Chapter 27 Chapter 27
I stood by the window watching the gray light settle over the estate. The wind pressed softly against the glass and I could feel the day tightening around me. My stomach had been knotted since morning because I could not stop thinking about Marcus. I had seen too much lately, heard too much, and I knew what Damien would do if I said the wrong thing. I wanted to tell him everything, but Marcus had saved me once. If I betrayed him and Damien found out later that I was wrong, I would not survive his rage.
I turned those thoughts over and over like stones in my mind. The more I tried to decide, the heavier the fear pressed on me. Loyalty had become a dangerous language in this house. Everyone spoke it, but no one meant it. When I saw Damien’s shadow through the corridor glass, my breath froze. He looked harder now, colder. Gone was the tenderness that had flickered once between us. What we had left was tension held together by silence. I whispered to myself that love, without trust, could destroy faster than hate.
The knock on my door came sharp and calm. “Lisa,” his voice called, and the way he said my name made my heart shudder. I opened the door to find him standing there, his eyes wet with sleeplessness, his shirt half-buttoned. “Come to my office,” he said. His tone was quiet but final. I followed him down the long hall where our footsteps echoed against stone. The walls seemed colder, the air thinner. He did not speak again, not until we were inside. The door clicked shut behind me like a lock being tested.
He motioned for me to sit, but I stayed standing because my knees felt too weak. His desk was covered in maps, notes, and blurred photographs. “We found a signal near the harbor,” he said. “Victor’s men are moving again. I want to draw them out, end this before they get any closer.” He looked up at me then, his gaze sharp. “But I cannot do it alone. I need to know who to trust.” My throat went dry. That was the moment I realized he was not talking about troops or plans. He was talking about me.
I met his stare and tried to hold it steady. “You can trust me,” I said, and even I could hear the tremor in my voice. He stood, walked around the desk, and stopped close enough for me to smell the faint mix of metal and smoke on his skin. “Can I?” he asked softly. There was no anger in his tone, only something colder, something that felt like distance. “You have been quiet lately, Lisa. Too quiet. Sometimes silence tells me more than words.” I took a breath and said, “I stay silent because I know too much noise gets people killed here.”
Damien’s hand brushed the edge of the desk as he looked at me. “That answer sounds rehearsed,” he said. “But maybe that is good. Maybe you are learning.” His lips curved into something that looked like a smile but felt like a test. I replied, “Maybe I am just tired of being watched for every breath I take.” His gaze flicked up to my face as if he had not expected such honesty. For the smallest second, a trace of the old Damien—the one who once touched my hand without suspicion—surfaced in his eyes. Then it vanished.
He moved closer. “You think I enjoy this life?” he asked quietly. “Every day knowing someone wants to tear me down. You think I wanted it to be this way with you?” His words squeezed my chest. I wanted to believe him, to believe that the part of him that still remembered love could fight through the dark. I said, “Then prove to me that the man I met before all of this still exists.” His jaw tightened. “He is dead,” he said. “And if you want to survive here, you need to forget him too.” The words hit me like a door slamming in the dark.
I stepped back though he had not moved toward me. My heart felt like it was trying to tear itself free. I whispered, “That is not the truth. The man I met would never have said that.” Damien turned away and poured himself a drink. His hand trembled as he poured. “The man you met was naïve,” he said. “He believed love could fix everything. But love does not fix this world; it breaks it faster.” He handed me the glass though my hands shook as I took it. “We are at war, Lisa. And wars do not allow softness.”
The silence after that was unbearable. I stared at the drink and saw my reflection rippling in it. When I looked up, I saw how the light fell on his face. It made him look both older and more fragile. “What happens when the war ends?” I asked quietly. “What is left of you then?” His expression softened a fraction. “If it ends, maybe I can go back to the sea. Maybe I can remember who I was before all this.” His voice broke just slightly, and in that tiny crack, the truth trembled. I realized he still wanted to be that man even if he could not admit it.
The moment felt fragile enough to shatter, so I said nothing. He finally glanced toward the door. “Be careful tonight,” he said. “There are men watching even you now. Someone in this house has already lied to me once.” My heart stumbled because I knew that warning was pointed partly at Marcus. I almost told him everything then, but his next words froze me. “You say nothing until you are sure of who you accuse. That is how trust is earned back.” I nodded, trying not to let the fear show on my face.
When I left his office, the halls were bathed in soft gold light. My body trembled as if I had been through a storm. I needed air, space, anything that was not his voice inside my head. I walked past the guard post where no one seemed to be paying attention and slipped quietly toward the east wing. That was where Marcus’s quarters were. I knew it was reckless. I knew if anyone saw me, questions would follow that I could never answer without feeding someone else’s suspicion. But I had to look him in the eyes once more before deciding which truth to tell.
The corridor was dim, the lights flickering softly. I knocked once then entered before I could lose my nerve. Marcus looked up from his desk, startled but not surprised. “Lisa,” he said quietly. “This is not a good time.” I said, “We might be running out of time and I need the truth. Are you with him or against him?” His brow furrowed. “Does it matter?” he asked. I nodded and said, “It matters because my life is tied to his choices and yours could destroy both.” Marcus looked at me for a long time, then said, “Sometimes loyalty is not about sides. It is about survival.”
His words made my skin prickle. Something inside me shifted and I understood that everyone in this war had their own line to protect. “Damien thinks there is a traitor,” I said. “He is watching everyone.” Marcus gave a faint nod. “He should be.” For a heartbeat our eyes locked and the distance between us felt loaded with too many secrets. I said softly, “If he asks me about you, what do I say?” He stood slowly and came closer until the shadow of his face fell across mine. “Say nothing,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
I turned to leave, my heart racing. The air in the hallway felt heavier than before. The sound of my steps seemed too loud in the silence. I thought I had escaped without being seen, but when I closed the door behind me, a figure stepped from the dim corner of the corridor.
It was Marcus. He caught my wrist gently but firmly. His expression was dark and unreadable, and his voice was calm when he said, “Lisa, what were you doing in my room?”