Days bled into weeks.
At first, Ayla refused to speak. She avoided the estate staff, ate little, and barely slept. But time had a way of softening the sharpest of defenses.
The estate was quiet. Gentle. Almost like a dream.
She could walk the gardens whenever she wanted. Read in the vast library. Paint on the terrace without judgment. No one barked orders. No one raised a hand.
The Viper was rarely present—always traveling, always dealing with business elsewhere. When he was home, he barely spoke to her. Just a look. A nod. A moment of unreadable tension.
But the people he left behind?
They treated her like royalty.
Respectfully. Kindly.
One of the housemaids, an older woman named Mirella, even took to braiding her hair in the mornings, whispering stories of the Viper's past exploits like folklore.
"You must be someone special," Mirella would say. "He's never brought anyone like you here."
Ayla never responded. But deep down… she liked it.
She liked the silence. The safety. The lack of running.
She didn't have to fight anymore.
But peace came with guilt.
Every time she laughed—even quietly—her brother's terrified face flashed in her mind.
Every time she felt calm, Leon's voice haunted her.
Was he still searching?
Did he blame himself?
Was he furious at her for leaving without a word?
One part of her ached to be found. To be dragged out of this place and back into his arms.
Another part—shamefully—wanted to stay.
Here, she wasn't someone's puppet. Here, no one knew the truth about what she'd done… about the grave she'd helped dig.
She pressed her hand to her chest, hating the war inside her.
She had peace.
But peace felt like betrayal.
And the longer she stayed, the more she feared that when Leon did find her… he might not recognize the girl she had become.