Chapter 25 The Wolves’ Den
A towering crimson door looms before me.
I barely have time to take in the massive exterior wall of the Kong estate and the guards patrolling the perimeter when one of them grabs me from my right.
Lana shrieks and runs toward me. Elias pulls her against him, his gaze meeting mine.
“Stay calm,” he mouths.
Then my eyes are covered.
I struggle, but it’s useless. I’m no match for their strength.
Strange hands grip my shoulders, steering me through more turns than I can track. My pulse stampedes. Muffled conversations in Chinese reach my ears.
Then everything stops.
“Si Shen,” someone mutters.
The tight grip on my shoulders loosens, and in its place is a gentle pressure at the small of my back. A familiar scent of sandalwood reaches my nose.
“R-Reaper?”
The man beside me stills.
I shake my head. It can’t be Reaper, who clutched me to him as we roared our release last night. The man who left me alone in my bed afterward to deal with the confusing fallout—from the guilt because I’d moved on to the fullness in my chest and the tears that followed.
Even now, my body’s still too raw, too awake, as if last night changed something inside me.
So no, it can’t be Reaper. The hints of leather and rain aren’t there. And why would he be here? He’s a vigilante. He wouldn’t hang out with these criminals.
The mystery man moves, his hand clutching my wrist.
Steady. Firm. Oddly reassuring.
I inhale again—no, not sandalwood. I must’ve imagined it.
But it’s familiar. The quiet and intense presence.
The fingers resting on my pulse.
Like he’s measuring it. Just like a certain masked man did in the hospital before.
“R-Ren?” I ask.
Elias didn’t mention where Ren would be, but I assumed he’d be infiltrating the estate, not walking me in.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he gives my hand one firm squeeze—a reassurance.
It is him.
“Ren, it’s you, isn’t it?”
Still no answer. We’re moving faster now.
Light bleeds through my blindfold. Then darkness again. The route keeps changing—a wall at my shoulder, then open air, then a few steps, then another turn.
I hear a soft click, and suddenly, beautiful music floats in the air while a gentle breeze caresses my face and ruffles my dress.
I’m outside again.
The mystery man guides me past quiet conversations, polite laughter, then stops.
He removes the blindfold.
Relieved, I blink, my eyes adjusting to the light from the sunset—the sky a swath of peaches and reds—and the silk-screened lanterns dotting my surroundings.
“Ren, what are we going to—”
I stop when I realize I’m alone. He isn’t there.
On the ride over, I was told to stick with Lana, to remain calm. Elias said he’d have eyes on me the entire night.
But the plans have obviously changed.
Stay calm, Aria. Treat this like the fifteen-car pile-up you worked on last year. Roll with the punches.
Breathing in a few times, I force myself to relax and scope out my surroundings. If things go south, I’m hightailing it out of here.
As I wipe my damp palms on my dress, I scan the modern structure around me—dark, smooth surfaces and floor-to-ceiling windows. This building wraps around the beautiful courtyard I’m standing in.
A residence built around an outdoor space.
I’ve seen them in architecture books before.
The central courtyard is vast—a large reflecting pool in the middle, complete with stone landscaping and a waterfall. Trimmed hedges and willow trees stand at the corners like sentries, their long, limber branches swaying in the wind.
People dressed in finery gather around small tables dotted throughout the space. An orchestra plays on the opposite side of the water feature.
Drawn to the pool, I take a few steps toward it, gaping at the lotus flowers floating on the surface.
Then I see them. Streaks of bright red and orange.
Koi fish.
Something knots in my gut, and the fine hairs on my arms lift. I step closer to the fish, wanting to examine them—
“So, you’re Aria Connors,” a quiet voice says.
I spin around, finding myself face-to-face with an elegant older man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He smiles.
“Y-Yes, I am.”
“I’m Sir Tao, and I’m here to take you to Cornelius.”
Swallowing, I take his outstretched arm when he opens the door to the closest building and steps inside.
“I’ve been wondering about you. Wondering who could’ve resurrected Si Shen’s heart,” he says as he takes me down a dark corridor, dimly lit by a few sconces.
“I’m not sure I follow.” Si Shen? I heard someone say that while I was blindfolded.
He chuckles and pats my hand like a grandfather would when talking about the olden days. “Things will make sense later, I assure you.”
“Look, this is all a misunderstanding. I don’t know what you guys want from me, but whatever it is, I don’t have it—”
“Shhh.” His smile never wavers. “I’m the messenger. You’ll have to explain that to Cornelius.”
