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Chapter 14.

Rose

The soft glow of the kitchen light illuminated Rose as she sat at the table, her focus completely absorbed by the arrest file in front of her. She had waited until the house was quiet, until everything else in her life seemed to fade away, to finally dig deeper. She flipped through the pages with deliberate concentration, each detail, each fact pulling her in closer to the mystery of this man.

The faint rustling of paper was the only sound in the otherwise silent kitchen. Rose's eyes scanned the contents, her brow furrowing as she pieced together the fragments of Saint's life. His arrest had been messy, violent, the kind of thing that made her stomach tighten. He had been arrested for assaulting his older sister's husband. The details of the crime were unsettling—Saint had beaten the man with a garden rake, an image that was disturbing and oddly vivid in her mind. There had been previous complaints from neighbors about domestic disturbances, but this time was different. This time, his sister had called the cops.

Rose's eyes lingered on the part that shook her—Saint had been arrested, just like the husband. But when it came time for the trial, only the husband had been bailed out. Saint's sister had bailed him out, and yet, she hadn't even bothered to show up for Saint's trial. Not even a single visit.

The thought gnawed at Rose, an unsettling feeling spreading through her chest. She couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness, a sense of abandonment. Saint, who must have once been surrounded by family, was now completely isolated. It was no wonder he had built up the walls around him that he had.

She let out a soft, frustrated sigh and leaned back in her chair, staring at the file in front of her. Her mind was racing, piecing the details together like a puzzle she couldn't quite solve.

It was at that moment she heard the soft creak of the kitchen door. Gia stepped in, her expression softening with surprise as she saw Rose still at the table, reading in the dead of night.

"Rose?" Gia's voice was laced with concern as she walked into the room, her gaze flicking to the clock. "It's late. Why are you up?"

Rose didn't look up immediately, but when she did, her mother's worried gaze met hers. Rose gave a small shrug, trying to hide the exhaustion in her eyes.

"I couldn't sleep," she said softly, keeping her voice steady. "I'm just... trying to find out more about one of my patients. There's... a lot I need to understand."

Gia, ever the nurturing figure, took a quick glance at her daughter's face before moving to the counter. Without another word, she set about making a cup of tea, the familiar clink of the teapot and mug providing some semblance of comfort in the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

As she prepared the tea, Gia sat down beside Rose, a soft smile on her lips.

"Tell me what's on your mind, sweetheart," she said gently, her hand resting on Rose's arm. "You know I'm always here to listen."

Rose hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking back to the file. She had never really told her mother about the details of her patients. But something about tonight, about the weight of everything she was uncovering, made her want to talk about it. She exhaled slowly, the words finally coming out.

"I have this one patient. I've been learning more about him. His arrest... it was for beating up his brother in law with a garden rake." She paused, the image still lingering in her mind. "The neighbors had called before, but this time, it was his sister who called the cops. Both of them were arrested—Saint and the husband—but only the husband was bailed out. His sister didn't even show up for his trial."

Gia's expression softened as she processed the information, her fingers brushing gently over Rose's hand.

"Poor thing," she murmured, her voice quiet with sympathy. "I can't imagine what he's been through. Abandoned by his own family."

Rose nodded, feeling that familiar twinge of discomfort settle in her chest. "Yeah," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's seems like he was left to rot while the toher man walked away."

A sigh escaped Rose, the weight of the situation finally catching up to her. Gia didn't speak for a moment, simply letting the quiet stretch between them, the only sound the soft simmer of the tea being poured.

"That's a lot to carry," Gia said softly, her voice warm and soothing. "But Rose, you can't save everyone. Sometimes, people have to face their demons on their own. But you're doing the right thing by trying to understand him. He needs that. Even if he doesn't show it."

Rose nodded again, grateful for her mother's wisdom, even if it didn't make the situation any easier to understand. She sat back in her chair, feeling the weight of the file still in her hands, the answers she was looking for just out of reach.

She glanced at Gia, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Mom," she said quietly.

Gia squeezed her hand and smiled warmly, the tension in the room easing just a little. "Of course, sweetheart. You're doing great. Just take it one step at a time."

Rose looked back at the file, but for the first time in hours, she felt like she could breathe again.

_______________________

Lily

Lily woke to the soft shuffle of tiny feet on hardwood and the next thing she knew, a warm little body was crawling into bed beside her.

"Mommy," Violet whispered, her voice a fragile tremble in the dark.

