Marked by the billionaires Bloodline

The fire crackled in Elias's study, casting gold and amber across the sharp lines of his face.

He didn't move. Just stood there, watching Mila hold the locket that contained more questions than answers.

"I was going to marry her," he said finally. "Her name was Iris."

Mila said nothing. Her fingers tightened around the locket.

"She wasn't like the others," he continued. "She challenged everything. She made me believe I could walk away from this cursed name. From all of it."

"So what happened to her?" Mila asked.

His jaw clenched. "She vanished. Just like the others who crossed my family."

Mila swallowed hard. "Did you ever find her?"

"I found what was left of her."

She blinked. "You mean—?"

"They made it look like an accident. Car crash. No body. Just a burned vehicle and her engagement ring left on the seat."

Mila's stomach turned.

"Did you ever find out who did it?"

Elias shook his head. "No one talks. Not in this house. But I know it wasn't random. I'd just announced our engagement three days before she died."

He turned away from her and stared into the fire. "I was supposed to protect her. And I failed."

Silence wrapped around them like a noose.

"And now I'm here," Mila said, her voice a whisper. "And I remind everyone of her. Especially the ones who want me gone."

Elias looked back at her. "That's why I've kept you close. Why I've trained you. I won't lose another innocent woman because of my family's sins."

Mila's eyes met his. "You still don't get it, do you?"

"What?"

"I'm not innocent anymore."

---

That night, she couldn't sleep.

Every creak of the mansion felt louder. Every flicker of candlelight stretched into long shadows across the walls. Elias had posted guards outside her room, but even that wasn't enough.

So when the whisper came, soft as silk, it didn't surprise her.

She sat up slowly.

It was coming from the fireplace.

Mila crossed the room barefoot and pressed her ear to the stone.

The whisper was faint—but there.

A name.

Her name.

"Mila…"

She backed away, breath shallow.

And then she saw it—etched into the base of the fireplace. A symbol. One she'd seen carved into a basement door.

She grabbed a candle, pulled her coat over her pajamas, and left her room.

---

She didn't go alone this time.

Elias walked silently beside her, a knife strapped to his belt and fire in his eyes.

"You said there are secrets in the house," she whispered. "Show me all of them."

He looked at her, searching her face. "If I take you deeper… there's no going back."

Mila met his gaze without flinching. "I never planned to."

They returned to the basement.

The moment the door creaked open, a gust of cold air rushed past them — unnatural, almost hungry.

The air shifted.

As if something in the house had noticed them.

Elias moved fast, leading her down a hidden corridor behind one of the bolted doors. It opened to a staircase made of stone and metal. Mila counted the steps. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty.

Below was a chamber lit by a single hanging lantern.

And in the center—an ancient wooden table. Candles. Maps. And a book bound in what looked like black leather.

The air was thick with dust... and secrets.

"This is where it all began," Elias said. "My grandfather's war room."

Mila stepped toward the table, eyes scanning the pages.

It was a ledger — but not for money. Names. Dates. Red marks beside some of them.

Disappeared. Paid off. Dead.

Her fingers stopped on a name: Iris Larke.

Beside it: Marked. Unresolved.

Elias cursed under his breath. "So he did mark her. She was a threat."

"She found something," Mila whispered. "She must've."

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed above them.

Mila flinched.

Footsteps thundered.

"Someone's here," Elias growled, drawing his knife.

He handed her a small dagger. "Stay behind me. If anything happens, run. Don't look back."

But Mila didn't want to run.

She wanted to know.

They crept up the stairs.

The basement door had been forced open.

The guards Elias posted were down — unconscious, not dead.

A message was scrawled in red on the wall, dripping:

"YOU WON'T SAVE HER EITHER."

Mila's heart stopped.

"They were here for you," Elias said. "This was a warning."

"Then why didn't they kill me?" Mila whispered.

Elias was quiet for a moment. "Because they want you afraid. Distracted."

She looked at him. "It's working."

He reached for her hand. Not like a prince. Not like a savior.

But like a man making a pact with someone who'd walked through fire and still stood tall.

"No more hiding," he said. "From now on, you and I—we fight back. Together."

Mila squeezed his hand. "Good. Because I'm done being the girl who gets rescued."

They stood in silence for a moment, side by side, the war now official.

---

The next morning, the mansion was quiet.

Too quiet.

Even Miss Rowan avoided Mila's gaze.

At breakfast, Elias handed Mila a sealed envelope.

She opened it.

Inside was a contract — short, blunt.

"Official Protection Pact Between Mila Hart & Elias Ashbourne."

Terms: Full alliance. Shared information. Mutual trust. No lies.

Below it, his signature. Elias Ashbourne.

She picked up the pen.

Hesitated.

And signed.

---

That night, a storm broke over the mansion.

Mila stood by her window, watching the lightning light up the courtyard.

Something had shifted between her and Elias. Something unspoken but undeniable.

Not love.

Not yet.

But the bond was there — forged in danger, sealed in truth.

As she turned from the window, she noticed something odd.

A shadow.

Standing just behind her curtain.

She grabbed the dagger from beneath her pillow and spun—

But no one was there.

Just a small, black feather on the floor.

Cold. Curled.

And not from anything living.