Scarlett
The house breathes money.
It hums with it, quietly, like it’s learned not to show off—heated marble under my bare feet, glass so clean it looks like air, walls painted in soft neutrals that cost more than my first car ever did.
Everything is curated. Controlled. Safe.
I sit at the vanity in the master bedroom, spine straight, ankles crossed, the morning light spilling in through floor-to-ceiling windows and catching on crystal perfume bottles arranged like a shrine. The mirror reflects a woman who looks put together. Polished. Untouchable.
It lies.
I twist the lid off my blush and tap the brush once, twice, shaking off the excess. My hand hesitates just long enough to betray me.
Kai always hated blush.
Not hated—noticed. He used to tilt his head, eyes narrowing like he was cataloguing me, and say, You don’t need it. You already look flushed when you’re lying.
The memory slips in without permission, warm and sharp, and my mouth curves before I can stop it.
It’s stupid. Dangerous. He’s been gone for years.
I sweep the colour across my cheeks anyway, soft rose blooming under my skin, and the smile dies as another image replaces the first.
The courtroom.
Fluorescent lights too bright. The air stale and unmoving. My hands folded in my lap because if I let them shake everyone would see. Kai sitting at the defence table in a wrinkled suit that didn’t quite fit, jaw set, eyes locked on me like he already knew how this would end.
The worst part wasn’t the chains.
It was the way he didn’t look away.
Not when I stood.
Not when I raised my hand.
Not when I opened my mouth and destroyed him.
I add a little more blush, like I can bury the memory under colour, and breathe out slowly through my nose.
This is my life now.
A door closes somewhere down the hall. Soft footsteps approach—unhurried, confident. I feel him before I see him, the shift in the air, the weight behind me.
Noah’s reflection appears in the mirror.
Blonde hair, perfectly styled, blue eyes sharp and intelligent, the kind of face that looks expensive without trying.
He’s already in his suit—tailored charcoal, crisp white shirt, tie knotted just loose enough to suggest control rather than carelessness.
Ink peeks out from beneath his cuff when he reaches forward, a hint of black and geometric lines wrapping his wrist.
His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and possessive.
“You’re up early,” he says, voice smooth, intimate. “Couldn’t sleep?”
My throat tightens. I meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching me watch myself.
“Big day,” I reply lightly.
His thumbs slide along my collarbones, slow, deliberate, and my body reacts on instinct even as something inside me stiffens. He leans down, mouth brushing my temple, inhaling like he’s memorising me.
“You look incredible,” he murmurs. “As always.”
I hum, noncommittal, and reach for my lipstick.
He takes it from my hand before I can apply it, sets it down, then cups my chin gently, turning my face toward him so I have no choice but to look at us reflected together—me, pale and composed; him, all sharp lines and certainty.
“Later,” he says. “I like you like this.”
His fingers trail down my arm, possessive without being rough, and I swallow.
We look perfect together.
That’s what everyone says.
“So,” Noah continues casually, straightening, adjusting his cufflinks like he’s about to discuss the weather. “I heard some… interesting news this morning.”
My pulse stutters. “Oh?”
He smiles at my reflection, all charm, all teeth. “Your brother.”
The word lands heavy.
“Kai,” he adds, like he enjoys saying it. “Gets released today, doesn’t he?”
The room feels smaller. The mirror sharper.
I turn slightly on the stool. “I don’t keep track.”
Noah chuckles, low. His hand returns to my waist, fingers splaying like he’s claiming ground. “Of course you don’t. Still—funny how these things line up. You finally settle into this life.” His grip tightens just enough to register. “And then the past decides to come knocking.”
I force a smile. “He’s not my past.”
“No?” His brows lift. “Could’ve fooled me. Court transcripts make for fascinating reading.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Why would you—”
“Relax.” He leans in again, mouth near my ear, voice dropping. “I just like to know what might threaten what’s mine.”
Mine.
The word settles over me like a silk noose.
“You don’t need to worry,” I say. “Kai won’t be a problem.”
Noah’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, assessing. Calculating.