Lily blinked the sleep from her eyes, barely able to make out the curls and flushed cheeks pressing close against her.

"What is it, sweetheart?" she asked, voice husky with sleep.

"There's a monster under my bed," Violet said, wrapping her small arms around Lily's neck, clinging tightly. "It growled at me."

Lily's heart softened. She pulled her daughter close, stroking her back with slow, steady hands. "It's just the wind, baby. Or Miso's belly grumbling again."

Right on cue, a soft thump sounded at the edge of the bed, followed by the faint rustling of paws. Miso leapt up and curled himself between them and stretched his short legs across Violet's tiny ones.

"See?" Lily murmured, brushing Violet's curls away from her face. "If there was a monster under your bed, Miso would've chased it out already."

Violet relaxed with a small nod, her grip on Lily loosening slightly. Her cheek rested on her mother's shoulder as she let out a slow breath. "Okay. But can I stay here?"

"Of course," Lily whispered.

The three of them lay bundled beneath the soft covers, Violet nestled into Lily's chest, Miso stretched lazily by their legs. Lily continued to run her fingers through Violet's hair, feeling the rise and fall of her daughter's breaths even out again. Soon, she was asleep, her little hand still resting over Lily's heart.

But Lily couldn't close her eyes.

Her body was still, her arms full, but her mind wouldn't stop.

With one careful hand, she reached for her phone on the nightstand, lifting it without shifting Violet. The screen lit up, casting a pale glow across the dark room.

Her heart sank.

A flurry of missed notifications greeted her.

Four missed calls.

Seven texts.

All from Gabriel.

Some from earlier that evening. Others she'd ignored on purpose.

Call me back when you can.

Lily?

I'm going to assume the worst if you don't pick up.

I'm not going to come by because I know you don't want me to see Violet. But please, just text me back so I know you two are okay.

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the first message, the second, the third.

Her heart ached with an old, familiar pull. Violet stirred slightly against her chest, and Lily gently kissed her daughter's forehead. She let out a quiet sigh and finally typed out a message with one hand, careful not to wake Violet.

We fell asleep early. She's okay.

She hit send and watched the message deliver, the screen dimming just as a reply came in almost instantly.

Thank you. I was starting to lose my mind. Is Vee asleep? Can I call?

Lily's thumb hovered again. Her chest felt tight. The ache in Gabriel's message was too raw, too familiar. And it made something inside her twist in a way she wasn't ready for.

Without typing anything else, she locked the phone and turned it face down on the nightstand.

Then, with a quiet breath, she wrapped her arms tighter around Violet, letting the rhythm of her daughter's breathing ground her.

No more ghosts tonight. Just her little girl. Her home. Her peace.

Lily closed her eyes, kissed Violet's temple again, and let the silence return.

___________________________

Levi

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, and the hum of the machine echoed through the empty space. The city lights outside flashed by in a blur, but inside, the silence between Tara and Levi felt heavy. Most of the staff had already gone home—leaving the building to the late hours of the night and the two of them, lingering in the quiet aftermath of the day.

Levi had kept Tara late, watching her fumble through the endless rows of books he had demanded be arranged in alphabetical order. She had made little progress, muttering under her breath as she worked, her frustration palpable.

But to Levi, it didn't matter how much she'd done. He had gotten exactly what he wanted—his eyes on her all day. She'd been too clumsy, too distracted, too... off for him to ignore. And now, as they stood together in the elevator, the weight of the day settled into the air between them.

Tara leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed over her chest, looking more like a teenager than a professional intern. She was tall, her figure long and lean, but she carried herself with a kind of careless ease that contrasted sharply with Levi's sharp, tailored appearance. She wore bell-bottom jeans that were slightly frayed at the edges, an old band t-shirt peeking out from beneath a black sweatshirt. Her bag hung loosely from her shoulder, her hair falling around her face in disarray.

Levi couldn't help but glance at her, his eyes scanning her figure as if trying to make sense of her disheveled appearance.

How does someone at twenty-one not know how to look put together?

His thoughts flickered briefly to his own perfectly pressed suit—a sharp navy blue number that clung to his frame like it was custom-made just for him. Every inch of his appearance was meticulously planned, every detail honed to perfection.

And then there's Tara, he thought, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

As his gaze shifted down, he noticed something that irked him immediately—her shoelaces were untied. The sight of them trailing loosely behind her, as she nonchalantly leaned against the elevator wall, made his pulse spike with irritation.

