The house was hidden behind tall iron gates and thorned hedges, its silence deeper than night. Lucien and Silas approached like shadows, soaked from the rain, hearts already bruised by the storm they feared inside.
Lucien picked the lock in seconds. He didn't knock.
Inside, the marble floors gleamed with sterile luxury. The kind of wealth that washed away sin with silence and covered cruelty in velvet drapes.
They didn't speak. They searched.
Then—muffled screaming.
Aaliyah.
Silas broke down the door without pause. What they found was a nightmare unraveling in slow motion.
Her aunt stood over her, surgical gloves already bloodied. Aaliyah's wrists were bound, legs trembling. Her mouth was gagged, eyes wild with terror.
Lucien didn't think.
He struck first. The aunt fell with a scream. Silas pulled Aaliyah free as Lucien tore the bindings off.
"Aaliyah," Silas whispered, lifting her trembling form into his arms. "We're here."
She clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing into his chest. "They were going to kill it. Our baby…"
Lucien's eyes were fire. "They won't touch you again."
Behind them, the uncle emerged—armed. "You bastards don't belong in our bloodline!"
He pointed the gun.
Aaliyah screamed.
Then a single shot rang out—but not from him.
Lucien stood tall, smoke curling from the weapon in his hand. His gaze never wavered as the man collapsed.
Silas looked down at the body, then at Aaliyah. "We just made ourselves orphans again."
"No," she whispered, clinging to them both. "We're a family now. No matter what the world says."
--