HIS FORBIDDEN CLAIM

CHAPTER 02— The Rooms That Whispers

(Kaela)

The mansion is too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet.

Not serene quiet.

But the kind of quiet that presses against your skin and warns you not to breathe too loudly.

By morning, the fog has settled across the Blackwood estate like a silk veil. The air feels heavier, colder. Even the sunlight seems hesitant, touching the windows without fully entering.

Kaela Brighton—no, Kaela Vionn, even though the name still tastes foreign and unwanted on her tongue—stands at the foot of the grand staircase, clutching the railing to ground herself.

She hasn’t slept.

How could she?

The room Vionn gave her is large, beautiful, and suffocating. The sheets smelled like sandalwood and something darker—him. Even alone, she’d felt watched.

She still feels watched.

A faint echo travels across the hall. Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Vionn.

Of course he’s awake early. Men like Vionn Alexander Blackwood don’t sleep; they sharpen themselves in the dark.

“Good morning.” His voice rolls down the staircase behind her—deep, cold, calm.

Kaela stiffens. She doesn’t look back.

“Good morning,” she replies, her tone painfully polite. Her mother would’ve been proud. Her real emotions—fear, resentment, confusion—are locked beneath a glass mask.

She hears him step beside her.

He doesn’t touch her… but he stands close enough that the heat of his body eats into the space she desperately wants.

“Breakfast is at nine,” he says. “My mother insists.”

Of course she does. A Blackwood never breaks ritual.

Kaela nods vaguely. “I’ll be there.”

She’s about to walk off, but Vionn’s gaze anchors her in place.

“You look pale,” he says quietly. “Did you sleep?”

A question that sounds like a command.

“I’m fine,” she lies.

His eyes flicker—subtle, unreadable, but there.

He knows she’s lying.

“I’ll have one of the staff show you the estate,” Vionn says. “It’s easy to get lost.”

But Kaela hears the unspoken meaning clearly:

I don’t want you wandering where you shouldn’t.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Are there… places I’m not allowed?”

His jaw tightens for a split second.

“There are places that aren’t safe.”

Another lie.

“What kind of places?”

He doesn’t answer.

He simply leans closer, his cold breath brushing her temple.

“Stay where you’re supposed to stay, Kaela.”

Her stomach twists.

And then he leaves—his expensive shoes echoing across the marble floor.

Kaela waits until his footsteps disappear completely before letting out the breath she’d been holding.

She’s not staying where he wants her.

Not today.

Not ever.

Not after everything she sacrificed.

Kaela starts walking deeper into the mansion.

And that’s when she realizes something:

The walls have too many locked doors.

(The Forbidden Corridor)

It takes her ten minutes of wandering to find it.

A hallway that feels out of place in the otherwise perfect mansion—too shadowed, too quiet, too cold. Even the lights are dimmer here.

The air shifts.

A prickle runs along her spine.

Something about this corridor feels deliberate. Hidden. Wrong.

She shouldn’t go in.

So she does.

Her slippers make no sound against the polished black wood floors. There are portraits lining the walls—Blackwoods, generations of them, each with the same piercing eyes.

Vionn’s eyes.

The deeper she walks, the stranger the portraits get.

The smiles fade.

The expressions sharpen.

One of the paintings—a woman with raven hair and storm-gray eyes—seems to follow her.

The plaque reads:

Adriana Blackwood (Deceased, Age 27)

Vionn had never mentioned a relative with that name.

A chill crawls over Kaela’s skin.

She takes one step back—then bumps into something solid.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

A voice breathes against her ear:

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Kaela jumps and spins around so fast she almost slips.

Lucas Blackwood stands behind her.

Tall, handsome in a playful, wicked way.

Vionn’s younger brother.

But where Vionn is cold steel, Lucas is warm danger.

He smiles—too charming, too smooth.

“Curious little sister-in-law, aren’t you?”

Kaela’s pulse spikes. She hates that her voice shakes. “I was just—looking around.”

“Mm.” Lucas leans a shoulder against the wall, watching her with amused eyes. “People who go ‘looking around’ this corridor usually regret it.”

“What’s in here?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucas’s smile fades.

“Secrets,” he says. “The kind that require loyalty or blood to keep.”

Her mouth dries.

