When Elena opened her eyes, the light was different. Thin. Grey. The rain had softened to a murmur against the glass, and the room held the hush of a house that had been through something and wasn't sure what to do with itself yet.
The bed beside her was empty. The sheets were cool, the indent of Lisa's body already fading. From beyond the closed bathroom door came the rush of water, the muffled sound of someone moving under a spray.
Elena lay still, her body heavy and strange. The robes from last night still bundled tightly around her.
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to sort the night into something she could hold. The cold water. Liam's voice cutting through the haze. The way his hands had gripped her arms, steady, certain, pulling her back to herself. The feel of the tile beneath her, the shock of the shower, Lisa's sobs from the other room.
Then Lisa's mouth on her. Lisa's hands. The heat that had answered before her mind could catch up.
Elena's stomach turned. She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and let the silk pool around her thighs. The floor was cool against her bare feet. Solid. Real.
A knock came at the door. Three short raps, precise enough that Elena knew who it was before she answered.
"Come in." Her voice came out rougher than she expected.
The door opened, and Presley stepped inside, a silver tray in his hands. Two cups of coffee, steam curling from each. A small pitcher of cream. A dish of sugar cubes.
"Good morning, Miss Rossi." His voice was the same as always—measured, warm at the edges. "I trust you slept."
She wasn’t sure if it was a question, but he wasn't going to push for an answer.
He crossed to the small table by the window, the same one where Liam had set the Eros-laced bedding the night before, and set the tray down with a quiet click of porcelain against wood. His eyes moved as he straightened—a slow, practiced scan of the room. The rumpled sheets. The discarded robe on the chair. The closed bathroom door. The fogged window with its fading thorn.
Nothing escaped him. Nothing ever did.
"Mr. Thorn asked me to confirm you're well before I attend to the morning's other matters," Presley said. It wasn't a guess.
Elena nodded, her throat tight. "I'm fine."
Presley's gaze held hers for a beat longer than necessary. Not a challenge. An assessment. One caretaker checking another's lie for cracks.
"Very good, miss." He turned toward the door, then paused. "If you need anything—anything at all—the kitchen staff have been instructed to assist without question."
"The kitchen staff." Elena's voice came out flat. "Not security."
Presley didn't turn. "The security team is occupied with the investigation. You're not to be disturbed by it."
He left before she could ask anything else. The door clicked shut behind him, soft and final.
Elena sat in the silence, the steam from the coffee rising in thin curls. She could feel the heat from here, the promise of something simple and warm. She pushed herself up, crossed to the table, and wrapped her fingers around one of the cups. The ceramic was hot against her palms. Real. Grounding.
The shower was still running. She could hear the water hitting the tile, the occasional shift of Lisa's body behind the fogged glass. The sound should have been ordinary. A friend washing off a strange night. Instead, it sat in Elena's chest like something she didn't have a name for.
She lifted the coffee and walked through the bathroom archway, the air inside thick with steam and the smell of lavender soap. She pushed it open with her shoulder, stepped inside, and settled onto the edge of the marble counter.
The mirror was completely fogged. The glass of the shower stall was a wall of condensation, Lisa's silhouette a blurred shape behind it—an arm lifting, a head tilted back, the dark smear of wet hair against pale shoulders.
Elena watched. The steam wrapped around her, warm and damp, and for a moment the shape in the shower was someone else. Broader. Darker. A man standing under the spray, his back to her, water sluicing over the bandage on his chest. Liam, standing in this same shower last night, pulling her into the cold, his hands certain on her skin, his voice cutting through the chemical fog—
She blinked.
The silhouette in the shower was Lisa again. Smaller. Softer. A woman washing lavender soap from her hair.
Elena took a long sip of the coffee. It burned her tongue. She welcomed it.
The water cut off. The sudden silence was loud, the drip of the showerhead the only sound. The glass door slid open, and Lisa stepped out, a towel already in her hand, pressing it to her face.
She was naked. Water beaded on her skin, catching the dim light from the sconces. She didn't seem to notice at first—just scrubbed the towel over her hair, her shoulders, her neck. Then she lowered it, blinked through the steam, and saw Elena sitting on the counter, coffee in hand.
