The first rule Elara broke was a small one.
She stayed out past sunset.
It wasn't intentional rebellion—nothing so brave or dramatic. Time simply slipped through her fingers at the clinic, measured in laughter and scraped knees and the quiet relief of being needed for something that had nothing to do with the Moretti name.
By the time she returned to the estate, the sky had turned the color of bruised wine.
The gates opened slowly.
Too slowly.
Her pulse quickened as the car rolled to a stop in the circular drive. The house loomed ahead, lights glowing in every window, too awake for the hour.
Something was wrong.
She stepped inside—and felt it immediately.
The air was tense, sharp with restrained violence. Guards stood straighter than usual. Voices murmured behind closed doors. Somewhere deeper in the house, something fragile was being decided.
"Elara."
She turned.
Adrian stood at the base of the staircase, jacket off, sleeves rolled, jaw tight. His gaze swept over her quickly—checking, counting, assuring himself she was unharmed.
"You're late," he said.
"I lost track of time."
His eyes darkened. "That's not an excuse here."
She bristled. "I didn't realize I needed one from you."
For a moment, something dangerous flashed between them—anger sparked by fear neither would admit to.
Then his voice dropped. "Luca is looking for you."
Her stomach clenched. "Why?"
"There was an incident."
The word landed heavy.
Adrian stepped closer. "I'll handle it."
"No," she said. "I won't hide."
Something like pride flickered across his face before he masked it.
"Then stay behind me."
They entered the sitting room together.
Luca stood near the fireplace, phone clenched in his hand, expression tight with irritation rather than worry. Don Alessandro sat nearby, silent and observant, his presence a quiet threat.
"Where were you?" Luca demanded.
Elara straightened. "At the clinic. Where I said I would be."
"You were unreachable."
"I was busy."
"That's unacceptable."
Adrian's voice cut in smoothly. "She was under watch."
Luca turned on him. "I didn't ask you."
"No," Adrian agreed calmly. "You didn't."
The silence that followed was thick enough to suffocate.
Don Alessandro finally spoke. "Elara, my son is not wrong. Visibility is security."
She nodded respectfully. "I understand. But I won't give up what little good I can do."
Luca scoffed. "You sound ungrateful."
Adrian moved then—just a half step, but enough.
"Careful," he said softly.
Elara felt the shift ripple through the room. This was not brotherly disagreement. This was something older. Sharper.
Luca laughed humorlessly. "You're forgetting your place."
Adrian smiled.
It did not reach his eyes.
"My place," he said, "has always been between this family and disaster."
Don Alessandro's gaze sharpened. "Enough."
The word was final.
Luca exhaled sharply and turned away. "She'll learn."
Elara's chest ached at the casual certainty of it.
Later, alone in her room, she stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself. The house had quieted again, but it was not peaceful. It felt like the pause before a storm.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her heart betrayed her.
"Come in," she said.
Adrian stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
"I know."
"You keep saying that."
"And you keep letting me in."
He didn't move closer this time. He stayed where he was, as though proximity alone might undo him.
"He won't change," Adrian said. "Luca."
"I know."
"You don't deserve that."
Her voice trembled. "Then why am I here?"
He looked at her like the answer hurt.
"Because this family takes," he said quietly. "And you were offered."
The truth burned.
She turned back to the window. "Sometimes I feel like the house is watching me. Like it's waiting for me to break."
"It is," Adrian said.
She faced him again. "And you?"
His jaw tightened. "I'm waiting to see if I will."
The words stole her breath.
She crossed the room before she could stop herself. Stopped just inches from him. Close enough to feel the tension radiating off his body.
"Adrian…"
He closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain.
"Don't," he said. "If you say my name like that again, I won't be able to leave."
Her hand lifted—hovered near his chest—but didn't touch.
"Then don't leave," she whispered.
The silence that followed was deafening.
His eyes opened.
Dark. Tormented.
He leaned down just enough that his breath brushed her cheek.
"If I cross that line," he said, voice rough, "there will be no going back."
Her heart pounded. "I'm not asking you to save me."
His mouth hovered near her temple, so close it hurt.
"I know," he said. "And that's what terrifies me."
A knock thundered at the door.
They sprang apart.
Reality shattered the moment like glass.
Adrian straightened, mask snapping back into place. "This can't happen," he said again—more to himself than to her.
Then he was gone.
Elara sank onto the bed, hands shaking, heart aching with something sharp and inevitable.
Because the house wasn't the only thing holding its breath anymore.
So was she.
— End of Chapter 4 —