“Lucas.” A sharp voice cuts through the hallway.

Sophia Blackwood approaches—perfect hair, perfect face, perfect glare. She looks at Kaela like she’s something stuck to her designer heel.

“Stop scaring her,” Sophia snaps.

Lucas lifts his hands in mock surrender.

“Just keeping her from opening the wrong doors.”

Sophia rolls her eyes, grabs Kaela’s wrist—not roughly, but not gently either—and pulls her away.

“Follow me,” she says. “Mother hates tardiness.”

Kaela glances back at the corridor.

At the locked doors.

At Adriana’s portrait.

And at Lucas, who watches her leave with an expression that’s no longer playful—

but warning.

(Breakfast with the Blackwood Family)

The dining room is a cathedral of crystal chandeliers and expensive silence.

Isabella Blackwood sits at the head of the table—beautiful, graceful, elegant… and terrifying. Her eyes are soft, but her smile doesn’t reach them.

“Sweetheart!” Isabella greets, rising to kiss Kaela’s cheek. “How was your first night? Comfortable?”

Kaela forces a smile. “Yes, thank you.”

A lie.

Vionn sits across the table, unreadable as ever.

Marcus Blackwood, the patriarch, glances up from a newspaper, his voice deep and dismissive. “You’re late.”

Sophia snorts softly. “Told you.”

Vionn’s gaze flicks to his sister—sharp enough to silence her instantly.

Kaela sits, her palms sweaty.

Isabella begins chatting about charity galas and business partners, but Kaela barely hears a word.

Her thoughts keep circling back to that corridor.

To Adriana Blackwood.

To Lucas’s cryptic warning.

To Vionn’s cold, watchful eyes.

Halfway through breakfast, Isabella pauses mid-sentence.

“Oh dear—Kaela?” she asks softly. “You look distracted.”

Kaela shakes her head quickly. “I’m fine.”

But Vionn studies her more carefully now. His eyes narrow slightly.

He knows.

He senses something.

And she hates that.

When breakfast ends, Isabella offers to show Kaela the gardens.

Kaela nods politely.

But as everyone rises, she catches Vionn watching her with that same unreadable intensity.

He waits until the others leave.

Then he speaks in a low voice.

“You went somewhere you shouldn’t.”

It’s not a question.

Kaela’s heart slams against her ribs.

Her mouth opens—

but no sound comes out.

“You’re curious,” Vionn says. “Curiosity in this house is dangerous.”

Her breath shakes. “What are you hiding?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

She steps closer—fear drowned by frustration. “Then why are there locked doors? Why is there a corridor no one wants me to see?”

Vionn’s eyes darken.

“Because,” he says softly, “this family has suffered enough.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Kaela fires back.

“It explains everything,” he counters.

Then he leans in, his voice a whisper of ice and heat.

“And Kaela… stop digging.”

She steps back.

Because for a moment—just a split second—Vionn doesn’t look cold.

He looks haunted.

**But Kaela doesn’t stop digging.

She can’t.

Not after what she finds that afternoon.**

(Kaela)

The rest of the morning should’ve been spent with Isabella—smiling politely at roses and lemon trees, admiring fountains Kaela didn’t care about, nodding while Isabella described the Blackwood philanthropy projects.

But Kaela’s mind was still in that dark hallway.

In that cold corridor.

With those locked doors.

And especially… Adriana.

Even the sunlight in the gardens felt wrong. Too bright. Too artificial. Like the estate was trying too hard to disguise something rotten growing beneath it.

While Isabella chatted about the upcoming charity gala, Kaela drifted behind her, running her fingertips over marble columns and wrought-iron archways.

Until she realized something:

Vionn had followed them.

Not obviously.

Not walking beside them.

But far enough to pretend he wasn’t watching—

and close enough that Kaela felt his eyes on her back every time she took a step.

She turned once and caught him, standing near the balcony like a carved statue, hands in pockets, gaze locked on her.

Cold.

Measured.

Unblinking.

Like a man who didn’t want to look—

but couldn’t stop himself.

She looked away quickly.

Isabella placed a manicured hand on Kaela’s shoulder. “My dear, why don’t you explore the mansion this afternoon? Get comfortable. This is your home now.”

Home.

