Amaiyla woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind—the kind that presses against your ribs and asks what you've done.
Light filtered through the curtains in pale bands, tracing the ceiling, the walls, the man beside her. Xander lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head, eyes open, staring at nothing.
He hadn't slept.
She knew that without asking.
Her body remembered him before her mind caught up—the weight of his hand at her waist, the way his breath had stuttered when she'd said don't, the quiet intensity that had followed like a vow neither of them had spoken aloud.
And then it hit.
Connor.
Amaiyla shifted, pulling the sheet tighter around herself as guilt bloomed sharp and immediate. It wasn't regret—not exactly—but awareness. The kind that made everything heavier.
Xander felt the movement. His arm lowered slowly, resting beside her, not touching.
"You're awake," he said quietly.
"Yes."
Silence again.
Amaiyla swallowed. "We shouldn't pretend last night didn't happen."
Xander turned his head toward her. His expression was composed—too composed—but something dark flickered behind his eyes.
"I don't," he said. "But pretending it was uncomplicated would be worse."
Her chest tightened. "I don't feel… uncomplicated."
"That makes two of us."
Amaiyla sat up, pressing her feet to the floor as if grounding herself. "Connor hasn't messaged me."
Xander stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"That's new," she added.
"Yes."
"What did my father do?" she asked.
Xander didn't answer immediately. He stood instead, reaching for his shirt, pulling it on with methodical precision.
"He told Connor to disappear," Xander said finally. "And Connor agreed."
The words hit harder than she expected.
"He wouldn't just leave," Amaiyla whispered. "Not without telling me."
Xander's voice softened, just slightly. "He believes silence is protection."
Her throat burned. "He believes wrong."
Xander stepped closer—but stopped himself before touching her.
"This morning," he said, "Harold Reyes called me."
Amaiyla looked up sharply. "Already?"
"He doesn't sleep when control is challenged."
"And?"
Xander's mouth curved into something humorless. "He reminded me who benefits when I behave."
Amaiyla's hands clenched. "What did you say?"
"I reminded him," Xander replied calmly, "that obedience is a courtesy. Not a birthright."
Her breath caught. "You openly defied him."
"Yes."
"And your father?"
Xander's jaw tightened. "Will retaliate."
A knock echoed at the door.
Once. Polite. Final.
Breakfast.
Amaiyla's pulse spiked. "Tammy."
Xander's gaze sharpened. "She's early."
"She's never early," Amaiyla said quietly. "She's intentional."
They dressed in silence—tension heavy, unspoken questions piling between them. By the time they entered the dining room, the air already felt staged.
Tammy Veraga sat at the table, perfectly at ease, sipping coffee like she owned the morning.
"Good," she said pleasantly. "You're both glowing."
Amaiyla bristled. Xander didn't blink.
"Sleep well?" Tammy asked lightly.
"Well enough," Amaiyla replied.
Tammy's eyes flicked to the faint mark at Amaiyla's collarbone—gone in an instant.
"Interesting," Tammy murmured. "The house feels… quieter today."
Xander pulled out a chair for Amaiyla. "Say what you came to say."
Tammy smiled. "Straight to business. I like that."
She folded her hands. "Harold is displeased."
Xander sat. "That's not new."
"No," Tammy agreed. "What's new is that he's no longer amused."
Amaiyla's stomach dropped. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Tammy said gently, "that protection just became expensive."
Xander's gaze turned lethal. "You're enjoying this."
Tammy tilted her head. "I'm preparing you."
"For what?" Amaiyla demanded.
Tammy looked directly at her. "For the moment when every man in your life claims they're acting in your best interest—and you realize none of them asked what you wanted."
Amaiyla's chest tightened.
Tammy leaned closer. "Did Connor ask you before he agreed to vanish?"
Amaiyla's breath hitched. "How do you know about that?"
"Because your father doesn't hide his victories," Tammy replied softly. "And because your silence this morning answered the rest."
Xander's hand slammed lightly onto the table. "Enough."
Tammy didn't flinch. "This is the cost of last night."
Amaiyla looked between them. "You're talking like I committed a crime."
"No," Tammy said. "You committed an act of agency."
Xander exhaled slowly. "Which is exactly what they punish."
Amaiyla pushed back her chair. "I won't be interrogated over breakfast."
Tammy stood as well. "Then let me ask you one question before I leave."
Amaiyla crossed her arms. "What?"
Tammy's voice was quiet. Surgical. "If Connor comes back—if your father allows it—will you thank him for sacrificing himself?"
Amaiyla's eyes burned. "That's cruel."
Tammy nodded. "Yes. So is control disguised as love."
She turned to Xander. "And you—be careful. You're no longer shielding her. You're standing in front of her."
Xander's voice was ice. "That's where I intend to be."
Tammy smiled faintly. "Good. Then you'll be the first one hit."
She left without another word.
The silence she left behind was heavier than before.
Amaiyla sank back into her chair. "This is my fault."
Xander shook his head. "This is consequence."
"Connor—" Amaiyla whispered. "He thinks he's protecting me."
"And you think he's suffering for you," Xander replied gently. "Both can be true."
Amaiyla pressed her fingers to her temples. "I need to hear from him."
Xander hesitated. "He won't answer."
"Because of my father."
"Yes."
"And you knew."
"Yes."
She looked up at him, hurt flashing. "Why didn't you stop it?"
Xander met her gaze without flinching. "Because I can't fight your father and protect you if Connor stays close."
Amaiyla stood abruptly. "You don't get to choose who I lose."
Xander's voice was low, steady. "No. But I choose who doesn't get to break you."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
"This isn't protection," she said. "It's war."
"Yes," Xander agreed. "And it just went public."
Her phone buzzed then.
Unknown number.
Amaiyla's heart stuttered as she opened the message.
Unknown: You wanted answers. Ask better questions.
She looked up at Xander, pulse racing.
"Something's coming," she said.
Xander nodded. "I know."
Outside the estate, unseen, a car pulled onto the drive.
And somewhere across the channel, Connor Jackson stared at his phone—silent, obedient, breaking—while telling himself this was love.
Amaiyla didn't know that yet.
But she felt the absence like a wound.
And she understood, finally, that choosing herself hadn't freed her.
It had marked her.