Soon, he stops in front of a crimson-studded door similar to the one I saw before I was blindfolded, but smaller. He lifts his hand but stops before knocking.
“If you care about him, let him go.” Turning to me, his smile fades. “You’re making him lose his focus, and that’s a death sentence.”
“Wh-What? Who are you talking about?”
“When you learn everything, you’ll be upset. Use that opportunity to leave him. Better he bleeds from the heart than dies with it distracted.”
What?
“I don’t know who you’re talking—”
Sir Tao turns away and knocks.
“Come in,” a voice inside calls, and we enter.
A man sits on a leather sectional, leg crossed over his knee. I recognize those sharp eyes, combed-back hair, and lips I normally see in a bright smile on the front pages of magazines and newspapers.
Cornelius Kong.
And he isn’t smiling now.
“Have a seat.” He motions at me, then looks behind my shoulder. “Thank you, Tao. Make sure we aren’t disturbed.”
A door snicks shut as I grip my dress and walk over, then gingerly take a seat across from him.
He pours tea from a small ceramic kettle and offers it to me.
I clutch the cup, staring at the steaming liquid, and place it on my lap.
“It’s not poisonous.” He seems amused. “Only the best Longjing from Zhejiang Province.”
As if to prove a point, he takes a sip. Hands trembling, I follow suit because I know it’s rude not to.
“So, this key—” he begins.
“I swear to God, I don’t have it. I don’t even have a safe-deposit box. I have one month’s rent in my bank account, and my belongings can fit in a paper box. You have the wrong person.”
“Hm.” His assessing gaze drifts over my face, then down to my body, making my skin crawl. “The people I pay to be right tell me otherwise.”
“Your sources are wrong!” I slam the cup onto the coffee table.
He arches an arrogant brow. “When you have as much money as I do, mistakes become very expensive for everyone else. I’m never wrong.”
Dread curdles inside me. I fist my hands, reminding myself to breathe.
A memory flashes before me.
Ren’s note at the hospital when I was panicking: Breathe in. Four counts. You’re safe. Nothing’s wrong with you.
Closing my eyes, I compose myself.
“Mr. Kong,” I say, “I’m a nurse. I know how to control catastrophic bleeding. I know what to do if you’re having a heart attack. I know nothing about a key. You can search everywhere. Check my apartment, my online banking, anything. I have nothing for you.”
“Nothing?” His lips twitch. “Not even something entrusted to your care that’s not yours?”
“What?” Will they all stop speaking in riddles? “What’s not mine? What do you mean—”
Then my heart flatlines. Oxygen flees the room.
Slowly, I glance up. “Blake? Does this have anything to do with my late fiancé?”
I think about the sunflowers, the two bouquets I received with cryptic notes about true love. I even gave the courier my number in case he remembers anything about the delivery. Then there were Dr. Cavendish’s questions about cardiology case anomalies.
“He’s never given you anything?”
Oh my God, it is about Blake.
“N-No. I have his old things. Books. Clothes. No keys.”
Blake’s wide smile winks behind my eyelids. The crestfallen slump of his shoulders when he’d lose a patient at the operating table. Shelly laughing at his terrible jokes in the clinic. Braden, his anesthesiologist, grinning and telling me I’d caught one of the good ones.
“You’re mistaken.” I stand. “Blake Amscot saved lives. He would never have touched whatever filth you’re after. He wouldn’t.”
“Huh,” Cornelius murmurs, his brows furrowing as if he’s deep in thought.
Then he leans forward, hands clasped over his knees. “Perhaps you don’t realize you have it,” he says softly. “Sometimes pain improves memory.”
Slowly, he rises from his seat. He takes a menacing step toward me, and I back away.
“We Kongs never give up. And we’re never wrong. We’ll get what we need.”
He points to the door.
“Go,” he says, as if granting a favor, or a last meal to a dying prisoner. “Enjoy the evening.”
While you still can.
The words are unspoken, but I hear them loud and clear.
I flee.
I’m lost.
Somewhere between the last two turns, I’ve found myself where I started.
Shit.
The occasional staff hurry to their destination, heads bowed, like they’ve been instructed not to speak.
I make a right this time, fumbling in the dim hallway of dark woods and flickering lamps. Turning left got me nowhere. I take another corridor that looks different, passing dim lounges, antiques, and silk screens until I spot moonlight spilling through a glass door ahead.
Excitement trembles inside me. This might not be the way I came in, but it’s a damn way out.