The word feels like a collar.

But Kaela smiles gently, because she’s been trained her entire life to smile.

To swallow discomfort.

To obey.

“I would love to,” she says.

Vionn’s jaw tenses.

He doesn’t like that.

Good.

Let him stew.

Let him wonder where she’ll go.

Let him finally feel even a fraction of how trapped she feels.

(Exploring the Mansion (Again))

By noon, the mansion is quiet again. Staff move silently like shadows. Isabella and Marcus have retreated to their business rooms. Lucas has vanished—maybe to talk to someone he shouldn’t. Sophia is somewhere being beautiful and cruel.

And Vionn?

He’s in his office.

Or so she hopes.

Kaela waits a minute.

Two.

Three.

Then she turns toward the west wing.

Toward the forbidden corridor.

Her heartbeat quickens with each step.

The air feels colder again—like stepping into a different world entirely. A world not meant to exist in a modern mansion. A world that still breathes old secrets, old wounds, old ghosts.

She reaches the portrait of Adriana Blackwood.

It’s even more haunting in daylight.

Those ash-gray eyes feel like they’re staring straight into Kaela’s bones.

Like they’re warning her.

Or begging her.

“Who were you?” Kaela whispers.

She steps closer.

The plaque under the portrait is old. Tarnished.

But there’s something odd.

There are faint scratch marks on the frame.

As if someone once tried to remove it.

Or destroy it.

Kaela swallows hard and turns toward the first locked door.

A heavy oak door with a brass handle.

No keyhole—just an electronic pad.

Weird.

Out of place.

She tries the handle anyway.

It doesn’t budge.

She tries the second door.

Locked.

Third.

Locked.

But the fourth door

A faint click echoes.

Kaela freezes.

She didn’t touch it.

The door… unlocked itself?

Her heart stutters.

An icy draft rolls out from the narrow crack.

She pushes the door gently.

It opens.

The Room That Shouldn’t Exist

Dark.

Freezing.

Silent.

Kaela steps inside cautiously, her fingers brushing the wall until they find a light switch.

Click.

The room blinks alive with a cold white glow.

And Kaela gasps—

Because this isn’t just a room.

It’s an archive.

Rows of metal shelves.

Stacks of files.

Boxes with dates written across them.

Photographs.

Old contracts.

Medical folders.

Blackwood documents dating back decades.

Why would a family this wealthy keep sensitive files in a dusty, hidden room?

She steps deeper inside.

A ledger catches her eye—thick, leather-bound, marked:

“Blackwood Internal: Confidential — A.”

A for Adriana?

Kaela reaches for it—

“Kaela.”

Her entire body freezes.

The voice behind her is deep.

Low.

Controlled like a knife blade.

Vionn.

She turns slowly, her hand still hovering over the ledger.

He stands halfway inside the doorway, eyes colder than she’s ever seen them. His chest rises and falls slowly—too slowly. A sign of anger he’s trying to bury.

Or control.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is eerily calm.

Kaela swallows. “I—I was just walking and—”

“Walking?” he repeats softly.

That tone is worse than shouting.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that feels deafening.

“You were warned,” Vionn continues. “Lucas warned you. I warned you.”

Kaela lifts her chin. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t lie.”

His voice cuts across the air—quiet but sharp.

She trembles, but she doesn’t look away.

“I’m not lying,” she whispers. “You can’t expect me to live here and not wonder why half your house is locked.”

Vionn’s eyes darken dangerously.

“This room is off-limits.”

“Why?” she fires back.

He doesn’t answer.

“Vionn,” she continues, finding courage she didn’t know she had, “what happened to Adriana Blackwood?”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Vionn’s jaw locks.

His hands curl into fists.

He takes one step toward her.

Then another.

Until he’s inches from her face, his breath brushing her cheek.

His voice drops to a whisper of steel.

“Do not—ever—say that name again.”

Kaela’s heart slams against her ribs.

“Why?” she breathes.

Vionn leans closer, his eyes flickering with something she can’t decipher.

“Because,” he says, “some ghosts don’t like being disturbed.”

A shiver races through her.

Not because of the words—

But because for the first time,

she sees fear in Vionn Blackwood’s eyes.

He grabs her wrist.

Gently.