“I’m sure,” he says smoothly. Then, softer, almost amused, “Still. Must be strange. Knowing he’s walking free today.”
His fingers trace a slow line down my spine, stopping just short of where it would become too much.
I stand, breaking the contact, turning to face him fully. He doesn’t stop me. Just watches.
“I’m ready,” I say.
His smile returns, perfect and practiced. “Good. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
He kisses my cheek—light, proprietary—and leaves the room.
The door clicks shut.
I turn back to the mirror.
The woman staring back at me looks flawless.
But beneath the blush, beneath the silk and glass and money, something old and dangerous is waking up.
Kai is free.
And no amount of polish is going to stop the cracks from showing.
The silence he leaves behind is loud.
It presses in on me, thick and suffocating, filling every corner of the bedroom like it knows something I don’t. I stare at my reflection again, fingers curling against the edge of the vanity, knuckles whitening as I try to steady my breathing.
Your brother.
The word still echoes, sharp and wrong.
I reach for my lipstick this time and apply it carefully, tracing the familiar shape of my mouth with a hand that refuses to tremble. Red. Always red. I tell myself it’s confidence. Power. Control.
Kai once told me red made me look like a warning sign.
You don’t wear it for other people, he’d said, voice low, eyes dark with something I didn’t understand back then. You wear it because you like knowing what it does to them.
I cap the lipstick too hard and stand, smoothing my dress down over my hips. Silk slides cool beneath my palms. Expensive. Perfect. A uniform I’ve learned to wear well.
Downstairs, the house opens up into glass and light and echoing space.
The living room stretches wide, all clean lines and carefully chosen art, a view of manicured gardens beyond the windows.
Everything about this place is designed to impress.
To intimidate. To convince you that nothing ugly could ever touch it.
Noah waits near the kitchen island, phone in hand, jacket draped over one arm.
He looks devastating like this—tailored suit hugging his broad shoulders, blond hair catching the light, blue eyes sharp and assessing even when he smiles.
The tattoos along his forearm peek out again as he reaches for his coffee, dark ink against pale skin, a reminder that he isn’t as clean-cut as he pretends.
“You okay?” he asks casually, eyes flicking over me in a way that makes it clear he already knows the answer.
“Fine,” I say, because it’s the only safe response.
He steps closer, sets the mug aside, and cups my jaw, tilting my face up so I have to meet his gaze. He studies me like an investment—checking for cracks, weaknesses, anything that might devalue what he owns.
“You don’t need to think about him,” Noah says quietly. “Whatever he was, whatever you think you owe him—it’s over.”
His thumb brushes beneath my lip, smearing the edge of red just slightly, and my stomach tightens. The touch is intimate. Controlled. A reminder.
“I don’t owe him anything,” I reply.
“Good.” His smile returns, all charm. “Because I don’t share.”
The words are light, almost teasing, but there’s steel underneath them. Noah kisses me then—slow, deliberate, meant to be seen even though no one’s watching. It’s not passion. It’s possession. A performance we’ve both perfected.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead briefly against mine. “We’ll be out all day. Meetings. Lunch. Distractions.” His eyes search my face in the mirror-like surface of the window behind me. “By the time we’re home, this will all feel like nothing.”
I nod.
That’s the problem.
It never feels like nothing.
We leave the house together, footsteps echoing through halls that have never heard shouting, never held secrets deeper than money can bury. As Noah locks the door behind us, I pause for half a second on the steps, the air sharp and cold in my lungs.
Somewhere—not here, but close enough to feel—steel doors are opening.
Chains are coming off.
I slide into the passenger seat and let Noah drive, my gaze fixed on the passing streets, the city waking up around us. My phone buzzes once in my bag. I don’t check it. I already know it’s nothing important.
If Kai wants to find me, he won’t need a screen.
He always knew where I was.
And as the car pulls away from the house—the glass, the marble, the carefully built illusion—I can’t shake the feeling that something ancient and feral has just slipped its leash.
Kai is free.
And no matter how beautiful this life looks from the outside, it was never built to keep monsters out.