England — Tammy, Aras & Naiya
Tammy Veraga had learned early that power rarely announced itself. It observed. It waited. It applied pressure just enough to shift the board.
She sat across from Aras in a shadowed corner of a private members' lounge, posture relaxed, one leg crossed neatly over the other—every inch the woman enjoying an unremarkable afternoon. Naiya sat beside him, composed but coiled, her hands folded in her lap a fraction too tightly to be casual.
"You don't need to look at me like that," Tammy said lightly, lifting her cup. "I'm not Harold."
Aras exhaled once, sharp. "No. You're worse."
Tammy smiled without offense. "Smarter," she corrected. "And currently on your side. Which is why I'm here."
Naiya frowned. "Then don't beat around the bush. Say what you came here to say."
Tammy's gaze softened when it landed on her—just enough to be disarming. "Because Harold thrives on silence," she said. "And the two of you are suffocating in it."
Aras stiffened. "You don't know what he has on me."
"I know enough," Tammy replied calmly. "Enough to recognize a leverage play. Blackmail only works if you keep reacting instead of repositioning."
Naiya turned toward Aras, her voice tight. "You told me you were trying."
"I am," he snapped—then checked himself. "I just… every move I make tightens his grip."
Tammy leaned forward slightly. "Then stop making moves he can see."
The words landed. Both of them went still.
"You think Amaiyla's situation is an exception?" Tammy continued. "It isn't. It's a pattern. Control through emotional exposure. He identifies what you value, then threatens it until obedience feels safer than resistance."
Naiya's voice dropped. "So what do we do?"
Tammy's eyes moved between them, assessing. "You stop isolating yourselves. And you let me absorb the pressure."
Aras frowned. "Why would you do that?"
Tammy paused—not long, but long enough to make the answer deliberate.
"Because I recognize a rigged game when I see one," she said. "And because Harold doesn't get to win every board."
Naiya swallowed. "And Amaiyla?"
Tammy's lips curved, subtle and knowing. "She's already closer to the truth than he suspects."
France — Amaiyla & Xander (Pressure Tightens)
The estate felt different after Paris.
Not quieter. Not louder.
Charged.
Xander moved through the space like a man recalibrating—adjusting sightlines, closing doors, tracking reflections in glass and polished stone. Amaiyla noticed it all now. The way his jaw set when her phone lit up. The way his attention sharpened whenever someone lingered too long in her proximity.
"You're pacing," she said at last.
"I'm thinking," he replied, eyes still on the window.
"About Connor."
A fraction of a pause.
"Yes."
She folded her arms. "He's spiraling."
"I'm aware."
"That doesn't concern you?"
Xander turned then, expression controlled, eyes darker than before. "It concerns me."
"Because of me," she said.
"Because of timing," he corrected. "Men don't unravel quietly. They make noise. Noise attracts scrutiny."
"And I'm the scrutiny," she said flatly.
His gaze didn't waver. "You're the variable."
Something tightened low in her chest. "You keep reducing me to a calculation."
"Because right now," he said evenly, "that's how I keep you safe."
Her voice sharpened. "And what happens when calculations involve… feelings?"
For the first time, he hesitated.
"That," Xander said carefully, "is where systems fail."
She stepped closer—close enough to feel the restraint humming beneath his composure. "You're jealous."
His eyes flickered. "Be specific."
"You hate that Connor still thinks he has a claim," she said. "You hated the man at the airport. And the driver. And the waiter who didn't stop staring."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "They were careless."
"And you," she said softly, "are territorial."
Silence stretched—tight, deliberate.
"Territorial implies ownership," Xander said at last. "I don't claim what isn't mine."
Her heart thudded. "Then why do you look like you're restraining yourself every time someone looks at me?"
His voice dropped, controlled to the edge of fracture. "Because restraint is less costly than regret."
She searched his face, then whispered, "You're not as unaffected as you pretend."
Something shifted—annoyance, calculation, and something dangerously close to honesty.
"And you," Xander said quietly, "are far more perceptive than is advisable."
England — Connor (Pressure Escalates)
Connor stared at the message glowing on his screen.
SECOND NOTICE — RESPONSE REQUIRED
No ultimatums.No threats.
Just a deadline.
His hand tightened around the phone as he paced the hotel room, steps sharp, controlled—like movement alone might keep him from detonating.
"They think I'll fold," he muttered.
Xander Reyes had planned this. The distance. The silence. The clean removal of options disguised as restraint.
Containment.
Connor stopped by the window, jaw tight, city lights reflecting back a version of himself he barely recognized—leaner, harder, running on something close to fury.
"But I'm not contained," he said quietly.
He dialed Amaiyla.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
The silence pressed in, heavier than any rejection.
"They're using you," he whispered, bitterness cutting through his voice. "Turning you into a buffer. A reason I'm not allowed to react."
His reflection stared back at him—eyes too sharp now, patience burned thin.
"This isn't over," Connor said aloud. "Not for him. And not for me."
France — Amaiyla Alone (Realization)
Sleep didn't come.
Amaiyla lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, counting the spaces between breaths.
Connor was unraveling. Xander was closing ranks. And Tammy's name surfaced uninvited—someone she hadn't met, yet somehow already felt moving pieces on the board.
This wasn't about contracts. Or protection.
It was about control. About who decided what story everyone else was forced to live inside.
She turned onto her side, pulse quickening—not with fear, but clarity.
I won't be collateral, she decided.
Down the hall, Xander stood at the window, watching the estate settle into stillness—thinking the same thing.
From the opposite side of the war.