But firmly enough that she can’t pull away.

“This room is not for you,” he murmurs. “Not now. Not ever.”

She feels his heartbeat through his grip. Fast. Unsteady.

Not cold.

Not composed.

Not Vionn.

“What are you hiding?” Kaela whispers.

Vionn’s expression shatters for just a second.

A second of vulnerability.

Then the mask snaps back.

He pulls her out of the room, shuts the door, and locks it with a code too fast for her to catch.

He stands there a moment, breathing hard, palms pressed against the door, like he’s holding something inside.

Or holding something back.

Finally, he turns to her.

“Kaela,” he says quietly, “there are things in this family that will destroy you if you get involved.”

His voice cracks softly.

Barely.

But enough.

“And I won’t let that happen. Even if you hate me for it.”

Kaela’s breath catches.

Not because of the words.

But because he sounds…

haunted.

Broken.

Possessive.

Desperate.

“Stay out of the west wing,” he finishes. “That’s the last time I’ll say it.”

Then, without waiting for her response—

He walks away.

Leaving Kaela trembling in a hallway full of ghosts

and secrets that refuse to stay buried.

(Kaela)

Vionn’s footsteps fade down the corridor, but the storm he leaves behind lingers like static in the air.

Kaela exhales shakily.

She should run back to the safe parts of the mansion.

She should obey.

She should promise herself she’ll never go near that corridor again.

But she can still hear his voice echoing in her mind:

“Some ghosts don’t like being disturbed.”

What ghosts?

Whose?

And why did he look so… wrecked?

She presses her back against the cold wall, trying to steady her breathing.

But the moment she starts walking away, something catches her eye—

A sliver of paper under the baseboard, just inches from the forbidden door.

Her heart stutters.

She kneels quickly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no Blackwood is lurking. Then she pulls at the paper — slow, careful, breath trembling.

It slips out.

A fragment of an old photograph.

Torn. Faded. But clear enough.

A woman in a black dress.

Storm-gray eyes.

A small, haunting smile.

Kaela freezes.

It’s her.

The woman from the painting.

Adriana Blackwood.

But something sends ice straight through Kaela’s chest.

Because next to Adriana — partially ripped but unmistakable —

is Vionn.

Young.

Smiling.

With his arm around Adriana’s waist.

Not siblings-happy.

Not friends-happy.

Intimate.

Possessive.

Protective.

Like a man in love.

Kaela’s stomach twists.

Who was Adriana to him?

And why did the entire family refuse to say her name?

---

(The Argument Behind the Glass Door)

Kaela tucks the torn photo into her sleeve and hurries down the hall, almost tripping over the edge of a decorative rug. Her heart won’t slow down.

She wants to breathe fresh air. Maybe cry. Maybe scream.

Instead, she hears voices—sharp, hushed, urgent—coming from behind a partially closed glass door near the east wing.

She shouldn’t listen.

She listens anyway.

Marcus Blackwood’s voice is first.

Cold enough to freeze bone.

“She cannot go near that wing. You know what’s stored there.”

Vionn’s reply is lower. Controlled. But the tension cuts through the air like barbed wire.

“I told her to stay out. I handled it.”

Marcus snaps:

“You didn’t handle anything. She got inside, Vionn. She found the room.”

Silence.

Kaela presses closer, barely breathing.

Marcus continues, “If she finds the documents—”

“She won’t,” Vionn says sharply.

“You can’t know that.”

Vionn’s voice drops into something dark. Dangerous.

“Kaela is not stupid. But she’s also not… Adriana.”

Kaela’s blood runs cold.

Adriana again.

Marcus lowers his tone, but the menace is unmistakable.

“We had an agreement. When we erased her existence from this family, we erased every path leading back to her. Do not let your wife uncover what should remain buried.”

Kaela grips the doorframe until her knuckles ache.

Erased?

Buried?

What did they do to Adriana?

Before she can lean closer, Marcus moves. His shadow approaches the door. Kaela gasps silently and darts behind a tall vase just as he exits.

She stays hidden until the echoes of his steps fade down the hall.

Then she risks peeking through the glass.

Vionn is alone now.

Standing by the window.

Fists clenched.

Jaw tight.

Eyes burning with something far more deadly than anger.

Guilt.

