Something about her keeps tugging at me—not loud, not obvious, just… persistent.
Maybe it’s because I can’t read her like the others.
Or maybe it’s something else.
My mind flashes back to her tight corset… those big blue eyes. The heat of her skin.
Too warm. Too real.
I shouldn’t still be thinking about it.
The way she knelt down...
My pulse kicks—sharp—before my father’s voice snaps me back to the room.
“Mariano, send Matteo to track Diana.”
Mariano nods and dials, business as usual.
“Now—about the sickness,” Dad continues. “What do you mean by that? Chronic illness?”
Mom’s watching me too now. Focused. Something still on her mind.
“Could be. Was anything ever wrong with Grandma before?”
Dad leans back on the desk and breathes deeply.
“I don’t remember anything chronic… But I do remember my father saying she started hearing weird things about a month before she went sailing. He brought in at least five private doctors. All of them said she was fine.”
I blink.
That’s the first full detail he’s ever shared about her. No riddles. Just truth. And it sounds like what Roran described.
“If Roran has the same issue… does that mean if we find a way to break whatever it is, she could actually live?”
His eyes meet mine.
Mom’s silent, but Ifeelher shock too.
I pause.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Then add, “But it’s possible. I think.”
Malec
Saying Kayla’s clothes wouldn’t match Roran is accurate—at least the pants. The shorts she’s wearing cling to every curve, tight and unbothered, and if she so much as leans forward, I’m pretty sure I’ll see everything underneath.
That’s not Kayla’s style. She prefers things oversized, loose, comfortable.
This isn’t that. Every line of this outfit is deliberate, drawing the eye, and suddenly it’s impossible to look away.
I watch her move, subtle shifts of her shoulders, the way her hair brushes her collarbone. She’s undeniably a sight. Tempting, even. But then my gaze drops, and my chest tightens.
Her legs.
Scars. Dozens of them.
Some faded, others raw and pink, angry and fresh, refusing to be forgotten. It’s like her body can’t decide which memories to keep, and every step she takes makes them pulse under my gaze.
