Morning arrived quietly, but the silence felt heavy—like the calm before a storm.
Elara stepped out of her room, wearing a simple black dress she found prepared in the wardrobe. The fabric hugged her perfectly. Too perfectly. Tailored. As if someone knew her measurements long before she stepped into this house.
As she walked through the penthouse, she noticed something strange.
No maids.
No staff.
Everything was immaculate… like the house cleaned itself.
Adrian Velletto didn't like people in his space.
Except her.
She entered the dining area. He was already there. Sitting at the head of the long table, sleeves rolled, reading the financial section as if the world bent for his signature.
"Sit."
The command left no room for refusal.
She sat across. A plate of elegantly plated breakfast was set in front of her—expensive, minimal… too silent.
"Eat," he said without looking.
"You're controlling even how I breathe now?" she muttered.
Without lifting his gaze from the newspaper, he replied:
"Breathing is allowed. Running—still not."
Her jaw tightened. Before she could retort, the penthouse elevator chimed.
Someone else was entering.
Adrian's gaze lifted. His expression didn't change. But something sharp flickered in his eyes.
A tall man stepped out—golden hair, a lazy smile, and eyes that looked at Elara like he was staring at a ghost.
"You—" Elara whispered, her heart pounding without reason.
He froze. Then he laughed—a bitter, breathless laugh.
"So it's true…" he whispered, voice trembling.
"You're alive… Viper."
Viper.
The room went cold.
Elara felt… nothing. No memory. No recognition.
But her fingers curled around the fork like a weapon—a reflex no normal woman should have.
Adrian stood up slowly.
The golden-haired man's eyes narrowed at Adrian.
"You married her?" he asked, voice dripping with disbelief and fury.
"Temporary," Adrian replied calmly, adjusting his cuff.
"She doesn't belong to you."
Adrian's lips curved—a dangerous, elegant smirk.
"Everything under this roof belongs to me."
He leaned forward, voice soft but lethal.
"Including her."
"She is Viper—"
The moment the word Viper left his mouth, Elara felt pain pierce her head. A flash—her hands stained with blood, a silver mask… a man dying in her arms.
Adrian noticed.
His gaze darkened, fingers flexing against the table.
"Say that name again," he told the man, voice now ice-cold, "and I'll make sure you never speak at all."
The two men locked eyes.
One held rage.
The other held ownership.
And in the center of that tension stood Elara — heart racing, memories scratching at the edges of her mind like a beast trying to break free.
She didn't know who Viper was.
But one thing was clear—
Both men knew her.
And both were willing to kill for her.