For a moment, he isn’t the cold CEO or the calculated Blackwood heir.

He looks like a man grieving a ghost he refuses to name.

Kaela’s breath softens.

Who are you hiding, Vionn?

And why does it feel like you’re still bleeding from it?

Sudden Footsteps

Kaela turns to slip away—

But nearly collides with someone.

Sophia.

Her perfectly glossed lips curl in irritation.

“Why are you creeping around like that? Who are you spying on now?”

Kaela forces her voice steady. “No one. I was looking for the library.”

Sophia narrows her eyes.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Kaela feels her cheeks burn.

Sophia leans in close, her voice dropping to a cold whisper.

“I don’t know what stories you heard as a child, but in this house, little girls who pry into Blackwood business… get hurt.”

Kaela stiffens. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Sophia smiles sweetly. “I’m warning you.”

Then she turns and walks away, the click of her heels echoing like hostility.

(The Photograph in Secret)

Kaela heads straight to her room and shuts the door quietly.

Only then does she pull out the torn photograph from her sleeve.

She places it on the bed, smoothing the wrinkles.

Adriana’s face stares back at her, haunting and ethereal.

And Vionn’s young smile beside her cuts deeper than Kaela wants to admit.

She traces Adriana’s features with her fingertip.

Who were you?

What did they do to you?

And why does your name feel forbidden?

A sudden knock jolts her.

Her heartbeat spikes.

She quickly folds the photo and hides it under her pillow.

She opens the door—

And Vionn stands there.

Expression unreadable.

Body tense.

Eyes too sharp.

For a moment neither of them speaks.

The air crackles.

“Are you avoiding me?” Vionn finally asks.

Kaela swallows. “No.”

His gaze flicks across her face, searching, dissecting.

“You’re lying,” he says quietly.

She flinches.

Vionn steps inside the room without waiting for permission. He closes the door behind him. The faint click echoes like a lock sealing them together.

He turns to face her.

“What did you hear?” he demands softly.

Kaela’s breath stumbles.

“Nothing.”

“Kaela.”

His voice is low. Controlled. But trembling at the edges.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

She lifts her chin. “I didn’t hear anything.”

He steps closer.

One step.

Another.

Until he’s inches away.

“Your pulse says otherwise.”

Her eyes widen.

“Are you—checking my pulse?”

Vionn’s gaze drops to her neck, where her heartbeat flutters visibly.

“You’re scared,” he murmurs.

“But not of me.”

A beat.

He lifts a hand—slowly, carefully—and rests it against the wall beside her head, caging her in without touching her.

“Kaela,” he says, voice soft and dangerous. “Tell me what you saw.”

She whispers:

“Why are you all hiding Adriana?”

Vionn goes still.

Completely still.

As if her words froze every muscle in his body.

His eyes shutter.

His jaw locks.

His breath turns razor-sharp.

“You said her name.”

He sounds broken.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“Why?” she breathes.

He meets her gaze with something raw—

pain, guilt, longing, fear—

all tangled into one unholy emotion.

And he whispers:

“Because Adriana Blackwood died because of us.”

Kaela’s blood turns to ice.

Before she can speak—

Before she can ask—

Before she can breathe—

Vionn steps back sharply and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

Leaving Kaela alone with her heartbeat

and a ghost named Adriana

that refuses to stay silent.

Midnight in the Forbidden Wing

Kaela

Kaela doesn’t sleep.

She can’t.

Her mind keeps replaying Vionn’s last words—

“Adriana Blackwood died because of us.”

The us stings.

The finality terrifies.

And the secrets press against her ribs like knives.

Around midnight, she sits up in bed, listening to the quiet hum of the mansion. Most of the lights are off. The world feels dipped in blue shadow and eerie calm.

She glances at the door.

She shouldn’t.

She really shouldn’t.

But the need to know gnaws at her bones.

Kaela slips out of bed, grabs a sweater, and carefully tiptoes into the hallway.

The corridor to the forbidden wing feels colder than earlier—

like the air itself is holding its breath.

She hesitates.

Then starts walking.

Every step seems louder than it should be.

She keeps looking over her shoulder.

The mansion feels… awake. Watching. Listening.

When she reaches the sealed door again, her fingers tremble as she touches the old handle.

