Ever since I received that little gift a week ago, I hadn't been myself. My brother was alive. Battered and bruised, but alive. And in someone's captivity.

I had been glued to my phone, checking it every few minutes, waiting—hoping—for a message that had to come. Whoever had sent that box couldn't just leave me hanging. There had to be an ultimatum, a demand, something to do to get my brother back. So why hadn’t I received anything yet?

I had asked the maids if anyone had come by, but she shook her head, insisting that no one had, except for the meat delivery. And even then, she said the guardsmen hadn't let him inside. So who could it be?

At this point, there was only one person who could have sent that box to my room specifically. Xavier. My husband.

Anna’s words echoed in my mind.

I’d say your husband might be behind this…

Was he really? Had I doubted Anna for nothing? Xavier could obviously pull something like this off—after all, we were still rivals, even if we were married. Maybe I wasn't the only one trying to eliminate him. Maybe he was trying to eliminate me, too.

How could I have been so stupid to blindly defend him, knowing he was my enemy?

I stared at my computer screen, but my mind wasn’t there. My fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard, my thoughts spiraling.

After a very distracted day at work, it was finally time to leave. I called Peppe, told him everything I had done today, and informed him I’d be heading to my mother’s company tomorrow so he could take over for the day.

The car ride home was silent. The quiet pressed in on me, thick and suffocating. As I entered the elevator up to the penthouse, my mind was in overdrive. The second I reached my floor, I headed straight to my room, stripping off my work clothes and slipping into something light.

Then, with one of my hairpins in hand, I walked down the hall to the locked room.

It didn’t take me long to pick the lock. When I heard the telltale click, my heart slammed against my ribs.

I was doing this. I will do this.

This might be the key to proving that Xavier was truly the murderer. If I had solid proof, I could send him straight to the police without having to dirty my hands.

With that thought in mind, I gripped the doorknob, took a steadying breath, and stepped inside.

It was pitch dark. So dark I couldn’t even see my own hands. I fumbled along the wall, searching blindly until my fingers found the switch.

I flipped it on.

The sudden brightness made me blink, but that wasn’t what stole my breath away.

The wall opposite me did.

A slow, horrified gasp escaped my lips.

It was just like the kind you saw in movies—the kind where psychopaths plastered their targets’ photos across a board, marking the ones already gone in red.

My feet moved on their own, carrying me closer. My father’s picture was at the center. My mother’s was beside his. Both marked red.

Then, at the top—Mitchell. What was Mitchell doing here? Beside her was Anna on the right, and on the left—Tyler. My brother.

A shuddering breath escaped me. My trembling fingers reached up to caress his face in the photograph. He looked happy here. Whole. Unlike the bloodied and broken version of him that had been sent to me in a box.

I didn't need a genius to tell me Xavier was behind this.

The doors suddenly slammed open.

I flinched, my body whipping around just in time to see my nemesis, standing at the entrance. His nostrils flared, his expression a storm of fury.

On any other occasion, I might have been scared. But not now. Not when I knew who he was.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Marieclaie?!" His voice was a thunderclap, making me jump. I stuttered, my brain scrambling for an answer, but he was already closing the distance between us in just a few strides.

"I asked you a fucking question!"

"This!" I shouted back, jabbing a finger toward the wall, then swinging it back at him. "What is this, huh?!"

He didn’t even look shocked. He didn’t even glance at the wall. His eyes were locked onto me the entire time.

My chest heaved as I gritted my teeth and stalked toward him, shattering the space between us. "You’re the murderer, aren’t you?" I snarled, rage burning through me.

His jaw tensed. "What the hell are you talking about now, Marieclaie?"

I let out a humorless chuckle. "You’re the one who did it, Xavier. You’re the one who caused their accident that night!"

Fury, grief, and betrayal tangled inside me. My fists clenched, and I struck his chest, but he didn’t budge. He simply caught my wrists, stopping my attacks with ease.

"Relax, Marie"

"Relax?!" I cut him off with a sharp scoff. "Relax? When I’m living with a murderer? With the bastard who sent me a picture of my brother—bruised, bloody, dying?!"

My voice broke. The words came out strangled, choked by the lump in my throat. Tears blurred my vision, spilling over before I could stop them. I turned away from him, sucking in a shuddering breath.

"What box?" His voice was lower now.

I refused to look at him, so he stepped forward, catching my chin between his fingers and forcing me to meet his gaze.

"What fucking box, Marieclaie? I didn’t send anything. So tell me—"

"Liar," I spat, venom dripping from the word. "You are a liar!"

I ripped my hands free from his grasp and resumed my assault, hammering my fists against his chest.

"You are a fucking liar, Xavier! I hate you!" My voice cracked with raw emotion, my sobs wracking through me. "I hate you so much!"

Then, suddenly his hands cupped my cheeks, tilting my face up. Before I could react, he crushed his lips against mine, kissing me through my sobs, through my fury.

My eyes widened, but I didn’t pull away. My lids fluttered shut, and I let him kiss me—fiercely, harshly.

When he finally pulled back, we were both panting. My eyes trailed down to his lips, still glistening from the kiss. I licked my own, my breath uneven.

Then, without thinking, I kissed him back.

And this time, I kissed him with the same fevered desperation.