"You're laces are untied," Levi said, his voice flat but carrying an underlying sharpness.

Tara glanced down at her shoes, unfazed, and shrugged in response, as if it were the least important thing in the world.

Levi's brows furrowed, his mouth tightening into a thin line. The nonchalance irritated him more than it should.

"You're not going to tie them?" He asked.

"They're not bothering me," Tara muttered.

"You could trip and hurt yourself, you know. You're not a child. You should tie your shoelaces."

Tara looked up at him with an expression that seemed both bored and defensive. She held up her hand, silently reminding him of the bandaged finger.

"I can't. Broken finger, remember?"

For a split second, Levi felt a twinge of guilt, his gaze lingering on the delicate bandage wrapped around her finger. It was a genuine injury, one that she couldn't help, and for a brief moment, he softened. But then, as quickly as the guilt appeared, it vanished, replaced by that familiar annoyance that always seemed to bubble to the surface around her.

He looked away from her and shoved his phone back into his pocket, clenching his jaw. Levi's movements were swift, decisive. Without a word, he knelt down in front of her, his suit fabric stretching as he positioned himself at her feet. He looked up at Tara, his eyes locking onto hers, the irritation still evident in his gaze.

"Step forward," he said, his voice commanding.

Tara blinked, clearly thrown off by his sudden shift in tone, but she did as he asked, her lips slightly parted in surprise. She moved closer, her hands instinctively falling to her sides as she stood still in front of him.

Levi reached for her laces, pulling them tight with precision, his fingers working quickly as he tied her shoes. He could feel the tension in the air, the silence stretching around them as he worked. His focus remained on the task, but his mind raced with thoughts about her—about the way she had evaded his suspicions, the way she had moved through his life like a puzzle piece he couldn't quite fit.

As he finished tying her shoes, Levi slowly stood up, his hands brushing off the wrinkles in his suit. He glanced up at Tara, who was standing motionless, her face flushed with embarrassment, though she said nothing. Levi stood there for a moment, letting the silence hang between them, before he finally spoke again.

"Keep your shoes tied next time," he said, his voice softer now, the irritation momentarily replaced with something more neutral.

Tara gave a small nod, but Levi didn't miss the flicker of something in her eyes—a quiet defiance, maybe, or the smallest hint of something else.

As Levi stood, his eyes lingering on Tara for a moment longer than he intended, he couldn't help but notice the faint flush coloring her cheeks. It was subtle but unmistakable—the pink hue creeping up her neck, the flush of warmth across her face that she was clearly trying to hide.

He had seen that color before, but now, for some reason, it stuck in his mind, more vivid than before. It wasn't just the blush that caught his attention. It was how the flush seemed to bring out the color of her eyes, how it made the brown of her irises seem lighter, almost hazel under the dim lights of the elevator. There was something almost striking about the way the warmth in her face seemed to draw out the hidden flecks of gold in her eyes, the way they glinted in the soft light.

Levi blinked, his gaze flickering for just a second longer than he wanted. It was a small detail, but it made the whole scene feel... different. He quickly tore his eyes away, his chest tightening slightly.

What the hell was that?

His mind kicked into overdrive, trying to process the moment, but it only left him more unsettled.

There was something about her eyes, the way the light in them shifted when she was embarrassed or frustrated, that made him pause. That brief flicker of vulnerability—it didn't fit the picture he had been building of her in his mind.

The silence between them stretched again, thick and unspoken, and Levi's thoughts snapped back to reality as he cleared his throat. He could feel his pulse quicken, but he forced himself to push the stray thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"You're good to go," he said, his voice back to its neutral tone, his posture stiff. "See you bright and early tomorrow, Ms. Sitara."

Tara nodded again, the color in her cheeks still lingering.

__________________________

Mason

Mason squinted at the sun as he lined up his shot, the soft thud of his golf club meeting the ball echoing across the lush green. A few feet away, the golf cart sat beneath the partial shade of a tall oak, where Luca lounged like a king surveying his domain, his expression a mixture of pride and exhaustion.

Perched between his legs was Wyatt, cheeks flushed and glowing from an afternoon of racing around the fairway. His dark curls clung to his damp forehead, sweat glittering at his temples. He was breathless, grinning, and sticky with life.

Luca held out a juice box for the boy, gently guiding the straw to his lips like he'd done it a hundred times before.

"Easy now," he murmured in Italian, one arm braced protectively across Wyatt's little chest, anchoring him to the seat.