It gives.

Just a little.

Enough.

Kaela pushes the door open, heart slamming.

The forbidden wing is darker at night.

No moonlight.

No warmth.

Just long, endless shadows swallowing the hall.

She pulls out her phone for light.

The beam slices through dust-filled air as she steps deeper inside.

She moves past the covered portraits…

past the antique furniture…

past the cold metal smell she now recognizes as old, forgotten steel.

Her light catches something on the floor.

A metal grate.

Slightly lifted.

As if someone opened it recently.

Kaela kneels, hesitating only a second before sliding it fully aside.

There—

inside a hidden shallow slot—

lies a small leather-bound diary.

Old. Worn.

Stamped with a single initial:

A.B.

Kaela’s chest tightens.

Adriana Blackwood.

She grabs it gently, brushing away dust. The leather crackles under her fingers.

When she opens the first page, the scent of old ink drifts up.

Her breath catches as she whispers out loud:

“…oh my god.”

Because the first line reads:

“Vionn is everything this family hates.

And everything I love.”

Kaela’s hands shake.

Her pulse races.

She flips the page—

But the sound of footsteps hits the hall.

Heavy.

Slow.

Coming straight toward her.

Kaela snaps the diary shut and hides behind a tall covered mirror just as the footsteps enter the wing.

The air turns sharp.

Someone is here.

She holds her breath.

The footsteps stop only inches from her hiding spot.

She can hear breathing.

Soft.

Controlled.

Deadly.

A voice—low, male, unfamiliar—whispers:

“Still nosy. Just like her.”

Kaela’s blood ices.

He knows Adriana.

She presses herself tighter against the wall, praying he doesn’t hear her heartbeat.

But then the footsteps retreat.

Slowly.

Purposefully.

Like the man knew she was there

but chose not to take her.

Not yet.

When the echoes fade completely, Kaela stumbles out of hiding, forcing down panic.

She clutches the diary to her chest.

She needs to leave.

Right now.

She turns—

And crashes straight into a solid chest.

Her scream lodges in her throat.

A hand clamps over her mouth.

“Kaela.”

Vionn’s voice.

Dark. Breathless. Furious.

He pulls her away from the doorway, slamming her back against the wall — not hurting her, not touching her except at the shoulders — but holding her still with sheer intensity.

His eyes blaze.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispers harshly.

“Do you want to get hurt?”

Kaela shakes her head, trying to breathe, trying to explain—

He sees the diary in her hand.

His entire body goes still.

“Where did you get that?”

His voice cracks.

It’s not anger.

It’s fear.

Kaela opens her mouth. “Vionn… this was hidden under—”

“Give it to me.”

His jaw is tight.

His voice is raw.

She holds it tighter.

“No.”

His chest rises sharply.

“You don’t understand what you’re holding.”

“Then explain it to me!”

Silence.

Sharp.

Painful.

Vionn looks away like the walls are closing in.

Like the memories are claws.

“You’re not supposed to know her story,” he murmurs.

“Her life… or her death.”

Kaela steps closer.

Soft. Determined.

“Then tell me the truth.”

Vionn meets her eyes.

Broken pieces of him flicker there.

“I can’t,” he says, voice barely a breath.

“Because once you know… you’ll never look at me the same.”

Kaela’s throat tightens.

Vionn takes the diary gently from her hands.

He looks at it like it’s both a treasure and a curse.

Then he turns around.

“We’re leaving this wing. Now.”

He doesn’t wait for her answer.

Kaela follows, because the man in the shadows might still be near—

and because Vionn’s fear feels too real to ignore.

When they step out into the corridor, Vionn locks the door behind them with a key she’s never seen.

He pockets the diary like it’s a piece of his heart.

Kaela whispers, “Vionn… who was in there? Who said that?”

He stops.

His voice goes cold.

“You heard him?”

Kaela nods.

Vionn’s jaw tightens dangerously.

His eyes darken.

“He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near you,” he mutters.

“He wasn’t even supposed to be alive.”

Kaela freezes.

“Who is he?”

Vionn looks over his shoulder.

And for the first time since they met—

she sees real fear in his eyes.

“Someone who once loved Adriana.”

He pauses.

“And someone who wants you next.”