Chapter Five: The Girl In The Safe House
Mila woke twelve hours later.
Mara was changing the dressing herself.
She could have assigned a nurse. She should have assigned a nurse. Instead, she stood beside the girl’s bed with clean gauze and a face that revealed nothing.
Mila opened her eyes.
Dark, sharp, terrified.
“Roman?”
“Alive.”
The girl’s breath shook.
“Barely?”
“Unfortunately.”
A weak smile touched Mila’s mouth.
“You know him.”
Mara taped the gauze down.
“Everyone knows Roman Calder.”
“No.”
Mila watched her.
“You know him where it hurts.”
Mara’s hands paused.
Then continued.
“You were shot.”
“I noticed.”
“Who did it?”
Mila looked toward the door.
Two Calder guards stood outside. Both pretended not to listen.
Mara lowered her voice.
“I am your doctor.”
“Then doctor me.”
“I am.”
“No, you are interrogating me.”
Mara almost smiled.
Almost.
Mila closed her eyes.
“Cross men.”
Julian.
The name tightened in Mara’s jaw.
She kept her voice level.
“Are you sure?”
“They wore his crest pins.”
“Anyone can wear a pin.”
“They said your name.”
Mara’s blood went cold.
Mila opened her eyes again.
“They said if Roman wanted you breathing, he should kneel.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Mara placed the tray on the counter.
“Rest.”
“Mara.”
She stopped.
Mila looked younger now.
Too young for bullets and old wars.
“He did not bring me into danger.”
Mara said nothing.
“I followed him.”
“Why?”
“Because I heard your father’s name.”
Mara turned.
Mila’s lips trembled.
“Victor Veyne met Julian last night.”
The rain continued beyond the high hospital windows.
Mara walked closer.
“Where?”
“At the old shipping office.”
“Why were you there?”
Mila looked away.
“Roman tells me nothing.”
“That is his disease.”
“He hides everything.”
“I know.”
Mila swallowed.
“I wanted proof.”
“Of what?”
“That your father sold you twice.”
The room went silent.
Mara did not move.
Mila looked scared now.
Not of her wound.
Of Mara’s face.
“What did you say?”
Mila’s fingers twisted in the sheet.
“Julian is not marrying you for debt.”
“Then why?”
“Because you saw something seven years ago.”
Mara heard the monitor beside the bed.
Steady.
Too steady.
Mila whispered.
“Before the shooting.”
Memory flashed.
The gala.
The service hallway.
Julian speaking to a man in gray.
Victor handing over a sealed envelope.
A woman crying behind a locked door.
Mara had forgotten the woman’s face.
No.
She had buried it.
Mila continued.
“Roman thinks you can identify a witness.”
Mara’s throat went dry.
“What witness?”
“The woman who disappeared.”
Mara stepped back.
Her phone buzzed.
Victor.
She let it ring.
It stopped.
Then a message appeared.
Come home. Now.
Another buzz.
Julian.
You left dinner rudely. Apologize by morning.
A third message.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Mara’s mother stood on the estate steps in her nightgown, one hand pressed to her bruised cheek.
Under it, one sentence.
Good daughters prevent accidents.
Mara’s fingers tightened around the phone.
Mila saw.
“What happened?”
Mara slid the phone into her pocket.
“Nothing you need to carry.”
She walked to the door.
Roman’s man straightened.
“Where are you going?”
“To collect my mother.”
“You need protection.”
Mara looked at him.
“I am not asking permission.”
He held her gaze.
Then stepped aside.
But as Mara reached the elevator, the doors opened.
Roman stood inside.
Barefoot.
Pale.
One hand braced against the wall.
A hospital gown hung loose on his body, blood already spotting through the bandage beneath it.
Mara stared at him.
“You absolute idiot.”
His mouth curved.
Then his knees gave out.
Mara caught him before anyone else could.
His weight dragged her against his chest.
His breath hit her ear.
“They took Evelyn.”
Mara went still.
Roman’s hand closed weakly around her coat.
“And your father helped them.”