A few yards away, Theo stood adjusting his grip on his driver, while Levi silently evaluated the next hole, his sunglasses hiding whatever quiet judgment or amusement flickered behind them.

And then there were Theo's kids—Thea and Luken—standing primly beside their father like child models on a luxury vacation ad. Thea's white polo was still crisp, her pleated skirt unruffled, hair swept back in a perfect bow. Luken looked equally immaculate, his navy shorts uncreased, his smile polite but tight as if he was trying very hard not to comment on the dirt smudges on Wyatt's socks.

"God," Mason muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as he watched Wyatt wipe his nose with the back of his arm. "Mine looks like he just ran a marathon, and yours look like they've been dry-cleaned."

Theo didn't even look up. "He's only three, Mason."

Levi let out a rare snort. "Yours are robots," he said dryly. "Mason's raising a feral cat."

Luca chuckled from the cart, bouncing Wyatt gently on his knee. "He's spirited. Just like his papa."

Wyatt pulled the straw from his mouth and, with his juice box still in hand, shouted, "Papa, I want a whore!"

Silence.

Three grown men froze like malfunctioning animatronics. Levi's sunglasses slipped slightly down his nose. Theo lowered his club in slow motion like it was a weapon being surrendered. Luca stopped mid-bounce, his eyes wide with horror—then suspicion—then the slow realization that he might be having a stroke.

Mason's entire soul left his body.

"Jesus Christ," Mason hissed, diving toward his son. "No—Wyatt—no, no, no. We don't say that word, buddy. That's a very bad word."

"But I want one," Wyatt insisted, blinking innocently.

Levi blinked, "Technically... it's an adjective."

Mason glared at him. "You're not helping."

"I'm just saying," Levi replied with a deadpan shrug. "Linguistically—"

"Oh my God," Mason groaned, gripping his temples. "This is why my kid can't go to daycare."

Luca finally shook his head, his laughter joining Theo's. "Well, at least he's fluent in shock value."

Wyatt looked around, juice box raised in triumph. "Can you buy me one, grandpa?"

Theo laughed harder. Mason walked straight into the nearest golf cart pole.

____________________

Lily

Lily sat at her desk, framed in the soft glow of her monitor. Her posture was straight, rigid, as if she'd braced herself for battle before even walking through the door. She hadn't acknowledged Gabriel when he walked in—hadn't flinched, hadn't turned, hadn't spared him so much as a glance.

She was wearing her usual blazer, but the top button of her blouse was still undone from rushing Violet to school. Her hair was pinned back, clean and simple, but a few loose strands framed her face—ones she hadn't bothered to fix. The only sound was the rhythmic tap of her typing and the occasional tick of her heel against the tile.

Gabriel paused in the doorway, two coffees in hand.

He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching her. The way her brow furrowed just slightly. The way her fingers moved with clinical precision. And the way she was very, very clearly avoiding him.

With a quiet breath, he stepped in.

"Morning," he said, voice soft but filled with a careful warmth.

"Morning," Lily muttered. She didn't look at him. Didn't pause. She clicked her mouse with deliberate calm and opened another spreadsheet.

Gabriel took a slow step closer and gently placed the coffee on the corner of her desk—right beside her elbow. The cup rotated slightly as it landed, the movement catching the light, but her eyes never strayed from the screen.

"One sugar," he offered quietly, his voice almost hopeful. "Extra cinnamon."

"Thanks," Lily replied evenly, still not looking at him.

Her tone was smooth. Polite. Almost painfully neutral. The kind of tone you used with a colleague you barely knew—not the man who had once slept in your bed and held your daughter like she was his entire world.

Gabriel's throat tightened.

"You good?" he asked.

"Fine," Lily said.

He studied her face, trying to read beneath the calm exterior, looking for the crack, the edge, the storm she was hiding under all that composure. "Is Vee okay?"

That finally made her fingers pause—just slightly—but she recovered fast.

"She's been having bad dreams," Lily answered, her voice controlled. "Something about monsters under the bed. She's barely slept the past two nights."

Gabriel's chest ached. "I could stop by. Tonight maybe. I could so a sweep of her room. Check the closets, under the bed—"

"I've got it covered," Lily interrupted quickly, her tone still level. She finally turned to look at him—and that hurt more than anything.

Because the face she gave him wasn't cold.

It was kind.

And detached.

A gentle, professional smile that said she didn't need him.

"Thank you, though," she added, as if tying a ribbon on a polite rejection.

