Alina rose before dawn.
The rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the air cool and still. Mist hovered low over the garden, and birds chirped lazily in the trees beyond the tall stone walls. She stood at her window, her coffee growing cold in her hand, watching the estate slowly wake up.
It was quiet here. Too quiet.
She’d been trained to appreciate silence—it helped her focus. But in this place, silence wasn’t peace. It was tension. Unspoken words. Invisible eyes. Secrets buried under marble floors and expensive chandeliers.
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
She was here for a reason. Not to get attached. Not to care. Just complete the mission. Get in, gather the data, and get out. No one needed to get hurt. Not the child. Not even the man.
But last night’s encounter had left her unsettled.
She’d expected him to be cold. But Ethan Vance wasn’t just cold—he was a storm contained behind a well-tailored suit. He wasn’t cruel, exactly, but he was sharp, calculated, and completely unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he saw through her already or if he just didn’t care who came and went from his mansion.
Either way, he was dangerous.
And yet... fascinating.
Shaking her head, Alina set down the mug, pulled on her cardigan, and made her way to Elora’s room. The hallway was dimly lit, but warm. She passed a few framed portraits—some of Ethan with his daughter, some with a faceless woman whose features were deliberately hidden in shadows or turned away.
The ex-wife. Her name wasn’t mentioned in the files. Redacted. Alina hadn’t pushed for answers. It hadn’t mattered. Until now.
Elora’s door was ajar. Alina knocked lightly, then pushed it open.
The little girl sat in bed, her face buried in a large, floppy book. Her stuffed unicorn lay beside her, wearing a doll-sized sunhat.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Alina said softly.
Elora peeked over the book. “You’re still here!”
Alina smiled. “Of course I am. I promised, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t leave like the others,” Elora said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “They always said they’d stay. But they left.”
Alina’s heart tugged. She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m not like the others.”
“Why not?”
Alina paused, choosing her words. “Because I really want to be here. With you.”
Elora studied her with suspiciously wise eyes for a six-year-old. “You’re not going to make Daddy mad, are you?”
“I’ll try not to,” Alina said, brushing back the girl’s curls. “But he does seem pretty easy to irritate.”
Elora giggled. “Yeah. He’s like a dragon. Big and grumpy.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“No,” Elora said matter-of-factly. “He won’t burn you unless you break his rules.”
Break his rules!. That, Alina thought, was inevitable.
—
By eight, Alina had dressed Elora, served her breakfast in the sunny breakfast room, and walked her to the study for tutoring. The child’s routine was tight, almost militaristic, with no room for spontaneity. Every hour had a purpose, every minute scheduled.
It made Alina uneasy.
Children needed structure, yes—but they also needed to breathe.
She lingered outside the study, pretending to review her own schedule on the tablet Greta had given her. In reality, she was listening. Taking note. The tutor’s voice drifted through the door, and she caught snippets of complicated math problems and historical dates.
Elora answered most of them right.
Smart kid.
Alina tucked the tablet under her arm and made her way toward the west wing—toward the private section of the mansion where Ethan’s home office was located. She wasn’t supposed to be there, of course. It was off-limits.
But limits were exactly what she was here to test.
She kept her steps light, her presence casual. A housemaid passed her, and Alina nodded politely. No one questioned her.
The hallway leading to Ethan’s office was quieter than the rest of the mansion. No servants. No noise. Just thick carpets and polished oak doors. She paused outside the large double doors marked with brass handles and waited.
A faint voice came from inside. A phone call.
“I don’t care what the board thinks. We’re not halting the launch... Yes, I said no... If Parker wants to talk, he can call me directly.”
A pause.
“Because I don’t trust him, that’s why.”
Another pause. Then the line went dead.
Alina didn’t move. Her pulse quickened. So the rumors were true—there was tension inside Vance International. A potential product launch. A man named Parker who wasn’t to be trusted.
Interesting.
Suddenly, the door swung open.
Ethan stood there, sharp as ever in a crisp navy suit, his tie slightly loosened. His expression darkened the moment he saw her.
“You lost?” he asked coldly.
Alina straightened, eyes innocent. “No. I was just... making my rounds. Getting familiar with the place.”
He didn’t respond. His eyes dropped to the tablet in her hands, then back to her face. “The help doesn’t make rounds in this wing.”
She smiled, stepping back. “Noted.”
He studied her for a beat too long. “What’s your game?”
She blinked. “Game?”
“You smile too easily. You answer too smoothly. Either you’re really good at pretending... or you’re hiding something.”
Alina felt a chill run down her spine, but she kept her composure. “Maybe I just don’t scare easily.”
His lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. “Then you haven’t met me properly yet.”
He stepped past her, his scent brushing her senses—something expensive, musky, and unreasonably distracting.
“Stay out of my office,” he said over his shoulder.
Then he was gone.
—
The rest of the day passed in a strange haze. Alina took Elora to the garden after lunch, where they fed the koi fish and played a clumsy game of hide-and-seek. The child laughed freely, something rare in this mansion. It made Alina’s heart ache more than it should have.
She wasn’t supposed to get attached. She knew better.
But Elora was different. Bright. Pure. In need of something—someone—that this house just didn’t give her.
They returned to the house in time for Elora’s piano lesson. The music room was lined with bookshelves and dusty instruments no one touched. The piano was polished to perfection.
Ethan entered ten minutes into the lesson. He stood silently in the doorway, arms folded, eyes on his daughter.
Alina watched him from the far corner, unnoticed.
He looked... softer. His gaze held a tenderness he never let slip elsewhere. The sight of him like this—a father, just a father—took her by surprise.
After the lesson ended, Elora skipped over to him and held up her arms. Without hesitation, he picked her up. She giggled, and he kissed her hair.
Alina felt something tighten in her chest.
Ethan’s eyes shifted. Found hers across the room.
For a moment, neither of them looked away.
And then he set Elora down and left without a word.
—
Later that evening, Greta cornered Alina in the staff kitchen.
“You were in the west wing today.”
It wasn’t a question.
Alina blinked. “I got turned around. This place is... huge.”
Greta wasn’t buying it. “He doesn’t like people snooping around.”
“I wasn’t snooping.”
Greta’s eyes narrowed. “Just keep to your place. You seem smart. Don’t make the same mistake the last one did.”
“What mistake?”
“She got curious,” Greta said, turning back to her clipboard. “Curiosity doesn’t last long here.”
—
That night, Alina lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The pieces were starting to form.
Ethan Vance was being watched—by more than just her. There were whispers inside the business, movements in the shadows, and people like Parker who wanted to stop whatever this "launch" was.
Her mission was to find out what. Why. Who was leaking information. Who was sabotaging the project.
And what secrets Ethan was hiding.
She hadn’t figured it out yet. But she would. She always did.
What she hadn’t expected... was how conflicted she already felt.
Because the man she was sent to investigate wasn’t a monster. He was a father. A broken man doing his best to protect what was his. Harsh? Yes. Guarded? Absolutely.
But she had seen something in him.
And worse—he had seen something in her.
She couldn’t afford to feel. Couldn’t afford to be distracted. Emotions got people killed. Missions ruined. Secrets exposed.
Still... when she closed her eyes, she didn’t think of files or codes or objectives.
She thought of a little girl with a unicorn plushie.
And a man with eyes like a storm who had warned her, with dangerous softness:
“You haven’t met me properly yet.”
Maybe not.
But she would.
---
End of Chapter 2
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