Chapter 4 - Echoes in the Mirror
The Vane estate was less of a house and more of a modern fortress nestled high on a cliff overlooking the dark Atlantic Ocean. Surrounded by twelve-foot stone walls, infrared surveillance towers, and dozens of heavily armed guards in dark suits, it felt like entering a gilded cage.
Lucian led me through grand marble corridors into the East Wing. The house was dead silent, decorated in shades of slate grey, black, and glass. It felt cold, austere, and devoid of warmth—a monument built for a king who was mourning his queen.
"This is the nursery," Lucian said, pushing open a double oak door.
Inside, the room was massive, filled with expensive wooden cribs, soft plush toys, and high-end baby equipment. Standing near the window was a sleek, impeccably dressed woman in her late thirties.
"Lucian!" she gasped, rushing forward. "What happened? Marco called and said the restaurant was attacked!"
"We were ambushed, Giuliana," Lucian said calmly. "The Rossi family is getting desperate."
Giuliana's eyes shifted past Lucian and landed on me. The moment she saw my face, her entire body went rigid. Her hands flew to her mouth, and a sharp gasp tore from her throat.
"Dio mio..." she whispered, backing away until her heels struck the base of the crib. "Clara...?"
"She isn't Clara," Lucian said sharply, stepping between us. "Giuliana, this is Elina. Elina, this is my sister, Giuliana."
Giuliana stared at me as if I were a ghost risen from the grave. Her eyes darted from my face to the baby nestled comfortably against my shoulder.
"He... he's letting her hold him?" Giuliana stammered, tears springing to her eyes. "He hasn't let anyone touch him without screaming for three months!"
"He recognized her," Lucian said quietly. "Or rather, he recognized the blood."
Giuliana took a slow, trembling step toward me, looking at me with a mixture of awe and suspicion. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"
"I’m just trying to make sure this little boy stays calm," I replied honestly, my back aching from holding Leo for two hours straight. "He's exhausted."
Lucian noticed my slight wince. Before I could protest, he stepped forward and reached out his hands. "Let me put him in his crib."
The moment Lucian gently placed his hands beneath Leo's arms to lift him, the baby's eyes snapped open. His tiny lower lip began to tremble, and a soft, pitiful whimper escaped his throat. His small hands tightened on my shirt.
"No, Leo," Lucian whispered softly, his big hand cupping the child's head with remarkable gentleness. "It's alright, son. Daddy's here."
Leo let out a sharp cry, tears instantly brimming in his dark eyes.
"Don't force him," I said softly, laying my hand over Lucian's broad fingers.
The moment my skin touched Lucian's, a strange, electric jolt shot up my arm. Lucian froze, his eyes snapping to mine. We were standing mere inches apart—his dark, imposing figure towering over me, his hand resting beneath mine on his son's soft hair.
"He needs time," I murmured, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now. "Is there a rocking chair?"
Giuliana silently pointed to a large plush velvet armchair in the corner.
I walked over and sat down, cradling Leo against my chest. Within thirty seconds, as I began to gently sway back and forth, humming a quiet melody my foster mother used to sing, the child's frantic breathing slowed down. His eyelids fluttered shut, and he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
May you like
Lucian stood by the doorway, watching us with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. It was a terrifying mix of profound grief, fierce protectiveness, and something dark and smoldering that made my stomach turn somersaults.
"Giuliana," Lucian said without breaking his stare. "Prepare the guest suite next to the nursery. Elina is staying here."
