The Sword Sharpens
1120 Words
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eliana didn’t sleep that night.
Not because she was scared.
Because for the first time… she was ready.
The discovery of Desmond’s private war chamber in the east wing had changed everything. His uncle wasn’t just some bitter family member. He was a man willing to burn down everything—including Desmond himself—for power.
And Eliana?
She was done being the silent accessory.
The next morning, she got dressed in black jeans, a crisp blouse, and flat boots. Comfortable, clean, confident. No makeup. No soft curls. No jewelry.
Just a clear mind and a sharp focus.
She found Desmond already in the study, phone in one hand, coffee in the other, murmuring instructions to someone on the other end of the line.
He looked up when she entered.
Ended the call.
“You’re early,” he said.
“You asked me to be your shield,” Eliana replied. “I’m reporting for duty.”
A corner of his mouth curved up. Not a smirk. Not amusement.
Approval.
“You sure?”
She walked up to his desk and placed both hands on the edge. “Give me something to do. Something real.”
He sat back. “You want to help me fight my uncle?”
“I want to protect the only thing I have left my future. And right now, that future’s tied to yours.”
Desmond watched her for a long moment.
Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a black folder.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s test your instincts.”
The folder contained a list of names shareholders, assistants, legal consultants. All people in Desmond’s circle. Some crossed out. Some circled.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
“Loyalty,” he said. “My uncle has spies. People who smile to my face and feed him information. I need to find out who.”
Eliana flipped through the pages.
Photos. Dates. Meeting logs.
And notes scribbled in Desmond’s clean handwriting.
“How did you get all this?”
He shrugged. “You’re not the only one I studied.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t comment. Two could play that game now.
“You want me to… what?” she asked. “Confront them?”
“No. I want you to observe. You’re new. Innocent. They’ll talk more freely around you. See who gets nervous. Who asks too many questions. Who wants to know things they shouldn’t.”
She nodded slowly. “You want me to act like I don’t know I’m dangerous.”
“Exactly.”
Her first target came to her.
Mid-afternoon, a man named Roland—Desmond’s senior legal consultant—“bumped” into her in the hallway near the greenhouse.
He was tall, charming, and a little too curious.
“Eliana, right?” he said with a bright smile. “Desmond’s lovely new wife.”
She smiled politely. “That’s me.”
“Must be quite the adjustment, living in a fortress like this.”
“I’m still learning where everything is.”
“Ah, yes. Easy to get lost in all these wings and floors and secrets.”
Her smile didn’t fade. But her mind sharpened.
“Secrets?” she echoed lightly.
“Oh, you know Desmond,” Roland said, waving a hand. “He’s always been… private. But if you ever want to know the truth behind the empire, I’m happy to help.”
She tilted her head. “Truth? Is there something I should know?”
He laughed too quickly. “No, no. Of course not. Just saying, things aren’t always what they seem in business.”
Red flag.
He was fishing.
Eliana blinked innocently. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As she turned to leave, she caught his reflection in the mirror watching her walk away with a calculating frown.
Back in the study, she relayed the conversation to Desmond.
He said nothing at first.
Then circled Roland’s name in red.
“I suspected him,” Desmond murmured. “He was too quick to offer ‘truth.’”
“He wanted me to ask questions.”
“And you didn’t.”
“I let him feel smart.”
Desmond looked at her, something darker in his expression now.
Respect.
“You’re better at this than I thought.”
She shrugged. “People underestimate women who wear heels and look soft.”
“Not anymore.”
Over the next two days, Eliana kept working.
She pretended to wander.
To daydream on the balcony.
To ask silly questions.
But she was always watching.
And she started seeing more than she wanted to.
— A housekeeper texting photos of Desmond’s schedule.
— A junior accountant whispering on late-night calls.
— A kitchen staffer who froze every time Eliana asked where Desmond was.
Each one a piece of the puzzle.
Each one a thread leading back to Desmond’s uncle.
She wrote it all down.
And delivered the names, one by one.
Desmond said little each time.
But by the end of the week, half the mansion’s staff had been replaced.
And Eliana?
She didn’t flinch.
One night, she found herself standing by the large windows of the library, looking out into the dark garden.
Desmond entered behind her, wordless.
They stood in silence.
Then he spoke.
“I underestimated you.”
She glanced at him. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
She turned to face him. “Your uncle isn’t just trying to ruin you. He’s trying to erase you.”
“I know.”
“He’s dangerous, Desmond. He doesn’t want power. He wants revenge.”
Desmond’s jaw tightened. “He thinks I let my father die.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“I was in the building that day. I got out. My father didn’t. My uncle thinks I made a choice.”
“And did you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “But that’s the thing about guilt. Even when you’re innocent, it stays.”
She stepped closer. “You’re not innocent.”
“No.”
“But you’re not him either.”
He looked at her.
And for once, he didn’t hide.
That night, he didn’t sleep in his room.
He didn’t ask.
He just walked her to her bed, sat beside her on the edge, and stayed.
No kisses.
No touches.
Just silence.
And breathing.
And trust.
In the morning, Eliana woke up alone.
But a note was left on the pillow.
“We’re having dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us. No masks.”
For the first time, she smiled at one of his notes.
And this time, she didn’t throw it away.
- Writer
