Chapter Two

I got up, barefoot on the icy floor, and went into the soundproof study connected to the master bedroom. I locked the door before I answered.

“Don't say much over the phone. Write it down.” My father's voice came through the receiver—low, steady, the tone he used when handling crises. Like a blade skimming ice.

I twisted open my fountain pen, spread a blank notebook flat, and held the nib above the paper.

“First,” he said, quick and precise, “the night before Luca's accident, someone saw him at the Old Dock Bar. Said he was in a bad way—drank a lot, barely conscious.”

I wrote fast. Ink bled into a tiny dot.

“Got it. Second?”

“A cleaner they hired temporarily six months ago said Luca and Kelly fought hard a lot. After those fights, Kelly often wouldn't come home. Staff in the neighboring villa heard it too—they can testify.”

My pen stalled. “Fought about what?”

“That's the third point.” My father paused half a second, as if choosing his words. “Your name came up over and over. And Adair's. The exact lines aren't complete, but ‘Caterina' and ‘Adair'—those two words were very clear.”

A fine sheen of sweat broke across my palm. My grip tightened around the pen. “Anything else?”

“Someone saw Kelly with another man, going to a hotel. Those days, Luca was out of town. We haven't fully confirmed the man's identity yet, but the way he dressed—looks like Black Wolf.”

I underlined *unknown identity* and *Black Wolf*. “Last point?”

“In the months before Luca's accident, he'd been dealing with the West Coast dispute, right? During that time, Kelly had multiple records of leaving the city. Told people she was visiting relatives down south or taking a break. I'm having flight and hotel records verified, but we have to be careful—no spooking them.”

I drew circles around all five items, one by one. “Understood. Until we have hard proof, I won't say a word.”

“Correct.” His voice softened by half a notch, still taut. “Don't make judgments over the phone. That's it for tonight. I'll find a chance to hand you certain things in person.”

“Okay.” I closed the notebook. “Thank you, Father.”

“No need.” He paused, and something rare—almost imperceptible—roughened his tone. “Don't carry it alone. If you need me, I'm here.”

“I know.” I ended the call.

Under the cold desk lamp, I photographed the page and saved it into a triple-biometric encrypted album on my phone. Then I plugged a blank USB into my computer, dragged the image over, and encrypted it again.

When I finished, I switched off the lamp. The study sank into thick darkness, lit only by the faint blue glow of my phone screen reflecting off my expressionless face.

At five a.m., a thin frost had formed on the windowpane. Down the hall, the guest room lock made a tiny sound.

*Click.*

I was on the living room sofa, holding a magazine I'd barely turned a page of. A cup of black coffee sat on the coffee table—long since cold.

He came out, steps feather-light. When he saw me, he clearly froze, then his brows tightened by habit.

“Another nightmare?” I asked first, my voice calm, as if I were asking about the weather.

“…Yeah.” He lowered his voice and rubbed between his brows. Dark bruising sat under his eyes. “Stayed until she fell asleep.”

I repeated slowly, making every word land. “Sitting by her bed?”

His gaze flickered away from mine. “Just for a while. She held onto my sleeve, cried her eyes out. I couldn't exactly—”

“A while.” I lifted the cold coffee. The bottom of the cup clicked against glass, crisp and cold. “From one a.m. to five-thirty?”

His brows knotted, fatigue snapping into irritation. “Caterina, can you not do this? She can only rely on the family now—on us. We're all she has left.”

“I understand that word ‘family' carries a lot of weight for you right now—and that you've decided it has very… generous borders.” I set the cup down and looked at him. “But don't use it to shut me up. I'm only asking: Adair—can you even see me sitting here?”

“I never said I don't see you!” He flared like I'd stepped on a nerve, his voice jumping, then forcing itself down again. A vein pulsed at his temple. “I'm trying to get her stable. Being around someone familiar helps her recover—doctor said—”

I let out a short laugh. “Familiar? Did the doctor put in writing that it had to be you, or is it just that you've decided you're the best choice? Familiar enough to be parked by her bed until five-thirty?”

His breath caught, like he hadn't expected me to be that blunt. His face went fully cold. “Enough. Caterina. Don't talk about legitimate care like it's something filthy.”

“Whether it's legitimate isn't yours alone to define.” I tightened my voice until it sounded like ice beads. “You want to care for her? Fine. Keep appropriate distance. Fine. But turning me into a transparent backdrop in your ‘noble rescue'? No.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose hard, utterly fed up. “I'm exhausted. I don't want to fight over meaningless—”

“You're not the only one who's exhausted.” I cut him off, stood, and stepped close enough to see the bloodshot threads in his eyes. “When I'm here, it's called boundaries. When I'm not, it's called crossing them.”

He stared at me for a few seconds without speaking, face storm-dark. The air felt like it could freeze solid.

I turned off most of the living room lights and left only a wall sconce in the corner. The dim yellow glow was like an eye that never blinked, fixed on the stretch of hallway leading to the guest room.

“Remember this, Adair.” My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. “Care doesn't equal intimacy. Family doesn't equal sharing a bed. Your ‘principles' don't give you permission to shove me aside again and again.”

Then I walked back into the master bedroom.

It's fine.

In the dark, I told myself.

Soon.