Gabriel felt something sink inside his chest. He forced a nod, swallowing down the frustration coiling in his chest.

"About yesterday—"

"I'm late for the meeting," Lily said, rising with swift efficiency. She grabbed a folder from her desk and brushed past him.

"Lily," he said again, this time more firmly, more desperate. "Let me explain."

She paused at the door, her hand on the handle.

"There's nothing to explain," she said, her voice still light—too light. "It's not my business."

And just like that, she walked out, leaving the coffee she didn't drink still sitting beside her keyboard.

As Lily walked down the halls, she didn't need to look behind her to know Gabriel was following.

She could feel it in the air—his presence, heavy and familiar, a ghost and a wildfire all at once. Her heels clicked with sharp precision down the hallway, folder tucked tightly under one arm. She didn't slow, didn't waver. But inside, her pulse ticked like a metronome gone off-beat.

She stepped into the conference room, the chatter of early arrivals swirling in the air. She clocked every face quickly. Jenna. Lisa. Ben. A few analysts. And then—

Her.

The woman from the day before.

She was already standing near the bck of the room, perfectly poised like a statue that had learned how to smile. Her navy suit was crisp and fitted just enough to hint at style beneath the professionalism. Soft chestnut curls were twisted back into a low chignon, revealing a graceful neck and delicate gold hoops. She was pretty—effortlessly so, with a confidence that seemed to belong to someone who never had to raise their voice to command a room.

Her gaze scanned the table quickly, eyes sharp behind round wire-framed glasses. Then she spotted Lily.

And something about the way she smiled shifted, just slightly—warmer, more personal.

Gracy stepped forward with a fluid, practiced grace. "Hi," she said brightly, offering her hand. "You must be Lily. I'm Gracy."

Lily hesitated, the name striking no chord of familiarity. Still, she took the offered hand. "Nice to meet you."

Gracy's grip was firm, cool. She leaned in just a little closer than necessary, her tone dipping into something velvety and confidential. "I've heard a lot about you."

Lily raised a brow, intrigued but cautious. "From who?"

Gracy's smile deepened. "Gabriel."

The name landed like a small explosion in the back of Lily's mind. Not Matthew. Not Agent Colemen. Gabriel. The real name. The name he never used in public spaces anymore.

Lily stiffened, barely catching herself before she could react outwardly. She didn't know who this woman was—but clearly, she knew more than most.

"He's right, by the way," Gracy continued, her voice lilting now, flirtatious. "You're even more gorgeous in person. No wonder he's so obsessed."

Lily blinked, caught off guard not just by the compliment but by the way Gracy's eyes lingered—sweeping down and then back up again with a kind of playful reverence, like she was sizing up a very beautiful piece of art she wouldn't mind owning.

Before Lily could formulate a response—before she could even decide if it warranted a thank you or a raised eyebrow—Gabriel materialized beside her.

His hand landed on Lily's back with a practiced ease, the contact grounding and possessive all at once.

"Gracy," he said, his tone smooth but edged with a warning. "Don't flirt with her."

Lily blinked again, this time in open confusion as she looked between them.

Gracy laughed, unbothered, her eyes twinkling as she gave a teasing shrug. "You've talked about her so much, I feel like I'm already in love."

Gabriel didn't take the bait. He merely tightened his hold on Lily's hand and leaned in close, his breath grazing her temple. "Come on. You're sitting with me."

Too stunned to protest, Lily let him guide her toward a seat near the front. His hand remained on her back, the warmth of his touch clouding her thoughts.

Behind them, Gracy's voice drifted through the hum of conversation. "She's even better in person," she whispered with a mischievous smile.

Lily glanced up at him once they sat down, her voice barely audible. "Who is she?"

Gabriel gave her a look that danced somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Someone who talks too much."

Before Lily could ask any more questions, Ben entered the room and cleared his throat, calling everyone's attention to the meeting.

_____________________

Rose

Rose's grip tightened on the steering wheel as she drove down the winding road, the address from Saint's file sitting on the passenger seat beside her. The quiet hum of the engine was the only sound in the car, but her mind was filled with anticipation and uncertainty.

She had decided, on a whim really, to follow this thread. To visit Saint's sister. Maybe she'd learn something—anything—that could help her understand him a little better. Something about the man's silence, his anger, gnawed at her, and she felt this undeniable need to know more.

As she made her way deeper into the outskirts of town, the houses grew more spaced out, the landscape more open and manicured. She looked around wondering how someone like Saint, covered in tattoos, could possibly blend in there. Then, she reached the gate.

