The night air was carrying a faint tang of salt from the harbor. Kirra’s heels clicked softly against the paving as she led Connor down the winding streets toward the small, understated bistro she had chosen. It wasn't flashy, and for deliberate reasons. It was a business matter, yes, but there was an intimacy in the choice, a subtle claim that this evening was hers as much as it was professional.Connor trailed her, as always steady and silent, the lines of his suit impeccably sharp against the dim streetlights. But tonight, something in her stride shifted him slightly, like she was infinitely aware of his presence. She wasn’t just walking toward a restaurant… she was walking toward him.Inside, the bistro was quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed to fold around them and leave only the table between two people. Candles flickered, casting a warm glow that softened edges. The owner nodded at Kirra, and she returned the gesture with a small, self-conscious smile. Connor’s hand brushe

The next forty-eight hours unfolded like a noose that was deliberately being tightened slowly, to cause maximum panic. At first, Kirra thought she’s imagining the odd setbacks. A supplier claiming they “lost” her shipment paperwork, a minor partner suddenly requesting to revisit contract terms, along with some rumor about her company being “unstable” over the internet. It was soft enough to be deniable, sharp enough to wound… none of it was catastrophic.All of it was intentional.Kirra felt every hit like a pressure drop in her lungs. She sat in her office that afternoon, staring at an email from an advisor asking whether her “financial stability” had changed.She hadn’t breathed for several seconds before she even realized it.When Connor walked in, she didn’t turn. She just whispered, barely audible:“I’m sorry.”Connor stopped mid-stride. “For what?”“For dragging you into this.” Her hands shook slightly. “My world isn’t peaceful. It never has been.”Connor leaned against the ed

The drive to the Waratah estate felt like crossing an invisible border, one Kirra hadn’t realized existed until Connor’s hands tightened once on the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather.Sydney glittered in the distance, but this part of the city was quieter, older. Money didn’t shout here; it whispered in manicured hedges and iron gates taller than their house.The Waratah gates recognized Connor before Kirra even exhaled.A soft mechanical hum, a blink of green light, and the wrought-iron doors folded inward.Kirra shivered.He hadn’t been here in years, but the estate still opened as if welcoming back its favorite heir, or its runaway.They drove up the long circular driveway. The mansion rose from the hill like something carved from winter: white stone, dark glass, a wide veranda supported by pillars that could’ve belonged to a courthouse.Kirra’s boots hit the ground, and the staff rushed out in a neat line, coordinated like a scene that had been rehearsed. A maid’s

The doors slammed behind Miles so violently the old wood shuddered, and Kirra swore the walls themselves seemed to flinch. The Waratah estate had that unnerving quality, like every corridor stored echoes in locked drawers, like every room collected secrets the way normal homes collected dust. Nothing here was ever just quiet; it was curated silence, heavy with intention.Connor didn’t move.He stood in the middle of the drawing room, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, breath sharp and cold. The last fragile thread of restraint he’d been holding onto all evening had snapped the moment Rowan spat the word outsider like a slur.Kirra touched his arm—light, careful.He didn’t look at her.“Connor,” she said softly.“Don’t.” His voice was low, dangerously steady. “If I look at you right now, I’m going to break something expensive.”Her heart squeezed. The Connor she knew outside these walls—quiet humor, steady warmth, gentle intensity—shifted into something sharper the moment he crossed into

The air in the east hall snapped tight, as if every molecule was froze in anticipation. The doors at the back slammed open so violently that the portraits rattled on their hooks. A cold gust swept through the chamber, sweeping candle flames sideways, and the Waratahs, people who thrived on control, collectively flinched.A tall silhouette stepped into the golden light.At first, Kirra couldn’t make out the face, just the posture, which was relaxed, arrogant, unmistakably predatory. The kind of posture that said the room belonged to him, whether anyone liked it or not.Rowan’s breath left him in a strangled hiss.“Oh no,” Miles whispered, delighted. “He actually brought him.”Connor didn’t move. His jaw was steady, his stance rooted, but Kirra felt the tension vibrating through his hand. This wasn’t fear. This wasn’t anger.This was a warning.The figure stepped forward, boots echoing across the marble, until the face emerged from the shadows.A man in his thirties, dark hair slicked