The evening breeze whispered against the glass facade of The Gilded Quill as Ashley stepped out, her body heavy with the weight of the day. The last of the customers had trickled out an hour ago, and the once-busy interior now echoed with the soft hum of cleaning machines and the chatter of a few closing staff.
Ashley… Mila Aster now, she had to remember that. She hugged her jacket closer, standing just outside the main entrance beneath the dim glow of a modern streetlamp. The city had long since shifted into its nocturnal rhythm, buzzing quietly with distant traffic and the occasional clink of heels or laughter.
She checked her cracked phone, the map app still a confusing maze of lines and options, and prayed the cab she requested would find her. The last thing she wanted was to get lost again.
"Hey, Mila," a voice called from behind.
She turned to see Jude, one of the staff members from the Quill, stepping out with his bag slung lazily over his shoulder. He was always friendly… almost too friendly, but she had learned not to overthink kindness in this city. Still, there was a part of her that stayed guarded.
"Waiting for a cab?" he asked, his steps slowing as he approached.
She nodded politely. "Yeah. Just called one."
"I can give you a ride," he offered casually, motioning toward the small black sedan parked across the street. "It's no trouble, really. I'm heading in the same direction."
Ashley smiled faintly, shaking her head. "That's kind of you, but it's fine. The cab should be here any minute."
Jude chuckled, undeterred. "Come on, don't be shy. I promise I'm a decent driver. You'll get home faster, and you won't have to pay."
She shifted her weight, glancing at the street and then back at him. "Thank you, but really… I'm okay."
He stepped a little closer. "You sure? I just don't like the idea of you standing out here this late. The city can be unpredictable at night."
Ashley's chest tightened, the casual mention of her being new somehow making her more defensive, even though it was a reasonable assumption. She fought to keep her expression neutral, but her grip on her phone tightened slightly.
"I'll be alright. It's just a cab ride," she said, her tone remaining polite but firm.
Jude didn't move away. "At least let me wait with you, then?"
Just then, a cab's headlights flashed down the street, and the car pulled up smoothly beside the curb as if summoned by her unspoken plea. Relief surged through her.
"There it is," she said quickly, moving toward the vehicle. "Thanks again, Jude. I'll see you tomorrow."
Before he could respond, she slipped into the backseat and pulled the door shut. As the cab pulled away, Ashley didn't look back. But she knew exactly what the moment had felt like.
A near-escape.
—
Across the street, hidden in the muted shadows of a building's overhang, Lucien lowered the magazine he'd been pretending to read.
He had observed the entire interaction, eyes locked on Ashley's body language. Her subtle unease. The forced smile. The little shift of her feet as if preparing to run. Jude might have seen it as simple shyness or stubborn independence, but Lucien knew better. He read tension like a book.
As the cab merged into the street's modest traffic, Lucien started his own car with a quiet rumble and followed at a respectable distance. His tinted windows ensured neither Ashley nor the driver would spot him.
She didn't look back once.
Lucien followed until the cab reached the modest apartment building she now called home. He parked across the street, watching as she stepped out, paused to retrieve her keys from her bag, and finally disappeared through the building's entrance.
Seconds later, the light of her window flicked on, soft and golden.
Only then did Lucien reach for his phone.
"She's home," he said, once the call connected.
"Details," came Damon's voice, calm, cold and clipped.
"Interaction with a male colleague. Persistent offer to drive her home. She refused. Cab arrived just in time. She took it. No indication she suspects surveillance."
A beat of silence passed.
"Good," Damon murmured. "Keep your distance. Report everything."
"Of course."
Lucien ended the call and exhaled slowly, starting the engine once more.
—
The royal jet sliced through the clouds in smooth, steady silence.
Damon sat reclined in the private cabin, his elbows resting on the armrest, hands steepled beneath his chin. His eyes, though fixed on the dark window beside him, seemed distant, somewhere in Yarnat, perhaps.
Lucien's report had eased one knot of tension in his chest, but others still remained. He hated leaving her now, especially when she was just beginning to adjust.
But he had no choice.
The call from his father had been clear and loud.
—
The Silvorout Palace loomed like a monument from a different era, part ancient grandeur, part cutting-edge modernity. As the black car carrying Damon approached, the steel gates parted like jaws ready to devour.
He stepped out the moment they reached the private courtyard, long strides carrying him straight through the familiar halls. He ignored the staff's bows and the murmured greetings, heading straight for the King's private study.
The door was already ajar, as though the old man had expected him to arrive this very minute.
Damon stepped in, and there he was.
King Jasper Salvatore.
Still regal, still imposing, still sharp-eyed and straight-backed like the former warrior he'd once been.
"Close the door," the King said without looking up from the file in his hand.
Damon did.
Only then did his father lift his gaze.
"I heard," the King said, voice laced with simmering authority, "you went to Yarnat."
Damon didn't flinch.
"I did."
"And what, exactly, took you there?"
He paused.
"Something I had to see for myself."
The air in the room tensed, charged with unspoken meanings. King Jasper's stare bore into him.
"We'll talk," the King said, slapping the file shut. "But know this… your absence has stirred a lot more than rumors."
Damon's jaw tightened.
Let them stir.