The room was quiet in the kind of way that made Rowan restless.
No music.
No lights except the thin strip bleeding in from the city outside.
Rowan stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, jaw tight. He hadn't sat down since the call connected.
"Speak," the voice on the other end said.
Low. Older. Unrushed.
Rowan:- said, "She's starting to pull away."
Silence followed. Not surprise—evaluation.
The man didn't ask who. He never did.
"She's remembering things," Rowan continued, pacing now. "Little cracks.
I can see it in her eyes. She doesn't look at me the same."
"And?" the voice asked calmly.
Rowan stopped near the desk, fingers curling into a fist.
Rowan:- said, "And that makes her dangerous."
A slow exhale came through the phone.
"Dangerous how?"
Rowan:- said, "Emotionally. She's beginning to question me. Question us."
Another pause. Deliberate.
"You were told not to let her feel independent," the man said. "Fear keeps people loyal. Comfort makes them careless."
Rowan's mouth tightened.
Rowan:- said, "I know. I handled it."
"Did you?" the voice asked.
Rowan glanced at the door, as if Y/N might suddenly appear there.
Rowan:- said, "She said no."
The word tasted bitter.
"She's never said it like that before," he added. "Not with conviction."
"That's your failure," the man replied coolly. "Not hers."
Rowan's grip on the phone tightened.
Rowan:- said, "Don't talk about her like she's nothing."
A quiet chuckle echoed through the line.
"You forget yourself," the man said.
"She is something. That's why we chose her."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Rowan:- said, "Her inheritance clears in six months."
"Assuming she stays," the voice reminded.
Rowan turned back toward the window, watching the lights below like distant stars.
Rowan:- said, "She'll stay. She doesn't know how to be alone."
"You're sure?" the man asked.
"Because if she leaves—"
Rowan:- said, "She won't."
Too fast. Too sharp.
The silence that followed was heavier now.
"You're attached," the man finally said. "That was never part of the plan."
Rowan swallowed.
Rowan:- said, "I can control it."
"Attachment clouds judgment," the voice warned. "Money doesn't forgive mistakes. Neither do dead people."
Rowan's breath hitched—just slightly.
Rowan:- said, "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?" the man asked. "Like the truth?"
Rowan dragged a hand down his face.
Rowan:- said, "I just need time. Once the papers are signed, once everything is in my name—"
"And the girl?" the voice interrupted.
Rowan went quiet.
Rowan:- said, "She'll stop being a problem."
"How?"
Rowan didn't answer immediately.
Outside, a siren wailed somewhere far away.
Rowan:- said, "Accidents happen."
The man hummed, satisfied.
"You sound unsure," he said. "That could get you killed."
Rowan's eyes hardened.
Rowan:- said, "I won't hesitate when it matters."
"You'd better not," the voice replied.
"You've already cost me too much."
Rowan clenched his jaw.
Rowan:- said, "She trusts me."
"That's why she'll never see it coming," the man said coldly.
The call went silent for a moment.
Then—
"And Rowan?" the voice added.
Rowan:- said, "Yes."
"If you start loving her," the man said softly, dangerously,
"you'll die before she does."
The line disconnected.
Rowan stood there long after, phone still pressed to his ear.
His reflection stared back at him from the glass—familiar, composed… and fractured.
He whispered into the empty room,
Rowan:- said, "I don't love her."
But his hands were shaking.
And somewhere far away, Y/N slept—
unaware that love was never the weapon.
She was....