Episode 4: The Enemy’s Heart
845 Words
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The wind howled outside the Leclair Mansion.
Inside, Tristan sat alone in the dim light of his study, the fire crackling behind him. A bandage wrapped around his hand, but he didn’t feel the pain. Not anymore. The blood oath had changed something. His senses were sharper. He could hear the scratch of leaves outside the closed windows. The ticking of the antique clock. Even Selene’s heartbeat, steady in the hallway beyond.
She hadn’t said much since the ritual. Neither had he.
How do you talk about magic when your entire life had been built on logic, business, and calculated silence?
His phone buzzed.
A single message from an unknown number:
> “Want to know what your father never told you? Meet me tonight. Alone. No guards. 11 PM. 91 Hawthorne Street.”
There was no signature. But he knew the style.
Ariana.
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91 Hawthorne Street was a ruined cathedral at the edge of the city. Abandoned after a fire ten years ago. Its gates were rusted, its stained-glass windows shattered, and the scent of wet ash still clung to the air.
Tristan stepped through the main doors just before 11. No guards. No weapons. Just a suit and the weight of his last name.
Ariana was already waiting in the sanctuary, dressed in black. She sat on a broken pew, arms draped over the backrest like a queen on a throne.
“You came,” she said without turning.
“You expected me not to?”
She looked at him then. The firelight from a nearby brazier reflected in her eyes, making them shine a brighter green.
“I wasn’t sure,” she replied. “Your father never came when he was summoned.”
Tristan stepped closer. “I’m not my father.”
“No,” she said softly. “You’re worse. You care.”
That hit harder than it should have.
“What do you want, Ariana?”
She rose and walked toward him, her heels clicking against the cracked marble floor.
“I want to make a deal.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Good,” she whispered, stopping inches from his face. “That means we’re getting somewhere.”
She pulled a folded photo from her coat and handed it to him. It was old. Faded. A picture of their fathers—Vincent Leclair and Charles Morrow—standing side by side.
Laughing.
“Thirty years ago, our families weren’t enemies,” she said. “They were allies. Blood-bound. Until Vincent broke the pact.”
Tristan stared at the photo. “What pact?”
Ariana circled him slowly. “A deal between two bloodlines. Leclair magic. Morrow vision. Combined, they were supposed to awaken the ‘Crown of Fire’—a source of power hidden beneath the city. But your father betrayed mine and tried to claim it alone.”
“And what does that have to do with us?” he asked.
“Everything,” Ariana said. “Because now we’re the heirs. The prophecy passed to us. Whether we like it or not, we’re bound by the same curse.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “You’re not cursed.”
Ariana’s smile faded.
She pulled down the collar of her dress—just enough to show him a mark on her shoulder. It glowed faintly red, pulsing like a heartbeat. The same shape as his own sigil.
His chest tightened.
“I didn’t choose this,” she said. “Any more than you did.”
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Outside, hidden in the shadows of the trees, Selene watched.
Her breath came cold and slow. Her eyes glowed silver beneath the moonlight.
She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for Tristan. She had a mission. A duty. But watching him now—alone, standing inches from Ariana, vulnerable to more than just betrayal—Selene felt something strange.
Something hot. Jealous. Dangerous.
She whispered a single word into the night:
“Don’t.”
The wind shifted.
Inside, Tristan felt it too.
He looked past Ariana, toward the broken window. The flame in the brazier flickered violently.
And for a second—just one second—Ariana's green eyes turned black.
He stepped back. “You’re not telling me everything.”
Ariana didn’t move. “Neither are you.”
The tension crackled between them like electricity. Then slowly, she leaned in. Pressed a kiss to his cheek. A warning and a promise.
“I’ll see you soon, Tristan.”
She walked away, heels echoing like a countdown.
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Back at the mansion, Tristan found Selene in the darkened library, standing by the fire.
“You followed me,” he said.
“You shouldn’t have gone alone.”
He stepped closer. “You’re not just my assistant.”
“And you’re not just a CEO,” she said quietly.
Silence stretched between them.
She turned to leave. But just before she reached the door, she paused.
“You’re playing with fire, Tristan,” she said. “And fire burns everything… even hearts.”
Then she was gone.
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To Be Continued
- Writer
