Chapter 3: Fire and Silk
1330 Words
The rest of the day passed in a blur of calculated silence.
Léa stayed in the east wing, her every movement shadowed by the guard who’d escorted her to breakfast. She pretended to read in the library, but her mind was elsewhere—circling Bastien’s words like a shark tasting blood.
Memories.
That’s what he’d called whatever was in that vault.
But memories didn’t require steel doors and biometric locks. Memories didn’t leave men dead on marble floors.
By evening, the house shifted. The soft clink of glass, muted laughter, the distant hum of luxury. Another party was beginning. From her window, she could see black cars pulling up to the courtyard, guests in glittering gowns stepping out like royalty.
Her stomach twisted. These people had no idea—or maybe they did. Maybe everyone in that ballroom knew exactly what kind of blood money paid for the champagne.
She couldn’t just sit here.
So when the guard brought her dinner, she smiled sweetly and asked, “Do you think I could take a walk? Just for ten minutes.”
The guard hesitated. “Orders are—”
“Come with me,” she said. “I just need air.”
After a pause, he agreed. Ten minutes. No detours.
Perfect.
---
They walked down a quiet hallway leading to the terrace. The sound of waves crashed faintly below the cliffs. Warm salt air brushed against her face when they stepped outside.
But before the guard could usher her back in, a voice cut through the dark.
“Taking our guest for a stroll?” Cassian leaned against the railing, cigarette in hand, tattoos visible under the rolled sleeves of his black shirt. “How polite of you.”
The guard stiffened. “Sir, I—”
“Go,” Cassian said, flicking ash. “I’ll handle her.”
The guard hesitated, but Cassian’s stare was enough. With a curt nod, he retreated back into the house.
Now they were alone.
Cassian smirked, exhaling smoke. “You look like a bird in a cage, princess.”
“I’m not your princess,” Léa said, brushing past him to lean on the railing.
“True. You’re trouble.” He studied her like she was both a puzzle and a dare. “You always had that look, even the first night I saw you. You walked into that bar like you were searching for someone to ruin.”
Léa’s pulse kicked. “I wasn’t searching for you.”
“No?” He stepped closer, heat radiating from him. “Then why’d you kiss me like I was oxygen?”
“Maybe I was drunk,” she said sharply.
He laughed, low and rough. “You weren’t.”
Her throat tightened. “You’re not going to get to me.”
“Too late,” he said, his grin fading into something darker. “You’re already in my head.”
---
A gust of wind whipped her hair as Cassian stubbed out his cigarette and stepped closer, crowding her against the railing. He didn’t touch her, but the tension was electric.
“Bastien will keep you locked up forever if you let him,” Cassian said. “He’s ice. I’m fire. Which one burns less?”
She glared. “I don’t need either of you.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “You say that now.”
Before she could step back, he tilted his head, studying her. “You’re planning something, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” He smiled, leaning so close she could feel the heat of his breath. “If you’re smart, you’ll come to me when you’re ready. Bastien? He’ll break you. I just… burn.”
---
The terrace door opened.
“Cassian.” Bastien’s voice cut through the night like a blade.
Cassian straightened, his smirk returning instantly. “Relax, big brother. Just keeping the guest entertained.”
“Go inside,” Bastien ordered. His tone was soft but final.
Cassian gave Léa one last glance. “See you soon, Bellemont.”
He strolled past Bastien with deliberate slowness, as if daring him to react.
Bastien waited until the door closed before stepping onto the terrace. His presence was colder than the sea wind, his gaze unreadable.
“You shouldn’t talk to him,” Bastien said.
“Why? Because he’s dangerous?” Léa asked.
“No,” Bastien replied, stepping closer. “Because you're mine.”
The words sent a chill down her spine.
“I’m not anyone’s,” she said, her voice shaking but firm.
Bastien’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “Then stop playing with fire.”
“Fire doesn’t scare me.”
“Good,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his gaze locking on hers. “Because you’re already standing in the middle of it.”
---
Léa didn’t move.
Bastien stood in front of her, tall and still, like the sea behind him didn’t dare breathe too loud in his presence. His shirt was crisp, collar open, sleeves rolled up over forearms dusted in gold from the dying sun.
He looked like a man carved from elegance and violence.
And for a split second, Léa hated how badly her body noticed.
She turned away, gripping the edge of the railing. “You can’t keep me here.”
“I’m not keeping you,” Bastien said quietly. “I’m protecting you.”
She scoffed. “From who? You? Your brother? Your past?”
His voice stayed level. “From the people who killed that man in the cellar. From the ones who’d kill you just to keep you quiet.”
“Maybe I’d rather take my chances.”
“No,” he said simply. “You wouldn’t.”
Léa turned to face him again, frustration simmering just beneath her skin. “You act like I’m fragile. I’m not. You think you can dress this up with luxury and lock me in a tower and I’ll forget what I saw?”
Bastien stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. “No. I expect you to remember every detail. Because that’s the only way you’ll survive this.”
She blinked. “What?”
His gaze held hers. “You’re not a prisoner. Not exactly. But if you run, you die. If you stay, and you listen, you might walk out of this alive. That’s not a threat. It’s fact.”
“And why do you care?” she asked, her voice low.
Something flickered in his eyes. Not softness—something older. Sharper. Tired.
“Because I’ve seen innocent people get caught in Devereux crossfire,” he said. “And you… you’re not innocent. But you didn’t choose this. And that matters.”
For a moment, Léa didn’t respond.
Because what do you say to a man who admits he’s a monster, but says it like an apology?
She stepped past him, toward the door. “I’m tired of being told what to do. I want answers. About the vault. About my father.”
Bastien didn’t stop her this time. He let her walk away.
But just before she opened the door, his voice came again—soft and quiet like a shadow at her back.
“Tomorrow. Eleven a.m. My office.”
Léa glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”
“You want answers?” His expression was unreadable. “Then it’s time you earned them.”
---
She didn’t sleep that night.
The sheets were cool against her skin, the air thick with memory and adrenaline. She lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of the past two days.
The cellar.
The vault.
Cassian’s kiss.
Bastien’s warnings.
Her head said get out.
Her gut whispered get deeper.
And her heart?
It hadn’t decided what it wanted yet. But it was beating faster than it should.
By dawn, she’d made her choice.
She wasn’t running.
Not yet.
- Writer
