Flames POV
I blinked once. Slowly.
"He's to remain?" I repeated. "In my house?"
"Yes. And if you don't comply—get Ash forced out—your entitlement to the estate is null and void. All will be redone to the next in line heirs."
There was a moment. "Guess I'll pass," I told him, tone like ice. "Lydia. Or Isadora."
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
I looked beyond him, to the window where the late sun streamed in like a deceit.
My father's ghost from the grave.
He knew I'd fight. He knew I'd push that man, try to get him to leave. So he bound me. With conditions and consequences. Tied me to a stranger with unspoken eyes and a mouth that wouldn't hear.
The lawyer cleared his throat. "Do you understand, Miss Perez?"
I gave him a slow, pointed smile. "Oh, I understand just perfectly."
The house was still, but my mind wasn't.
They poured through my head like a riot. I ought to have been triumphant—ought to have opened champagne and toasted the empire now in my complete control.
But all I tasted was bitterness.
He did it again. Pulled the strings like I was some damn puppet, manipulating my trajectory even from death.
You think you won, old man?" I exhaled into the blackness, my words barely louder than smoke. "You think this is control?"
Maybe it was.
I turned the key, shut the study door on me, and leaned against the wall, smelling the scent of wood polish and forgotten secrets. My reflection in the hallway mirror looked like her normal self—flawless, impenetrable—but I knew. The shift. The crack behind the eyes.
Ash Calderon.
Of all the people my dad could've hooked me up with—why him?
Why the only man who doesn't wince when I snarl. The one who sees beyond the skin and silk to the inner me I keep hidden so deep, I've forgotten it exists?
I didn't request protection. I didn't request him.
But now, if I don't hold on to him, if I even throw him out—everything he took from me is Lydia's or that killer widow of his.
And wasn't that the final joke?
The man spent his whole life training me to reign in the same manner as him. Ruthless. Genius. Immune. But in the end, he chained me to the one creature I am unable to control.
And damn him—damn him—it succeeded.
I closed my eyes, let the silence stretch out, and then breathed into it, "I hate you for this."
But hate would not undo what had been done.
And as ever, I wouldn't run. I'd negotiate.
Even if that required admitting Ash back in.
Even if that required swallowing every ounce of pride I had left.
I'd stood there in front of the high window, staring out at the gray sky stretched out like an ancient piece of cloth over the estate. My face in the glass was strange—cold eyes, emotionless lips, back too rigid to belong to someone who'd just inherited an empire.
The phone rang twice before Carmen answered.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Do you remember the man who entered my bedroom last week?"
There was a momentary silence. "The one you bolted out of?"
"That's the one."
There was a guarded note in Carmen's voice, as though she were tiptoeing on a tightrope. "Yes. I remember."
"Have you had any sight of him since?"
"No, Don. Not even a glimpse. He vanished the same way he vanished."
I pushed my tongue against the top of my mouth. Figures. Ghosts didn't knock.
I had been about to hang up when Carmen went on and on.
"Oh.wait. That reminds me. He… he gave me something."
I stood stock still. "What?"
A card, she said, voice dropping as though somebody would hear her. "Just after you chased him off. He saw me by the stairs and said to me, 'She'll need this. She won't get it now, but she will.' And walked away."
Silence pulsed on the line.
"You had this the whole time?" My voice dropped. Dangers. Whisper.
"I. I didn't think it was worth saying, ma'am. You were furious. I figured if I said anything, it would be worse."
"And you thought I'd prefer ignorance over information?" My hands curled into fists. "Bring it. Now."
"Yes, Don. I'll be there in five minutes."
I hung up and slammed the phone onto the couch, stifling the curse that was climbing out of my mouth. She would need it? Who the devil was he to command me what to do?
Whatever was on that card… I was going to find out.
Carmen appeared four minutes later, her heels clicking hard and anxious across the marble floor. She was clutching the card as if it would scald her fingers.
It's. this one, ma'am."
She held it out in both hands, eyes wide.
I reached for it without hesitation, my gaze on hers. "And you waited until now to present this to me?"
Her throat contracted. "I—I didn't think it was anything. He said you wouldn't understand it yet. I thought maybe. maybe it was just a line.".
I turned around before the heat in my chest burst into flames. She didn't get it. None of them did.
The card was matte black. Heavy in my hand. No name. Just a silver shape in the corner—thin, embossed, a phoenix curled over itself like it had work to do.
I turned it over.
No message. No warning. A downtown address only. No hint. No name.
Typical.
He was always enjoying his little secrets.
I exhaled a breath through clenched teeth, the ache in my jaw as razor-sharp as glass. "Get the car."
Carmen blinked. "To that address?"
My glare answered for me. She disappeared without a word.
I looked back down at the card.
She'll need this.
Need. As if he'd known I'd crawl back sooner or later. As if he'd calculated every step—including this one.
I wasn't crawling.
But I was going.
---
At Ash House
The townhouse was a joke.
Wide open.
No guards, no alarms. The door practically dared me to push it open, and I did—without thinking.
The air inside was thick. Thick with him. A lingering mix of cigarettes, something earthy, unmistakably him—and a hint of sweetness that I couldn't place. The living room was empty, cold. Dark couch, steel table, and a few framed photos sitting on a shelf. Nothing personal, nothing that said "home."With the exception of the man in the photographs.
I clutched the card harder, the stiff rectangle digging into my skin as I walked past the photogAsh s. Him, uniformed. All planes of his face sharp, cold eyes daring anyone to disagree with him. Another photograph, younger—barely a glimmer of a smile, a boy standing alongside him. A brother? Didn't matter.
It was the final photograph that held me.
Him, medals glinting, looking like he could take armies or break hearts with one look.
My chest fluttered, an involuntary reaction I hated.
Irritating.
"Look who's here…" His voice cut through the silence, low and smooth, laced wi
th amusement.
I spun around.
My breath hitched.
He stood in the doorway like a sin. Lean muscle. Dark eyes that tracked me with a lethal sort of pleasure.