Lisa froze. The towel hung loose around her shoulders, her dark hair a wet tangle, water still dripping down her collarbone.
"Hey." Her voice was quiet. Careful. The way you spoke to someone who might spook.
Elena lifted the coffee slightly. "Presley brought these up. Yours is on the table in the room."
Lisa didn't move. Water pooled at her feet, dark against the white tile. She swallowed, and Elena watched her throat move, watched her hands tighten on the towel.
"Elena." Lisa's voice cracked on the second syllable, and that was it—the careful wall she'd been holding collapsed. "I'm so fucking sorry. I don't—I can't—"
"Stop."
Lisa's mouth closed. Her eyes were wet, but Elena couldn't tell if it was steam or tears. Probably both.
"It wasn't you." Elena set the coffee down on the counter beside her, the ceramic clicking against the marble. "It wasn't me. We were drugged. Neither of us chose that."
Lisa's breath hitched. She pressed the towel to her face again, but her shoulders were shaking. When she lowered it, her eyes were red. "I don't remember everything. I remember wanting—and not caring that you didn't—and then Liam was there, and I was in the tub, and I couldn't stop crying, and I didn't even know why."
"I don't remember everything either." Elena's voice stayed steady, even though her chest was tight. "But I remember enough to know it wasn't your fault. You didn't lace the sheets, Lisa. You didn't put that drug in the air. You were a victim too."
Lisa let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Some victim. I was the one—"
"I know what you were doing." Elena cut her off, gentle but firm. "I was there. And I'm telling you, it's not a guilt for you to carry."
Lisa stared at her. Nearly naked and her face a mess of tears and steam and the raw edges of the night before. Then she crossed the bathroom in three steps and dropped to her knees in front of Elena, wrapping her arms around her waist, pressing her wet face into the cloth of Elena's robe.
Elena stiffened for half a second. Then she exhaled, slow and steady, and lifted a hand to the back of Lisa's head. Her hair was wet, cool against Elena's fingers. She held her there, feeling the shudder of Lisa's breath through the silk, the damp warmth of her skin, the weight of a friendship that had just survived something neither of them had words for yet.
"Okay," Elena murmured. "Okay."
Lisa's arms tightened. Her voice came out muffled against the cloth. "I was so scared when I woke up. I didn't know what would happen. I thought I'd ruined everything."
Elena kept her hand on Lisa's head, her fingers tracing slow, soothing lines through the wet hair. "You didn't ruin anything."
The words hung in the steam-thick air, and Elena felt their weight settle on her chest. It was true. And it wasn't. Something had shifted in the night—a seam she hadn't known was there, now pulled loose. She didn't know yet what would come through it.
But that wasn't Lisa's guilt to carry either.
The steam was beginning to thin, the edges of the bathroom coming back into focus. Lisa's shoulders had stopped shaking, her breath evening out against Elena's thigh. The cloth of the robe was damp where Lisa's face had pressed into it.
"Okay." Lisa pulled back, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the tears had stopped. "Okay. I'm—I'm good. I'm fine."
She said it like she was trying to convince herself. She pushed up from the floor, the towel slipping, and caught it again before it fell. Water dripped down her legs, leaving dark spots on the white tile.
Elena stood, her legs stiff from sitting on the marble counter. She picked up her coffee, took a sip, and handed the cup to Lisa without a word.
Lisa stared at it for a second, then took it. She drank. The steam curled around her face, and something in her shoulders relaxed, a tension Elena hadn't realized was still there.
"God, I needed that." Lisa's voice was rough, but the edge was gone. She took another sip, then handed the cup back. "Thanks."
"Finish it." Elena nodded at the cup. "There's another one in the room. I'll get dressed."
She stepped past Lisa, through the bathroom arch, and into the bedroom. The air was cooler here, the rain a steady whisper against the window. She crossed to the wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a soft cream sweater. Simple. Normal. Just what she needed.
She dressed quickly, the fabric warm against her skin, and was buttoning her jeans when Lisa emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a fresh towel. Her hair was still wet, dark strands clinging to her neck and shoulders.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The rain filled the silence, a steady rhythm against the glass.
