Serena didn't like being followed.
Not by the guards who watched her every movement like she was some rare animal about to bite, not by Mara's silent glances during breakfast, and not by the flickers of shadows she kept seeing from the corner of her eye—too fast to be real, too frequent to ignore.
It had started the day after the chapel. The day after Matteo had finally told her the truth—or at least part of it.
Since then, something had shifted.
Not just between them.
In the house itself.
---
It was nearly dusk when she stepped into the greenhouse. She hadn't planned to go there—her feet simply moved on instinct, away from the corridors buzzing with hushed voices and increasingly tense guards.
The greenhouse was at the edge of the estate grounds, surrounded by high walls and iron fencing wrapped in thorned vines. Inside, the air was dense with heat and the perfume of blooming night roses—black-red petals so dark they almost looked bruised.
She brushed her fingers against one of them.
"You're not supposed to be out here alone," came a voice behind her.
Serena turned sharply, her heart jumping.
Luca Ferraro stepped into view from the glass-paneled entrance, dressed in his usual crisp black, his eyes colder than ever.
She didn't move. "I'm not out here alone."
He smiled thinly. "No. But soon, you might be."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Luca came closer, his hands in his pockets, but his presence like a knife held at a polite distance.
"This estate isn't as secure as you think. Not everyone is happy you're here."
She crossed her arms. "Let me guess. You included?"
"I'm loyal to Matteo," Luca said simply. "But I don't have to like what weakens him."
Her blood ran cold.
"Does loving me make him weak?" she asked, immediately regretting the word love the second it left her mouth.
Luca didn't flinch.
"I think it makes him hesitant. And hesitation gets people killed."
Before she could answer, a loud crack shattered the air.
Not thunder.
Not lightning.
Gunfire.
---
Serena's body reacted before her mind did—she ducked behind the rose trellis just as another shot rang out, glass exploding in the far wall of the greenhouse. Luca was already moving, drawing a pistol from beneath his jacket and barking into his comm.
"East garden breach! Two shooters, masked—protect the bride!"
Bride.
The word felt ridiculous as adrenaline ripped through her veins. She stayed low, crawling across damp soil and rose petals as bullets shattered more glass. The scent of gunpowder and perfume burned her throat.
She didn't know where the shots were coming from. Outside the walls? Inside? She reached for the only thing that mattered—escape.
Luca shouted again, firing back through a broken panel. "Move! Now!"
She ran.
Glass crunched underfoot. A third shot tore through the ceiling, and a fourth ricocheted off the iron support beam beside her. She slipped—fell—her palms cutting against something sharp.
Blood.
She scrambled to her feet and bolted through the back entrance of the greenhouse. It slammed shut behind her, the scream of alarms echoing across the compound seconds later.
---
By the time she reached the main estate, guards were flooding the halls, shouting into radios. Sirens wailed in the distance. Doors were slammed, locked, checked.
And Matteo was waiting.
His eyes found hers the moment she burst into the foyer, breathless and bleeding.
He crossed the marble floor in seconds.
"You're hurt," he said, his voice too calm, too low. "Who did this?"
Serena's breath hitched. "I—I don't know. They were outside the greenhouse. Luca got me out."
Matteo's jaw clenched. "Take her upstairs," he barked to Mara. "Seal the hall. I want two men outside her door at all times. If a single shadow crosses that threshold, shoot it."
She reached out. "Matteo—"
But he was already gone, stalking toward the east wing with a fury that silenced even the alarms.
---
Upstairs, Mara cleaned the cuts on Serena's hands in silence. Her movements were gentle, efficient, and unnervingly unfazed.
"Does this happen often?" Serena whispered.
"No," Mara said simply.
"But you're not surprised."
"No."
Serena exhaled. "How did they get through the guards?"
Mara paused. "They didn't. Someone let them in."
A chill went down her spine. "A traitor?"
Mara didn't answer. She didn't have to.
---
It was past midnight when Matteo finally returned.
Serena was sitting in the armchair by the fire in her chamber, her knees drawn up, hands bandaged.
He said nothing when he entered.
Just walked across the room, untied his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves—revealing blood splattered across one forearm.
She stood slowly.
"Whose blood is that?"
"One of the shooters."
Her throat went dry. "You killed him?"
He met her eyes. "He was aiming for you."
She sat down hard on the bed.
"I don't know who wants me dead," she whispered.
Matteo moved closer. "That's not true."
She looked up. "Arturo?"
"He wouldn't dare strike inside these walls. Not unless someone gave him an opening."
"Then who?"
"I don't know," Matteo admitted. "But I will find them."
A long silence passed.
Then softly, Serena asked, "Why do they want me gone so badly?"
Matteo's voice was quieter than before. "Because if you live long enough to claim your bloodline... the old order collapses."
"And if I die?"
"They win."
He sat beside her.
She didn't pull away.
"You said marrying me would protect me," she whispered. "But it doesn't feel like I'm safe."
He looked at her now—not with control, not with calculation.
With something deeper.
"You're not safe," he said quietly. "You never were. But I'll burn this house to the ground before I let anyone touch you again."
Her eyes burned. "I don't want to be used. I don't want to be a pawn."
He touched her hand gently. "Then don't be."
"I don't know how."
"You will."
The room was so still she could hear his breath.
And hers.
And something passed between them—raw and unspoken.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But a crack in the wall.
---
That night, after Matteo left, Serena stared at the fire until it burned to coals.
And she made a decision.
She would stop waiting to be saved.
She would stop hoping someone would tell her the truth.
She would find it herself.
Because whoever wanted her dead… wasn't done.
And next time, they might not miss.