollars. I was here to survive a house of murders. And if I wanted to stay alive, I had to be smarter than the man who owned me.
I pulled the keyboard closer. I had work to do. If Silas wanted a genius hacker as a wife, that's exactly what he was going to get. But he was going to learn very quickly that once you let a virus into your home, you can never truly get rid of it.