"So." Lisa's voice was careful. Measured. The tone of someone testing a surface before stepping on it. "I'm going to ask you something. And you don't have to answer. But I need to know."
Elena's chest tightened. She leaned against the window frame, the glass cool through the thin sweater. "Okay."
“When we were younger—middle school, high school—I was always talking about boys,” Lisa said, her voice softening as she drifted into memory. “Crushes, who I liked, who was cute, who I wanted to sit next to in class.” A faint smile flickered, but it didn’t last. “And you were always right there with me. You’d listen, you’d join in, you’d talk about them like you had your own too.”
Her eyes stayed on Elena a moment longer now, more searching than nostalgic. “But… I’ve been thinking about it differently lately. I don’t know if you actually did. Like—did you ever really like any of them? Or were you just mirroring me?”
She hesitated, then added more quietly, “Because I can’t remember a single time you actually picked someone. Not really. I can only remember you going on a date with Jeff.”
Elena let out a short laugh. "Jeff from Biology. He asked me to a movie and spent the whole time talking about his car."
"His Honda Civic, which he called 'a machine.' I remember." Lisa grinned, but it faded quickly. "I'm not trying to embarrass you. I'm just—I've known you for fifteen years. And I've never seen you with anyone. Not once. Not a boyfriend, not a hookup, not even a kiss that you told me about."
Elena's fingers tightened around her coffee cup. "I've been busy."
"I know you have. I know you've been building your business, taking care of Marco, holding everything together. But that's not the whole story, is it?"
Elena looked down at the coffee, the dark surface, the faint ripple of her breath across it. "I've just never met anyone worth—" She stopped. Started again. "I've been attracted to guys. I have. But the ones I met were just boys. Kids who didn't know what they wanted. And I was too focused on my future to waste time on something that wouldn't go anywhere."
"And now?" Lisa's voice was gentle. "You're still into men, right? That hasn't changed?"
Elena looked up. Met Lisa's eyes. "Yes. I'm definitely still into men."
The words came out firm, certain. A ground she could stand on.
Lisa nodded slowly, like she’d accepted something she hadn’t fully understood yet. “Okay. Good. That’s… good to know.” She took a sip of her coffee, set it down on the nightstand, and didn’t move right away.
“So what about Liam?” she asked.
Elena went quiet for a beat, her expression steady while her thoughts rearranged themselves.
“What about him?” she asked, her voice steady—almost too steady.
"He's a man. Clearly not a boy. And you're living in his house, wearing his clothes, and last night he carried you into a cold shower and held you while you shivered." Lisa's voice was still gentle, but there was a thread of steel underneath. "I'm not stupid, Elena. I saw the way he looked at you at dinner. The way he seems to know exactly how to get under your skin."
Elena's jaw tightened. "He's my boss. That's all."
"Is it?"
"Yes." The word came out sharp, final. But even as she said it, something twisted in her chest. A memory surfaced—his hand on her head last night, steady and certain. His voice in her ear, cutting through the chemical fog. Stay with me.
Lisa held her gaze for a long moment, then let out a breath and shook her head. "Fine. You don't want to talk about him. I get it." She lifted the coffee cup, took a long drink, and set it down again. "Let me get dressed. Presley's coffee is going to go cold, and I refuse to let that happen."
She crossed to the wardrobe, still wrapped in her towel, and pulled out a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt. She dressed with her back to Elena, quick and efficient, the way someone did when they were used to changing in front of other people. When she turned around, she was almost herself again—her hair still damp, her eyes still carrying the weight of the night, but her shoulders set at a familiar angle.
“You know, the security system here is actually impressive,” Lisa said, her voice shifting into something lighter—almost animated. “I noticed it when we came in. Biometric locks, motion routing in the halls, encrypted network architecture… It’s actually a really elegant setup.”
She took a sip of her coffee, eyes unfocusing slightly like she was replaying it in her head. “Whoever designed it clearly likes clean systems. Everything’s layered in a way that makes sense if you’re into that kind of structure.”
Elena blinked. “You can tell all that just from walking in?”
Lisa gave a small shrug, but there was a spark in her expression now. “I just… like systems. Tech stuff. How things connect, how information moves. You start noticing patterns without meaning to.”