It was a grand wrought-iron structure, designed to keep out more than just the usual curiosity-seekers. The driveway beyond stretched long, bordered by trimmed hedges, ancient oak trees, and meticulously manicured lawns. Rose's brow furrowed as she drove closer, eyes widening slightly.

This is a fortress...

She slowed the car and approached the entrance, a security guard in a dark suit stepping forward to meet her as the gates began to creak open. He looked her over, his expression neutral but sharp.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice calm but guarded.

"I'm... here to see Aine Walsh," Rose said, her voice steady, despite the strange tensions that crep in. "I'm from Rosswell. I called her assistant yesterday to set up a time."

The guard's expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked briefly to the radio in his hand. He must've gotten a signal because after a few seconds, he gave a small nod. "Right. You're expected. Go ahead."

With a practiced flick of his wrist, the gate creaked open wider, and Rose drove through. The mansion came into full view, and her breath caught. It was beyond anything she had imagined. A sprawling estate, made of stone, towering columns flanking the front door, windows stretching high into the air, and a grand staircase leading up to the front porch. The building had the kind of timeless grandeur that left you feeling small and insignificant just by being in its shadow.

Rose parked the car and stepped out, looking around. The grounds were vast—gardens, fountains, and carefully sculpted hedges leading up to the mansion. There was no sign of life, no sign of anything resembling normality. As she walked up the steps, she couldn't help but notice a few men in black suits standing near the trees, walking with purpose around the property. Security. Private security.

She was led into the house by a butler, his uniform pristine and his movements precise. He didn't say much, only leading her through the grand hallways of the mansion, passing towering portraits of people she assumed were family. The walls were lined with rich tapestries, heavy velvet curtains, and antique furniture that looked untouched by time. There was an overwhelming sense of opulence, but something about the place felt sterile, clinical, almost as though it was too perfect. Too controlled.

The butler gestured toward a door at the end of the hallway. "The living room is this way, ma'am."

Rose gave a quiet thank you and stepped inside. The living room was just as extravagant as the rest of the house—large velvet chairs, gleaming marble floors, and a fireplace with a crackling fire that gave off a warm glow, despite the grand coldness of the space. The windows let in an almost too-perfect view of the grounds outside.

And then, as Rose stood in the middle of the room, her eyes began to dart around, taking everything in, trying to understand what was happening here. That's when she saw it. The men in black suits again, only now they were visible through the windows. Two of them were pacing just outside the mansion's perimeter, eyes alert, walking with purpose.

Why do they need private security? Rose wondered.

The knot in her stomach tightened. This wasn't just a visit to Saint's sister. This was something else entirely. A part of her felt a little like an intruder, but she couldn't shake the urge to understand what kind of world Saint came from, what kind of life he had left behind.

Her eyes scanned the room once more, and she waited, wondering just how long it would take for her to get the answers she was looking for.

The door to the living room opened quietly, and Rose turned, her eyes immediately landing on a woman who could only be described as striking.

Saint's older sister, Aine, stepped inside, her presence commanding and graceful. She had a timeless beauty—classic, almost ethereal, with dark hair that cascaded in soft waves down her back. Her features were delicate, with high cheekbones, full lips, and a sharp, commanding gaze. But despite her beauty, there was a certain reserve about her, a kind of poise that kept people at arm's length.

Aine's gaze swept over Rose, and she smiled, though the smile was polite, not warm. There was an almost clinical quality to it, as if Aine were constantly measuring her surroundings, keeping people at a distance while still being cordial.

"Hello," Aine said, her voice soft but confident, with a slight Irish lilt. "I'm Aine." She stepped forward, offering a graceful handshake, which Rose took, noting the coolness of her touch.

"Rose Dimaggio," Rose replied, giving Aine a smile that was just as measured. "I'm working with your brother, Saint."

Aine's expression didn't change, but there was a brief flicker of something in her eyes. It was hard to tell what it was—maybe concern, or maybe a hint of curiosity—but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

"How is he?" Aine asked, her voice steady, though there was a hint of something unspoken in the question. It wasn't just idle small talk. Aine seemed genuinely interested, but not in the way most people would ask about a loved one's well-being. There was something detached about her concern.

Rose paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "He doesn't talk," she said, her tone neutral but with an undercurrent of frustration she couldn't quite hide. "He mostly keeps to himself." She gave a small shrug. "I was hoping you could give me some ideas about him, maybe some background information? It's been difficult to get through to him."