Cherry blossoms float from the sky the moment I step outside.
The wind is back, but this time it’s brisker, more turbulent.
I look around the small courtyard, spotting a fountain in the shape of a lion, more darkened rooms behind walls of glass, and willow and cherry blossom trees.
Music drifts from the distance, but I don’t see a pathway to get back to the central courtyard.
Dammit.
Something squeaks, and I whirl around.
“You’re new,” a soft voice says close by.
A woman a few years younger than me pokes her head out of a window in the building to my right.
She looks familiar with her inky dark hair and luminous eyes, but that’s impossible. I’ve never met her before.
“Um. Do you know how to get back to the main courtyard?”
She drops from view, and seconds later appears in the doorway I’d just exited.
“Why would you want to go out there? A bunch of rich assholes hiding behind shiny watches and fancy bags.” She purses her lips.
“Well, not together. Or maybe together, who knows? I don’t judge.
But seriously, why would anyone need a bag made of ostrich?
Let the poor things live. They can’t even fly—”
“Hold on. Who are you? And can you get me out of here?”
She grins and sticks out her hand. “Celia. I’m the bird they keep in the pretty cage.”
I’m having a psychotic break and am actually in the hospital. That’s the only thing that can explain what’s going on.
“You’re a breath of fresh air. I don’t have friends.” She waves me over to follow her. “Well, except for my brother. But brothers don’t really count, do they? He means well. But he hovers too much.”
Befuddled, I follow this strange forest nymph as she takes me into another entrance.
“It’s just, I’m not breakable, you know? It’s annoying when he treats me that way.”
And just like that, I’ve decided I like this odd, whimsical girl.
“Yeah. I get it,” I murmur.
“Knew you’d be cool. Gut feeling.” She grins and traverses an unfamiliar hallway and up a flight of stairs.
I most definitely didn’t take these stairs when I came in.
“Hey…I don’t think this is the right way. I need to go back to the party.”
“I’ll get you there. Just…let me pretend I’m normal for once, okay? It’s nice having a girl to talk to. I don’t get that here.” Celia strains a smile as she climbs the steps.
“Why don’t you leave then?”
“My brother. He’s important.” She wheezes like she’s climbing Mount Everest. “Works with these people. He’s all I have left.”
We reach the top, and she swings open the door.
“Are you okay? You sound out of—”
She sways on her feet, her hand darting out to grab the railing but missing it. Her face turns alarmingly white.
My nurse instincts kick in, and I catch her before she tumbles.
“I’m a nurse.” I sit her down. “I’m going to take your pulse and check you, okay? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Celia nods.
I place my fingers on her neck. Thready pulse. Pallid skin. Shortness of breath. I glance at her legs and feet. Slight swelling.
“I’m fine now,” she whispers, slowly getting to her feet. “Just had a spell. It’s over now.”
“You sure?” If she were in the ER, I’d run some tests on her.
“Really.” As if to convince me, she smiles. The color slowly returns to her face. “Sorry to scare you. I just want to show you my favorite spot in this fancy prison.”
We step onto the roof, and my mouth drops open.
“Pretty, right?” She chuckles. “This is a new addition. Right on top of the orangery.” She motions to the climbers and lattices filled with dark vines, string lights hung throughout.
More pots and planter boxes fill the space, some half-empty, others bright with blossoms, reminding me of Arcana & Bloom.
“My brother did this for me,” she adds, striding to the edge. She points to the cluster of warm lights below. “That’s your party, right?”
I spot the courtyard pool and nod.
“It’s better up here than down there. They all seem expensive and empty. Someday, I’ll go to a real party where people are happy and not trying to kill each other.” She sighs and rubs her hand absentmindedly over her chest.
She still looks rather pale.
“You don’t look so good. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
She startles and shakes her head. “No. I’m good. Just my stupid heart.” She points to her chest. “LMNA cardiomyopathy. Totally sucks.”
The world tilts on its axis.
Celia.
LMNA cardiomyopathy.
Protective brother.
“Is…is your brother Ren?”
Her eyes widen, then a spark appears in those familiar dark pools.
“You’re her.” She beams. “You’re the girl he’s talking about.”
My voice leaves me as my brain struggles to put the pieces together.
Ren, the masked, silent man who brings me breakfast, calms me when I’m anxious, who has the same tastes in movies as me. The man whose touch feels devastatingly familiar tonight.
He’s her brother.
And…he works here? With the Kongs, the people who put a bounty on my head?
Everything inside me drops.