Morning light hit the breakfast room like an interrogation lamp.
It streamed through those massive windows, showing every dust mote floating in the air and every tiny scratch on the mahogany table. Not the kind of gentle sunrise you see in movies—this was harsh, clinical light that stripped away shadows and left nowhere to hide.
The whole room smelled like expensive coffee, fresh grapefruit juice, and those buttery croissants nobody ever touched. Everything perfect. Everything fake.
I sat in my usual spot, mechanically spooning oatmeal into my mouth. Tasted like cardboard, but I needed the energy. My body was still adjusting to being twenty-two again.
Marcus sat at the head of the table, maybe three feet away.
He had his tablet propped up, scrolling through market data with the focus of a hunting shark. He looked good. Rested. Like a man who'd never spent a night begging for anything. He sipped his black coffee, the cup making this sharp little *clink* every time it hit the glass table.
*Clink. Sip. Clink.*
That phantom bullet wound in my chest gave a dull throb. My stomach churned with familiar acid, but I kept my face blank. Just the good kid. The grateful ward. The invisible observer.
"Asian markets are all over the place this morning," Marcus muttered, eyes glued to his screen. "Chaos just means opportunity, Julian. Don't forget that."
"I won't," I said. My voice came out steady. Neutral. Hiding the rage that wanted to crawl out of my throat.
Soft footsteps echoed from the hallway.
The air shifted. That jasmine scent—barely there, but unmistakable—drifted in ahead of her.
Elena walked into the room.
In my first life, I wouldn't have noticed anything different. I would've seen Marcus's beautiful wife and looked away like a good boy. Today, I caught every crack in her armor.
She wore a cream-colored silk robe thing with a high collar. Defensive clothing. It covered her neck completely, hiding the spot where I'd touched her collarbone last night. Her hair was pulled back tight, but loose strands kept falling around her face. She looked like expensive porcelain that someone had dropped and badly glued back together.
She looked fragile. Like a woman who'd spent four hours staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to live with what she'd done on that leather sofa.
She didn't look at me. Not once.
"Good morning," she whispered. Her voice sounded like it might break. She sat as far from Marcus as the table allowed.
Marcus didn't even glance up from his tablet. He reached for his grapefruit juice and took a long gulp.
"You're late, Elena," he said, casual as discussing the weather. "And you look terrible. Those bags under your eyes could hold luggage. You should see a doctor. This reflects poorly on both of us."
Elena flinched. Just a tiny tightening of her shoulders, but to me it was loud as a gunshot.
"I didn't sleep well," she whispered, reaching for the silver teapot with shaking hands.
The pot rattled against the china cup. *Chink-chink-chink.* The sound of her panic filled the room. She could barely pour the tea, her knuckles bone-white, breathing fast and shallow.
Marcus finally looked up—not at her face, but at the wall clock.
"The Senator's calling at ten. I don't have time for whatever drama this is. Drink your tea and get it together."
Back to his tablet. He treated her like a piece of expensive equipment that was starting to malfunction. No concern. No curiosity. Just cold annoyance that she wasn't performing her "perfect wife" duties efficiently enough.
This was her life. This was the wasteland she'd been trapped in for ten years.
I took a slow sip of coffee. The bitter heat burned my throat, centering me. Time to start pulling threads.
"The house gets really quiet at night, doesn't it?" I said.
The words dropped into the silence like a stone into still water.
Marcus didn't react. But Elena... Elena went completely still. The teapot frozen in her hand over her half-empty cup.
"I went down to the library around three for some water," I continued, staring at the steam rising from my coffee. I didn't look at her yet. Let the tension build. Let her remember those shadows, that moonlight. "The silence in this place is almost... suffocating. Don't you think, Elena?"
Elena's spoon hit her saucer.
*CLANG.*
The sound cracked through the room like a whip. Marcus frowned, finally looking her way.
"What's gotten into you today?" he snapped.
"I just..." Elena's face went ghost-white. Her eyes were wide, staring at the tablecloth. Her pulse hammered visibly at the base of her throat, even under that high collar.
I turned my head. Looked right at her.
Not like a stepson. Like a man who'd seen her come apart in the dark. I let my eyes linger on her mouth, then slowly move up to meet her gaze.
"The library's a beautiful room," I said, my voice dropping low, getting rough around the edges. "But that jasmine perfume really soaks into everything. Very distinctive smell. It follows you everywhere, doesn't it?"
Elena's breath caught. A sharp, audible gasp.
She looked at me. Big mistake.
In that one look, I saw it all. Terror that I knew. Shame at being watched. And underneath, that sudden electric heat that comes from being truly, dangerously seen. She wasn't just scared—she was turned on.
I reached into my pocket.
My fingers found the small piece of emerald silk I'd picked off the sofa before leaving the library. Tiny thing. Fragment of evidence.
I pulled my hand out, rested it on the table. Marcus was buried in his screen, mind somewhere in the Tokyo futures market.
I slid my hand across the glass surface toward the center, hidden behind a bowl of green apples.
I opened my fingers.
The emerald thread lay there on the white tablecloth, bright as fresh blood against the sterile morning.
Elena's eyes locked onto it. She didn't move. Didn't blink. Her whole world narrowed down to that inch of silk. Proof. The key to her cage. Confirmation that the shadow in the library wasn't a dream.
It was me.
"Found this by the sofa," I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear over Marcus's tablet tapping. "Must've fallen off when you were... reading. Shame to ruin such a beautiful dress, Elena."
Color flooded back into her face—not healthy pink, but deep, feverish red. Started at her throat and climbed to her cheeks, heat I could almost feel from across the table. Her eyes went glassy. She looked ready to either scream or faint.
"Julian," she whispered. My name sounded like begging.
"Marcus," I said, voice suddenly normal and bright as I turned back to him. "I should head out. Got a lot of studying to catch up on."
Marcus didn't even look up. "Good. Stay focused. Hard work separates winners from losers."
"Couldn't agree more."
I stood up. Walked slowly around the table.
Stopped right behind Elena's chair.
I didn't touch her. Didn't need to. My shadow fell over her, swallowing her in darkness. I leaned down, mouth inches from her head. Could smell that jasmine perfume. Feel the heat radiating off her shaking body.
"Your secret's safe with me, Elena," I whispered in her ear, words barely a breath. "For now."
I straightened up. Didn't look back.
Walked out of that breakfast room, my footsteps echoing steady and confident on the marble floor. Behind me, the silence felt thick enough to drown in.
I knew exactly what was happening at that table. Elena sitting there with her tea getting cold, heart trying to beat out of her chest. Trapped between the man who didn't know she existed and the boy who knew exactly how she sounded when she broke apart.
I stepped onto the front porch. Morning air hit my face.
That phantom bullet wound didn't throb anymore. It hummed.
The morning after was complete. The secret was shared. I didn't just have her attention now—I owned her. She was a starving animal, and I was the only one with the key to the cage.
This wasn't just about money or stock shares anymore. This was about possession.
I walked toward my car, a slow grin spreading across my face. Tonight, I'd find out just how far she'd go to keep that emerald thread out of Marcus's hands.