UNHALLOWED

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CHAPTER 7

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The next hour was a whirlwind of glitter, scrambled eggs, and the kind of pure, high-pitched joy that rarely penetrated the soundproofed walls of Rory’s celebrity life. To the rest of the world, Rory Dixon was a voice on the radio or a silhouette under a spotlight, but to Lily-Grace, she was a living, breathing fairy tale who happened to like extra maple syrup on her waffles.

Rory found herself completely losing track of her pop star persona. She leaned over the table, helping Lily-Grace navigate the structural integrity of a fruit parfait, and listened with genuine fascination as the five-year-old explained—in great, breathless detail—the complex social hierarchy of her kindergarten class.

For a moment, the rooftop deck felt like a bubble, protected from the paparazzi below and the heavy weight of the Mordrake name. Rory performed ‘finger-dance’ versions of her hit choreography across the white linen tablecloth, sending Lily-Grace into fits of giggles that made the little girl’s bright blue eyes crinkle shut.

Lily-Grace was a whirlwind of pure, unfiltered joy. Between bites of chocolate-chip pancakes—which she insisted on dipping into a side of strawberry jam—she regaled Rory with the secret lives of her stuffed animals.

“And then,” Lily-Grace whispered loudly, leaning across the table as if the two bodyguards by the door were enemy spies, “Benny Bear said he did not want go sleep because he want stay up and listen your song about the stars! He loves the winkle-winkle parts, Wowy.”

Rory laughed, a genuine, throat-deep sound that made Malphas’s thumb stop its restless scratching against his ring. “Well, you tell Benny Bear that the next time I will sing that song, I will be thinking of him. And you, of course.”

Lily-Grace beamed, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know all the words! I sing them to Dada when he comes home from his... ummm, his…his big-man work.” She turned to her father, her face glowing when he nodded. “I sing dada, right? I a good singer like Wowy!”

“The best in the world, baby girl,” Malphas murmured. His voice was a low rumble, and though he remained as still as a statue, the predatory edge in his posture had smoothed into something more contemplative.

“Look! I can do dance too!” Lily-Grace scrambled out of her booster seat, ignoring her half-eaten breakfast to perform a shaky but enthusiastic pirouette in her shimmering dress. She ended the move by throwing her arms wide, her blonde pigtails flying. “Tada! I a pop star!” She giggled happily.

Rory clapped her hands together, her eyes bright with genuine affection. “Ten out of ten! That was a perfect finish. You have got the sparkle, Lily-Grace. You have definitely got the sparkle.”

The little girl giggled, her cheeks flushed pink with happiness, and she skipped back to Rory’s side, leaning her head against Rory’s arm. For that moment, the bodyguards, the guns, and the shadow of the Mordrake name did not exist—there was just a little girl who had finally met her hero, and a woman who had forgotten, for a moment, how lonely the top of the charts could be.

But every time Rory laughed, she could feel the heat of a steady, unwavering gaze.

Malphas remained a silent monolith at the head of the table. He did not eat much, preferring a cup of black espresso that looked as dark as his soul. He watched them with a terrifyingly sharp focus, his thumb still rhythmically tracing that silver ring.

He was the shadow to their light, the silent guardian of a world Rory did not understand, observing the Global Pop Icon not as a fan’s father, but as something far more predatory and intrigued.

Like any perfect moment, the morning eventually had to succumb to the clock. The bill had already been settled by Malphas with a silent, efficient flick of his wrist, all while Lily-Grace remained locked in her own world, chattering away to Rory with a radiant, gap-toothed grin.

“Ready to say goodbye to Rory, baby girl?” Malphas asked, his voice a low, grounding rumble.

He moved with a lethal, effortless grace as he reached down, gathering his daughter into his arms. Even as she was lifted, Lily-Grace did not take her eyes off Rory, her chubby cheeks flushed from the excitement of being seen and heard by her idol. Malphas held her with a practiced, protective strength, his dark suit a stark contrast to her shimmering pink dress, as he prepared to lead his daughter back into their world of shadows and silence.

“Dada, Wowy say she give me tickets to her concewt.” Lily-Grace announced, her voice pitching up with excitement as she looked at her father. He listened with a sharp, undivided attention that made it clear his daughter was the only person on earth who could command him so completely. “We go, pweash?” She turned the full power of her wide, innocent blue eyes on him, pleading with a sincerity that could melt stone.

“We can go to the concert,” Malphas conceded, his voice dropping into a grounded, fatherly tone, “on one condition: you must promise to finish your writing practice. Every letter of your full name.”

The excitement on Lily-Grace’s face vanished, replaced instantly by a look of pure, theatrical distaste. She scrunched up her nose, her little shoulders sagging. “But my name long write,” she groaned, holding up her small palm as if the phantom pain was already there. “I tiny hand huwt vewy much.”

Rory felt a soft, genuine smile pull at her lips. There was something profoundly humanizing about watching this man—who looked like he could buy and sell the entire city of London without blinking—negotiating the alphabet with a five-year-old. Despite the expensive crispness of his suit and the lethal aura he carried, in this moment, he was just a father being out-maneuvered by a miniature version of himself.

“Well, we can settle the logistics of your handwriting later,” Malphas responded, shifting her weight in his muscular arms with practiced ease. “For now, we have to go. Say your goodbyes to Miss Dixon.”

Lily-Grace gave a solemn nod before turning back to Rory, her bright, gap-toothed smile returning in full force. “I so happy I meet you today Wowy.”

“I am so incredibly happy I got to meet you too, Lily-Grace,” Rory replied. She let her professional guard drop completely, offering the little girl her most radiant, heartfelt smile—the kind that did not belong on a billboard, but in a memory, just like she showed to every single one of her fans.

Lily-Grace’s tiny arms opened wide toward Rory, a silent plea for one last connection. “Can we hug pweash before I go home with Dada? Is okay?”

“Of course. It is absolutely fine,” Rory answered, her voice softening with a generous, genuine warmth.

As Lily-Grace leaned forward, Rory moved in to meet her, closing the distance to embrace the little girl who remained cradled in her father’s powerful arms. As she felt the child’s small, delicate arms wrap around her neck and the warmth of a tiny head resting against hers, the world outside that small circle of contact suddenly vanished.

Rory’s breath hitched, snagging painfully in the back of her throat. In leaning forward to reach the daughter, she had inadvertently entered the father’s orbit.

Their faces were now barely three inches apart.

Up close, the proximity was suffocating. She was trapped in the gravitational pull of a man who smelled of expensive smoke and cold starlight. His obsidian eyes were not just looking at her; they were scouring her, heavy and unblinking, tracking the slight tremor of her lips. Rory felt a sudden, violent shiver race down her spine—not from fear, but from a dizzying rush of sensory overload.