A faint smile tugged at her mouth as she looked back at Elena. “It’s like when you look at a really good design—you don’t have to be building it to appreciate how it’s put together.”
She took another sip of coffee. “I’ve always been into that kind of stuff anyway. Networks, interfaces, how systems talk to each other. I used to spend way too much time messing around with old hardware and trying to make things do things they weren’t really meant to do.”
Her smile turned a little more self-aware, like she was remembering something slightly embarrassing rather than dangerous. “It never really went away. I just turned it into something that pays rent.”
Then she shrugged, easy again. “Anyway. Good engineering is good engineering.”
Lisa dropped onto the edge of the bed, crossing her legs. "So what's the plan for today? Is there a schedule? A chore list? A dungeon orientation I should be aware of?"
"No dungeon," Elena said dryly. "At least not that I've been shown."
"Yet." Lisa's grin widened. "Give it time."
Elena shook her head, but she was smiling now, the absurdity of the moment cutting through the fog. She crossed to the window, looked out at the grey sky, the rain still falling in soft sheets across the grounds. The manor sat in its silence, a quiet fortress holding the two of them inside. She missed this. The normalcy of her best friend.
"Lisa." She turned. "Will you stay? Another day."
Lisa looked up, her coffee halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"I know you were supposed to leave this afternoon. I know it's not what you planned." Elena's voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—a thread of need she wasn't used to showing. "But I don't want to be alone here. Not yet. Not after last night." She paused. "I could use a friend. For one more day."
Lisa's expression softened. She set the coffee down on the nightstand and stood, crossing the distance between them in three steps. She didn't hug Elena—not yet. She just stood close enough that Elena could feel her warmth, could see the damp strands of her hair curling against her neck.
"Of course, I'll stay. I wasn't going to leave you here anyway. Will our Count Liam be ok with that? I mean, I do think he might like me." She says with a flirtatious tease.
“I’ll go ask him. Go ahead and meet me in the dining hall.” Elena says still smiling.
Both girls left the room, and once the two reached the top of the grand staircase, Lisa descended toward the dining hall, while Elena turned toward Thorn’s study.
Arriving at the grand wooden door. She knocked on the heavy oak door once, holding her breath. No response. She knocked again. Nothing. He must be somewhere else. She could almost always find him in his study at this hour.
But as she stepped away, she slowed.
Voices carried faintly through the left wing corridor—too soft to make out words, but enough to suggest movement. Not hurried. Controlled.
Then came a sound she didn’t recognize at first. A broken inhale. Like someone trying not to cry too loudly.
Stepping away from the door, she started for the main staircase, her hand skimming the polished railing that overlooked the grand hall and entryway. As she started to step down the stairs, a noise caught her attention as she caught a glimpse from the shadowed archway of the left wing. Her curiosity froze her in place.
From the corridor of the left wing, a young servant girl, no older than eighteen, wearing a maid’s uniform, clean and modest, was walking stiffly; her eyes appeared to be red from crying. Her shoulders shook with silent, hitching sobs, the sound raw and wet in the quiet. Stepping right behind her, Liam Thorn emerged, his presence bringing a sudden pressure into the grand hall.
Elena's body moved, pressing back into the stone balustrade. Looking barely in sight, Thorn’s face was impassive, a mask of detached control as he guided the crying girl, his face impassive, his attention fixed forward as he guided the crying girl back toward the servants’ quarters in the lower right wing. Staying still, it appeared he did not seem to notice her.
Elena waited until the hallway was empty, until the only sound was the frantic hammering of her own heart against her ribs. She moved down the remaining stairs, her legs unsteady. What had happened to her? Why was she back in his quarters? The question was a cold stone in her gut. The girl’s tears had been real, the kind that she remembered on her face only nights before.
Elena pushed into the dining hall, where morning light streamed across a long table set with silver and white porcelain. For a moment, she just stood there. The warmth of the room hit her differently than the cold corridors had—too bright, too normal, almost wrong. She realized she was still holding her breath. Slowly, she let it out and forced her shoulders to loosen, like her body was remembering how to exist in a place where nothing was wrong.
Lisa was already there, her plate piled with pastries and jelly.