CHAPTER SIX - FAULT LINES
1676 Words
The days after the breach passed in a strange, suffocating quiet.
The house was fully operational again.
The guards returned to their positions.
The security systems were reinforced.
The alarms were reset.
The damaged cameras were replaced.
Everything looked normal.
But nothing felt normal.
Not anymore.
Something had shifted.
I felt it every time Damien entered a room.
He moved differently now.
More carefully.
His eyes lingered on windows before he sat down. He checked doors without appearing to. He noticed every unfamiliar vehicle beyond the gates.
He spoke to his security team in low voices that stopped whenever I approached.
And whenever I asked what was happening, I received the same answer.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
I hated those words.
Because whenever Damien said them, I knew there was something I absolutely needed to worry about.
The distance between us became worse at night.
We lived under the same roof, but it felt like miles separated us.
Sometimes I would see him walking down the hallway long after midnight.
He would have his phone against his ear, his expression unreadable.
Sometimes he would stop outside the study.
Sometimes he would enter the west wing.
And sometimes—
he would look at me.
Just once.
Then disappear behind another door.
It made me restless.
Angry.
Confused.
I hadn't asked to become his wife.
I hadn't asked to become part of his dangerous world.
But now that I was here, I refused to be treated like a stranger inside my own marriage.
So one evening, I waited.
Damien came down the hallway just after nine.
Black shirt.
Rolled sleeves.
Phone in one hand.
His attention fixed on the screen.
He almost passed me.
Almost.
“You're avoiding me.”
He stopped.
His shoulders stiffened.
He didn't turn around immediately.
“I’m doing my job.”
I folded my arms.
“That’s not an answer.”
He slowly turned.
His face was tired.
Not angry.
Tired.
Like he hadn't slept properly in days.
“You shouldn't be standing in the hallway this late.”
“And you shouldn't be avoiding me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I haven't been avoiding you.”
“You barely speak to me.”
“I speak when there's something to say.”
“That might be the problem.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What problem?”
“You never tell me anything.”
Silence.
I took a step closer.
“People broke into your estate.”
Damien said nothing.
“They knew where I was.”
Still nothing.
“Someone spoke to me through your security system.”
His expression changed.
Barely.
But I noticed.
“And you still won't tell me who they are.”
His voice lowered.
“I told you it's being handled.”
“By you.”
“Yes.”
“Without me.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You don't get to make decisions about my life while keeping me completely in the dark.”
His eyes hardened.
“I get to do exactly that when your life is at risk.”
“It's already at risk!”
My voice echoed through the hallway.
Damien stepped closer.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“I said lower your voice.”
“And I said no.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
The guards stationed farther down the corridor suddenly became very interested in anything except us.
Damien exhaled slowly.
“You don't understand what you're asking for.”
“Then help me understand.”
He looked away.
That hurt more than I expected.
I swallowed.
“What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing.”
I gave a bitter laugh.
“That's a lie.”
His eyes snapped back to mine.
“Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because you're asking questions you may not like the answers to.”
“Good.”
I stepped closer.
“I’m tired of being protected from the truth.”
Something flickered across his face.
Then vanished.
“I don't shut doors unless there's danger on the other side.”
His voice was quieter now.
I stared at him.
“And what if I'm standing on the wrong side of that door?”
His jaw clenched.
“Then I move the danger.”
“Not me?”
“Never you.”
The answer came too quickly.
I froze.
For one brief second, his expression softened.
Then the walls returned.
But I had already heard it.
Never you.
Those two words shouldn't have mattered.
They did.
I looked away.
“Why?”
Damien didn't answer.
“Why won't you let them touch me?”
His silence stretched.
Then he said,
“Because they would use you to get to me.”
My stomach tightened.
“So I'm just leverage?”
“No.”
“Then what am I?”
His gaze held mine.
“You're the one thing they didn't expect me to care about.”
My breath caught.
Damien seemed to realize what he'd said.
His expression closed immediately.
“Forget that.”
I stared at him.
“I can't.”
“You need to.”
“Why?”
“Because caring makes people predictable.”
His voice was almost bitter.
“And I can't afford to be predictable.”
Before I could respond, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Whatever he saw changed his entire expression.
“What is it?”
He didn't answer.
“Damien?”
He stepped away.
“Go to your room.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Now.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
The softness was gone.
“Mira”
I froze.
He rarely said my name like that.
“Go.”
“Tell me what's happening.”
He walked toward the study.
I followed.
He stopped at the door.
“You need to trust me.”
“I've been trying.”
“Then trust me now.”
He entered the study.
The door closed.
I stood outside.
For several seconds, I considered walking away.
I didn't.
Something was wrong.
I could feel it.
Then I heard voices through the door.
Damien's.
Another man's.
Low.
Urgent.
I couldn't make out every word.
But one sentence reached me clearly.
“She knows about the marriage.”
My heart stopped.
I moved closer.
Damien's voice became dangerously quiet.
“She knows nothing.”
The other man answered.
“Not yet.”
A pause.
Then:
“They're asking for the original file.”
My hand went cold.
“What file?” Damien asked.
Silence.
Then the stranger said something I couldn't hear.
Damien responded immediately.
“No.”
The word carried enough force to make me step backward.
The door suddenly opened.
Damien stood there.
His eyes met mine.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked toward the corridor.
“Did you hear that?”
I couldn't lie.
“Yes.”
His expression darkened.
“What did you hear?”
I stared at him.
“Enough.”
He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
“You shouldn't have been listening.”
“You shouldn't have been hiding things.”
His jaw tightened.
“What did you hear?”
“That someone knows about the marriage.”
His silence was answer enough.
I felt something inside me crack.
“Damien…”
He looked away.
“There's something you need to understand.”
“What?”
“This marriage didn't happen because our families simply wanted an alliance.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“I know that.”
“No.”
He looked directly at me.
“You don't.”
The hallway suddenly felt colder.
“Then tell me.”
He hesitated.
For the first time, I saw uncertainty in his eyes.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He showed me a photograph.
It was old.
A little girl stood beside a woman.
The image was faded.
But I recognized the woman immediately.
My mother.
My heart pounded.
“Where did you get that?”
Damien didn't answer.
I looked at the girl.
She couldn't have been more than six or seven.
Then I noticed the necklace around her neck.
A small silver pendant.
My fingers instinctively moved toward my own necklace.
The same design.
My breath caught.
“That…”
Damien lowered the phone.
“You've had that necklace your entire life.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because your family gave it to you.”
“Yes.”
“That's not the whole story.”
My throat tightened.
“What story?”
He looked toward the study.
Then back at me.
“The people who came here aren't looking for you because you're my wife.”
I remembered the voice from the safe room.
You weren't chosen because of him.
A chill ran through me.
“Then why?”
Damien's expression became unreadable.
“Because your family has been hiding something from you.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“They have.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I was.”
The hallway seemed to spin.
My family.
My mother.
The marriage.
The photograph.
The necklace.
Everything suddenly connected to something I couldn't see.
Damien stepped closer.
“I didn't marry you because I wanted a wife.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did you marry me?”
His eyes held mine.
“Because marrying you was the only way I could keep you alive.”
My breath caught.
And for the first time since I entered the Cross estate, I understood something terrifying.
Damien hadn't been keeping me prisoner.
He had been keeping me hidden.
From people who already knew exactly who I was.
And somewhere inside that house—
someone knew the truth.
Someone had known it long before I did.
The fault lines between Damien and me had finally cracked.
And what waited underneath them wasn't a secret.
It was my past.
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