"I don't trust you."
I said it softly, but it filled the silence between us like glass shattering on marble.
Damien did not flinch. He watched me calmly, as if he had expected those words from the moment I stepped into his house.
"I'm not asking you to."
He stood from the velvet armchair and motioned to the staff waiting quietly behind him.
"This is home now. For as long as you need it to be."
I said nothing.
Damien turned to the people in the corridor. "She's my wife. Take care of her."
He did not say it with affection. He said it like a fact. A legal status. Like he had just assigned me a role in a game I did not know how to play.
One of the staff stepped forward. A woman, maybe in her late thirties. Slim. Professional. The type you forget after you meet.
"I'm Lora," she said softly, bowing her head. "I'll see to your personal needs, Mrs Voss."
I winced at the name. She noticed.
I forced myself to nod anyway.
Behind her stood two more staff. A quiet man in a suit who looked more like security than a butler, and a woman in chef's whites who glanced at me once before looking back at her feet.
Not one of them questioned Damien's introduction. Not even with their eyes.
They were either paid well, or trained better.
I followed Lora wordlessly down the hall, my bare feet brushing the polished wooden floors. My head pounded from exhaustion, but I refused to let myself collapse.
Lora led me to a suite that looked like something from a luxury hotel brochure. Thick curtains. White linen. Warm lights. A deep tub already drawn.
Everything screamed comfort.
But comfort felt suspicious.
Lora opened the wardrobe to show me freshly prepared clothes. Simple. Elegant. Not my style, but far from cruel.
"I'll let you rest," she said after a pause.
I nodded, still silent.
She left without another word.
And then I was alone.
At least, I thought I was.
I did not sleep that night.
The villa felt too peaceful. The warmth of it pressed against my skin like a lie. I lay under the expensive sheets, staring at the ceiling, thinking about my mother's voice telling me it was for the best. About Liam's hand holding Chloe's.
I pressed my eyes shut.
But the memories came anyway.
By morning, I found a tray of breakfast waiting near the door.
Lora reappeared just after sunrise to check on me, her tone soft but her eyes unreadable. She asked if I wanted to walk the grounds.
I said yes.
I needed to breathe air that wasn't recycled through fear.
The gardens were beautiful. Not overwhelming. Roses. Olive trees. The fountain was quiet, like everything else here.
I did not feel watched.
That almost made it worse.
Damien found me sitting by the fountain that evening. His black suit looked untouched by the dust of the gravel paths.
"You look less pale," he said, as if it were a compliment.
I ignored him.
"Why are you really helping me?"
He sat beside me without asking.
"Because your family wants you dead."
"I know that already."
"No," he said. "You know what they showed you. You don't know what they planned."
I looked at him then. Properly.
"And you do?"
"I know enough."
I wanted to ask more, but I could tell by the way he looked at the olive trees instead of me that he was done talking.
We sat in silence until the shadows shifted and the villa's lights flickered on.
That night, I wandered the halls.
Not because I wanted to explore.
Because sleep refused to come.
I found myself in one of the long corridors, lined with paintings and photographs. Everything was modern. Abstract. Soulless.
Except for one.
It was a large portrait, nearly hidden at the far end of the hallway. The frame was older than the others. Dustier. Like no one wanted to clean it.
I stopped in front of it, breathing slowly.
Damien stood in the picture.
But not alone.
Beside him was a woman. Dark-haired. Beautiful. Her smile was the kind that looked forced.
In front of them stood a little girl.
She looked no older than five.
She wore a blue dress and had Damien's eyes.
I stood there for what felt like minutes. Hours. I could not tell.
Because in that moment, everything changed.