Page 32 of His Stolen Bride

He pauses. “Alina’s been asking questions.”

I look up. “About what?”

“The house. Staff. Old names.”

That doesn’t surprise me. “What did she get?”

“Nothing useful,” he says, then adds, “At least not yet.”

I don’t comment. If she’s digging, it’s because she understands the danger better than I expected. That makes her smarter than most people who end up here. It also makes her a liability if someone realizes it.

“Keep her routine visible,” I say. “Predictable.”

Enzo studies me. “And you?”

“I’m predictable,” I reply.

He doesn’t argue.

I don’t go to her room that night, although what I want most is her under me, silken hair fanned out, watching me with those eyes and moaning my name while I take her apart. I don’t sleep well, either.

Morning brings more reports. Two delayed shipments. One missing courier. Nothing alarming on its own. Together, it’s an issue. I call in my logistics head and reassign routes again. I cancel an appearance I was supposed to make downtown. Let them wonder why.

By midday, my patience is thinning.

I step outside to walk the perimeter myself, not because I don’t trust my men, but because ground truth matters. The air is cold and clean. The trees are still. I stop near the east fence and listen.

Nothing obvious.

That’s the problem.

When I return inside, Lira passes me in the hall. She freezes for a second, then moves on. I register it and move past it. She’s loyal to Alina now, and while that shifts dynamics I don’t have time to manage, Alina needs a friend. I let her have it. In the afternoon, I get a call from the city, an old contact checking in.

I shut it down and end the call.

Distance should be working by now.

It isn’t.

Alina’s name shows up again, this time in a routine log. Garden walk delayed. Staff assistance requested. No details.

I tell myself not to care. I sign off on a security request and move on.

At dusk, Enzo returns.

“There was activity last night,” he says.

I look up slowly. “Explain.”

“Near the outer road,” he continues. “Three men. No vehicles. They didn’t cross the fence.”

“They didn’t need to,” I say. “They wanted to be seen.”

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“Close enough to map response times.”