Aine's gaze flickered slightly, her lips pressing together as if weighing the request in her mind. She didn't respond immediately, instead walking toward one of the armchairs, her movements deliberate and graceful. She sat, crossing one leg over the other, before looking back at Rose. There was something measured about her—something carefully controlled in the way she held herself, the way she spoke.

"I see," Aine said after a beat, her voice even. "Saint is... not an easy person to understand. He has always kept his distance from people, even those who tried to get close. I imagine you already know that." Her eyes locked onto Rose's, scrutinizing her for a moment. "He's very private. He doesn't share much, not even with family. I can't say I know exactly what's going on in his mind, but I've seen the way he operates."

Rose shifted slightly, intrigued but also frustrated. "That's what I'm trying to figure out," she said, her tone becoming more earnest. "His silence... it's more than just him being reserved. It's like he's built walls, and I'm not sure how to get through them. I'm hoping you can help me understand him better."

"Saint has always been... difficult," Aine continued, her voice taking on a harder edge as she looked at Rose, as if weighing whether to reveal more. "But don't mistake his silence for being mute. He's not some tragic figure who's lost his voice. He's just being an asshole."

The bluntness of her words caught Rose off guard. She hadn't expected such a harsh assessment of her brother from his own sister. But Aine's gaze didn't waver, and Rose could sense the deep frustration behind her words.

"He's not mute, Rose," Aine repeated, her voice steady but sharp. "He doesn't talk because he doesn't want to."

Rose stayed silent, absorbing what Aine was saying. She wasn't sure how to respond, but she waited for Aine to continue.

Aine sighed, her eyes flickering toward the window, as if she were seeing something beyond the room.

"I told him that if he wanted me to continue being in his life, if he wanted me to forgive him for hitting my husband, then he would have to face the consequences of his actions. I didn't make it easy for him. I made him go to prison so he could get help. He had to face his anger issues, because I knew it was the only way he'd start to deal with them."

Rose's brows furrowed as Aine's words sunk in. "You made him go to prison?" she asked, the idea both shocking and understandable at the same time. "That seems... extreme."

Aine's expression hardened, and she nodded. "It was, but it was the only way to eliminate distractions for him. He needed to understand that there are consequences for his actions, especially when they affect the people around him. And if I'm being honest, Rose... I still won't forgive him until he faces those consequences."

The silence between them stretched as Aine's words hung heavy in the air. Rose's mind raced, trying to piece together the details of Saint's life.

"I'm disappointed," Aine said, her voice quiet but resolute. "I thought at Rosswell he was finally getting the help he needed. But now... I see he's still not taking this seriously. He's not putting in the effort to face his anger issues. And that disappoints me more than anything."

Rose felt a pang of frustration rise in her chest. So that's it? She thought. He's just refusing to change, even when he has the chance?

She looked at Aine, trying to make sense of the sister's feelings. "So, what happens now?" Rose asked. "If he's not trying to get better, if he's not taking it seriously, where does that leave him?"

Aine shook her head, her expression a mix of sadness and resolve. "I don't know. I really don't. But until he accepts that he's the one who has to do the work—until he understands that he's the one responsible for his actions—he's not going to come anywhere near me."

Rose took a deep breath, the weight of Aine's words settling in her chest. She had seen the way Saint clung to his silence.

"I'll do my best," Rose said quietly, her voice steady. "I'll keep working with him."

Aine gave her a long look, something flickering behind her eyes. "Just don't let him use you. He's good at that. He's been doing it for years."

Rose nodded, understanding the caution in Aine's voice. "I won't."

Aine stood up, her posture rigid, her face returning to its neutral expression. "Good. Because he needs more than sympathy. He needs accountability. Tell him he can rot at Rosswell if he doesn't get his shit together."

Rose stayed seated for a moment, her thoughts swirling. There was so much more to Saint than she'd realized, so many layers buried beneath that cold exterior. But the more she understood, the more she saw just how much work it would take to break through to him.

Aine's voice broke through her thoughts. "If you need anything else from me, you know where to find me."

Rose looked up, offering a quiet but genuine smile. "Thank you."

Aine gave a small nod, her lips curling slightly. "You're welcome."

Then, without another word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps echoing softly down the hall.

