WANT ME BACK. BREAK ME TWICE

The Gathering Storm

The grand foyer felt like a courtroom. Rohan stood by the towering mahogany doors, fully dressed in a tailored charcoal traveling suit, his dark overcoat draped over one arm. The entire estate staff—from the kitchen maids to the perimeter security detail stood in a rigid, silent line. I kept myself near the back, my hand surreptitiously anchoring against the cold marble pillar to keep me steady. Every breath I took carried the faint, rusty taste of blood.

"My instructions are absolute," Rohan’s voice rang through the high ceilings, cold and unyielding. "While I am in the North Districts managing the new concession, security is to be doubled. No one enters or leaves this perimeter without direct clearance from my head of security. My wife’s health and the safety of my heir are your primary directives. Any lapse in discipline will result in immediate termination and legal prosecution."

A murmur of compliance rippled through the staff. I kept my eyes lowered, watching the polished gleam of his leather shoes.

"Dismissed," he said flatly. "Except for Elara. Stay behind."

The staff emptied the foyer like ghosts vanishing into the walls. Nina cast a terrified, lingering glance over her shoulder at me before she was forced down the kitchen corridor.

When the heavy doors clicked shut, the silence between us became heavy, suffocating, and charged with an unexploded pressure. I didn't move. I kept my spine straight, waiting.

Rohan didn't speak immediately. Instead, he walked toward me. His steps were slow, deliberate, and predatory, yet there was a strange, agonizing drag to his posture. He stopped bare inches from me. He was so close I could smell the familiar, sharp scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the bitter trace of black coffee. He towered over me, blocking out the morning light, his eyes scanning my face with a desperate, frantic hunger he thought he was hiding.

For a wild, fleeting second, the air between us shifted. It didn't feel like a master addressing a disgraced servant. It felt like a man who was starving, looking down at the only woman who had ever truly held his soul. His jaw clenched, his gaze lingering on the faded swelling of my cheek, then dropping to my pale, cracked lips. He looked as if he wanted to reach out. As if, deep down beneath the layers of his manufactured hatred, he wanted me to touch his arm. He wanted me to tell him to be safe.

But he couldn't let himself be weak. Not with the thief. Not with the ghost.

"You look pathetic, Elara," he said softly. The words were meant to be an insult, but they tore out of his throat with a rough, defensive rasp that sounded dangerously like concern. "You are deliberately neglecting your health to make a mockery of my house. I’ve seen the way you drag your leg. I’ve heard you coughing through the night."

"I am performing my duties to the best of my ability, Sir," I whispered, keeping my voice a completely flat, emotionless vacuum.

My utter detachment drove a sharp, visible flash of anger through his eyes. He stepped even closer, his breath brushing against my forehead. "Don't play the stoic martyr with me. Not today. I am leaving for four days. If I return and find that you have caused even a fraction of distress to Treas, or if you dare try another one of your clumsy sympathy stunts..." He paused, his voice dropping into a gravel, trembling sound that bordered on a plea. "...I will make you regret it, Elara. Do you understand me? Stay in your quarters. Do not provoke her."

Before I could answer, the sharp click of designer heels echoed from the grand staircase.

"Rohan? Darling, is everything alright?" Treas hurried down the steps, her satin morning gown billowing behind her. Her eyes immediately locked onto our proximity, a sharp, manic spike of anxiety flaring across her beautiful features. She practically threw herself between us, grabbing Rohan's arm and looking up at him with a carefully manufactured pout. "What is happening here? Why are you talking to her?"

The intimate current between Rohan and me shattered instantly. The steel doors of his corporate mask slammed shut, his expression hardening back into stone.

"Nothing, Treas," Rohan murmured, his voice instantly smoothing out into flat ice as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "I was simply issuing a strict warning to the servant. Ensuring she understands her boundaries while I am away. My only priority is protecting you and our baby."

Treas’s face instantly melted into a sweet, innocent smile. She leaned her head against his shoulder, casting a victorious, lethal glance over his chest directly at me. "Oh, you are so good to us, darlin'. Don't worry about a thing. I'll make sure the estate runs perfectly while you're gone."

Rohan nodded, his eyes lingering on me for one final, agonizing beat, a look filled with a strange, tortured unease before he turned and walked out the heavy double doors.

The second his car engine roared to life and the gravel crunched outside, the pretense vanished.

Treas tore herself away from the door. She turned around, the sweet, doting wife disappearing instantly, replaced by a vicious, unrestrained predator. She marched over to me, her stiletto slipper striking the marble like gunfire, until she was standing exactly where Rohan had stood.

She leaned in, her eyes glowing with a manic, unhinged malice.

"He’s gone, Elara," she hissed, her voice a low, toxic venom. "For four whole days, your little protector isn't here to catch your silver trays or order security checks because you're coughing up a bit of blood."

I held her crazed stare, keeping my expression entirely placid, entirely dead.

Treas reached out, her fingers digging violently into the fabric of my sweater, right over my almost completely healed arm, squeezing until the pain flared white-hot behind my eyes. "You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Trying to drag his eyes back to you with your tragic, dying routine? Well, let me tell you something, big sister. While he is gone, all hell is breaking loose on you. I am going to make the next four days an absolute, living hell. By the time Rohan gets back, I’ll have you begging to be thrown into the street on your stumps."

She released me with a brutal shove, laughing softly to herself as she turned and walked back toward the stairs. "Get to the laundry room. You have fifty sheets to scrub by hand before tonight."

I stood alone in the empty, silent foyer, watching her ascend the stairs. My arm throbbed violently where she had squeezed it, and a fresh wave of heat bloomed in my chest, forcing a quiet, wet cough from my throat.

Treas thought she was locking me into a hell of her own making. She thought she was going to spend the next four days breaking my spirit.