The sun had barely risen when Mara awoke, its soft gold filtering through the curtains and touching her room with a quiet warmth. She blinked slowly, allowing the calm stillness to settle into her bones. For once, her first thought wasn't fear, wasn't doubt, wasn't worry about the path ahead.
Her first thought was Damian.
The way he had stood beside her last night…
The way his voice had softened only for her…
The way he had looked at her like she was something breakable and precious and infuriating all at once…
She touched her chest as if she could still feel the echo of the moment.
I want you to stay.
She had said it. And he had listened.
Her heart thumped, both terrified and strangely comforted by the memory.
After a long inhale, she rose from the bed, letting the cool floor wake her fully. Today felt different—not lighter, exactly, but full of something she hadn't felt since she stepped into this mansion.
Possibility.
Mara dressed simply, brushing her hair into a loose wave before stepping into the hallway. She expected quiet, expected the usual solemn air the Frost mansion carried each morning.
But halfway down the corridor, she heard voices.
Soft. Urgent. Low.
She recognized Damian's immediately.
"…make sure the security rotation is doubled. I don't want gaps anywhere on the property," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," a guard responded.
Mara frowned as she approached the corner. Security rotation? Why? This early?
Before she could stop herself, she stepped closer and peeked around the doorway.
Damian stood with three guards in the main hall, his expression carved from cold steel. Gone was the softness of last night. Gone was the man who had confessed he wanted to protect her more than he should.
This was Damian Frost—the billionaire heir, the man people feared, the man people respected.
"What triggered this?" one guard asked quietly.
Damian's jaw flexed. "The note."
Mara stiffened.
"What note?" another guard asked.
Damian sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. A gesture she rarely saw. A gesture of exhaustion.
"The anonymous message that was slipped under Mara's door last night."
Her blood froze.
Message?
Slipped under my door? While I was sleeping?
Mara stepped into the hall before she realized she'd moved.
"What message?"
All heads turned toward her—including Damian's.
His eyes widened with something between worry and frustration. "Mara—you're awake."
"Damian," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "what message are you talking about?"
The guards glanced between them before Damian dismissed them with a nod. "Give us a moment."
Once they were gone, Mara crossed her arms.
"Tell me."
Damian hesitated—just long enough to confirm her worst fear. He had kept something from her.
Finally, he slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. He didn't hand it to her immediately. Instead, he scanned her face with a seriousness that made her heart skip.
"I didn't want to worry you," he said softly.
"You keeping secrets worries me more."
His chest rose slowly, like he was preparing for her reaction. Then he handed her the note.
Mara unfolded it.
A single sentence stared back at her, written in a cold, messy scrawl:
"You don't belong here. Leave before you're forced to."
Her stomach churned.
"Mara," Damian breathed, stepping closer, "that's why security is being tightened. That's why I didn't sleep last night. I needed to handle this before you woke up."
She stared at the note again. Not because she didn't understand it—but because it felt familiar in a way that chilled her.
She had seen handwriting like this before. A long time ago.
Damian reached for her hand but stopped halfway, unsure if he should touch her.
"You're not safe without protection," he said quietly.
She lifted her eyes to his. "Do you think Clarissa did this?"
"No," he said instantly.
She blinked. "You don't?"
"Clarissa is petty, jealous, and loud," he said. "Whoever wrote this is quiet. Calculated. Cowardly. This wasn't meant to embarrass you. It was meant to scare you."
"And it worked," Mara whispered under her breath.
Damian's eyes darkened. "I won't let anyone harm you."
The words were deep, masculine, absolute—almost like a vow.
She folded the note again, her pulse quickening. "Why would anyone threaten me?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
Mara swallowed hard. "Do you think this has to do with your business?"
Damian didn't answer immediately. His silence was enough.
So it was true.
Her marriage to him—even if accidental—had placed her in someone's crosshairs.
Damian stepped closer until the distance between them felt charged. "Mara, listen to me. No matter what this is, no matter who sent it, I will deal with it."
She looked up at him. "But why would someone target me?"
His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Because hurting you is the easiest way to hurt me."
Her breath caught.
He wasn't supposed to say that. He wasn't supposed to mean that.
Yet he did.
Completely.
The hall felt too quiet, too intimate, too vulnerable for the way he was looking at her. Like she mattered more than he ever intended.
"Damian," she whispered, "this marriage was supposed to be temporary."
His jaw clenched. "I know."
"And simple."
"I know."
"And without emotions."
He closed the small distance between them until his shadow merged with hers. "I know."
Their breaths mingled. Her heart pounded.
"But tell me something, Mara," he murmured, "does any part of this still feel simple to you?"
She couldn't lie. Not with him standing so close, not with fear and longing mixing in her veins.
"No," she whispered.
His eyes softened. "Mine stopped being simple the moment you walked into my life."
Before she could answer, his phone rang—sharp and jarring, slicing the air between them. Damian flinched and stepped back, his expression hardening again.
He glanced at the screen. His face darkened. "I have to take this."
Mara nodded, though her heart throbbed with disappointment.
"We're not done talking," he promised.
Then he turned away, answering the call with a clipped, irritated tone.
Mara stood alone in the hall, the note clenched tightly in her hand.
Last night had felt like the beginning of something delicate and beautiful.
This morning felt like the beginning of something dangerous.
And she had no idea which one would break her heart first.
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End of Chapter 17