I glanced down at her, my expression softening. "Oh, she will," I said confidently, my voice carrying a hint of mischief. "Anya's too curious now. She won't be able to resist finding out more."

Nathalie shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips despite her embarrassment. "You're probably right," she admitted. "But what if she figures out we were... pretending?"

I grinned, my arm tightening around her waist. "Then we'll just have to make sure she doesn't," I said, my tone light and playful. "Besides, where's the fun in that?"

Nathalie let out a soft sigh, leaning into me as we reached the car. "You're going to get us into trouble," she murmured, though there was no real reproach in her voice.

I opened the car door for her, my smirk never fading. "Maybe," I admitted, "but it'll be worth it."

The car hummed softly as Lisa navigated the quiet streets, the glow of the city lights reflecting off the windows. Nathalie sat beside me, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her dress, her expression a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment. The tension between us was thick, but there was something else there too—an unspoken understanding, a strange kind of intimacy that had formed despite everything.

Nathalie finally broke the silence, her voice soft but hesitant. "About my son...?" she asked, her eyes flickering to meet mine before quickly looking away.

I leaned back in the seat, my tone casual but firm. "Let him live in one of those houses," I said, my voice carrying a note of finality. "You're free to move around anywhere you want. He'll be safe there."

Nathalie's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. The gratitude in her voice was genuine, but it was laced with something else—conflict, guilt, the weight of everything that had happened between us.

I chuckled softly, my tone light but carrying an edge of possessiveness. "We're already husband and wife," I reminded her, my eyes flickering to her flushed face. "No need for thanks between us, is there?"

Nathalie's cheeks burned even brighter, her embarrassment palpable. She knew the truth—that I was the one who had killed her husband, the one who had twisted her son's life into something unrecognizable. And yet, she didn't retaliate. She didn't scream or fight or demand answers. Instead, she simply nodded, her fingers still twisting nervously in her lap.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the villa, the engine cutting off with a quiet hum. Nathalie's breath was still uneven, her body tense as she sat there, lost in her thoughts. I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers, just for a moment.

"You're free, Nathalie," I said, my voice low, almost gentle. "But remember—you're mine now."

She didn't look at me—not even a glance. But I caught the way her fingers trembled, just for a second, before she clenched them into fists at her sides. There was no outburst, no defiance. No sharp words or heated arguments.

She just nodded again, her chin dipping once, twice, as if every movement took effort. The silence between us wasn't empty; it was thick with everything she wasn't saying, with the weight of decisions already made and consequences we both knew were coming.

The car door shut behind us with a quiet thud, and the night air wrapped around us like a warning. It was cooler than I expected, carrying the scent of damp earth and something else—something electric, like the charge before a storm.

I exhaled slowly, watching the breath fade into the darkness. One thing was certain: this wasn't the end. It was only the beginning. And Nathalie? She felt it too. I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way she hesitated for half a second before turning away.

She didn't say a word as she walked toward the side of the estate, her steps deliberate. I knew where she was going—Tyler's situation needed handling, and Nathalie was the only one who could do it without drawing attention.

Meanwhile, I pushed open the heavy doors of the villa, the hinges groaning softly as I stepped inside.

The interior was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a fireplace casting long shadows across the marble floors.

My eyes adjusted quickly, scanning the room. Emily was perched on the edge of a sofa, her fingers tapping restlessly against her knee. Jennifer stood by the window, her silhouette sharp against the glass, her gaze fixed on something outside. But Angela—Angela was missing.

I was about to call out when Lisa appeared at my side, her expression unreadable. She leaned in, her voice low but urgent.

"Boss Angela is overseeing everything from the fortress," Lisa said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's assigning tasks, making sure everyone knows their role. She said to tell you she'll be back when it's under control."

I nodded, but my stomach twisted. Angela didn't just retreat to the fortress unless the situation was spiraling out of hand. If she were there, it meant the stakes were higher than any of us had anticipated. The fortress wasn't just a command center—it was a last resort.

Before I could process it further, Emily suddenly stepped forward, her face flushed with a mix of anger and fear. "Where is Mike?" she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

"What happened to him? Are you keeping us prisoners here?" Her hands were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white. I could see the panic beneath her anger, the kind that comes when someone is desperate for answers but terrified of what they might hear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jennifer's reaction. She didn't look concerned. Instead, a slow, mischievous smile played on her lips, as if Emily's outburst was nothing more than entertainment. It was that smile that made my decision for me.

I turned to Emily, keeping my voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around us. "Mrs. Emily," I said, my tone deliberate, "we should talk alone. If you want to know about your husband, follow me." I gestured toward the hallway, my gaze locking onto hers.

There was no time for hesitation, no room for doubt. Whatever was coming, she deserved to hear it away from prying eyes—and Jennifer's unsettling amusement.

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