________________

Lily

Lily sat perched on the edge of her desk, one hand resting loosely on her knee, the other pinched at her temple, her brows drawn in quiet frustration. The office was dim except for the soft glow of her laptop, casting golden shadows across the files spread out beside her. Lines of data flickered on her screen, but her thoughts had long drifted from the charts and reports. Someone was framing her—using her credentials, twisting her life into something suspect—and the list of people she trusted was growing shorter by the hour.

She didn't hear the footsteps at first.

Just a gentle knock.

Her gaze lifted toward the door.

Gabriel stood there, one hand braced on the frame, his other still loosely holding the edge of his jacket. His expression was unreadable—eyes calm, cautious—but she felt his gaze travel straight through her composure.

"Hey," he said, voice low.

Lily didn't answer at first. She simply watched him. He stepped inside slowly, quietly closing the door behind him. The click echoed like punctuation in the silence.

They stood like that for a beat—just looking at each other. No anger. No smile. Just a stretch of quiet filled with all the things neither had said.

Gabriel cleared his throat softly. "Gracy and I joined the CIA together," he said. "Same class. Same training cycle. That's how I know her."

Lily blinked, her features still but not cold. She gave a small sigh, her shoulders softening just slightly. "Gabriel...You don't owe me any explanation."

"I disagree." His voice was firmer now, but not harsh. "I don't want there to be any misunderstandings between us."

Lily crossed her arms, her gaze dipping to the floor before rising back to meet his. "Yesterday... it caught me off guard. That's all."

Gabriel stepped closer, hands in his pockets, his frame outlined in the soft desk light. "I couldn't tell you anything then—not without knowing Gracy's current cover. She's embedded. I needed to be sure."

There was a pause. Lily watched him, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

"I was going to tell you last night," he added. "But you didn't answer any of my calls."

Lily looked away.

"I know," she said quietly.

Gabriel didn't push. He simply stood there, in the space between apology and hope, his gaze steady, his presence calm—but his heart pulled taut.

It was clear in his eyes: he didn't come to defend himself.

He came because the last time there was silence between them, it lasted a decade. And he wasn't going to let it happen again.

As the few second sof silence stretched on, Gabriel shifted slightly where he stood, then reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Lily watched as he pulled out a small box—neatly wrapped in plain brown paper, no ribbon, no note. Just simple, purposeful.

He extended it toward her.

Lily raised a brow as she accepted it, her fingers brushing his. "What is this?"

Gabriel's lips quirked in a small smile. "A night light."

She blinked, caught off guard by the answer. "A night light?"

"For Violet," he said, his voice gentler now, quieter. "For the bad dreams and monsters under the bed."

Lily hesitated, the box resting in her hands now, her thumbs brushing along the edge. There was something heavy in her chest—something that made her want to cry and smile all at once.

"I had a friend tweak it a little," Gabriel went on. "There's a green light built into the base. Tell her it's a scanner. It'll sweep her room every night. If it detects any monsters hiding under the bed or in the closet, it'll alert me."

Lily looked up. "You?"

Gabriel gave a soft shrug. "I figured if it helps her sleep... she should know someone's watching out for her. Always."

Lily's throat felt tight. She looked down at the box again, suddenly unable to speak.

"It's not much," he added, quieter now. "But maybe... it'll make her feel safer. I know I can't be there all the time, but she doesn't have to know that. Let her believe someone's got her back."

Lily swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "She'll believe you."

And that, somehow, made Gabriel smile even more.

Gabriel turned toward the door, the weight in his chest a little lighter than it had been moments ago. The pressure that had been building—tight and suffocating ever since Lily started shutting him out—eased just enough for him to breathe again. He wasn't sure if it was the night light in her hands, or the look in her eyes when he'd explained it, but something shifted. Just slightly.

His fingers curled around the doorknob—then paused.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "By the way... tell Gracy to back off."

Lily blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"She was flirting with you," he said, fully turning now, his tone light but unmistakably pointed. "I already have enough competition. Do you know how many CIA agents they tried to set you up with while building this case?"

Lily arched a brow, amused despite herself. "Is that right?"

Gabriel took a step back into the room, his smile lazy but laced with something sincere beneath it.

"Half the team thought they had a shot with you," he said. "I had to shut that down real quick."

Lily rolled her eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

Gabriel nodded once, the playful edge softening. "Just saying... I'd prefer not to lose to Gracy of all people."

And with that, he opened the door and walked out—leaving Lily standing there with the night light in her hands, her heart beating just a little faster than before.

I couldn't stop laughing when I wrote about Wyatt :P