Silk & Sabotage

Chapter 8: CHAPTER THREE : In Enemy Territory



Embassy Garden, Veron Prime

In the evening, two days before Mia returns to Lina Loas. A good bye to Lucas before they get married in next 3months.

The reception lights were soft. White lanterns swayed in the breeze. A quartet played something expensive and forgettable.

Mia moved through the crowd like she didn't belong to it — all elegance, wrapped in steel.

But then she caught his eyes.

Lucas Drax.

Leaning against a pillar. Tie undone. Smile lazy. But there was a shadow behind those eyes tonight — a weariness she hadn't seen before.

Though her heart was stolen by a ghost, this man front of sparked a fire-- A smark maybe but big enough to get noticed.

She walked up to him, not because she wanted to talk… but because she didn't want to leave things undone.

"You're not drinking," she said, nodding to the untouched glass in his hand.

"I'm trying something new," Lucas replied. "Clear-headed politics."

"Also I am liking foxes these days, they damn cute."

"Let me know how that works out."

They both smirked.

And for a moment — it wasn't tense.

Just quiet.

Lucas looked at her differently tonight. Less like a chess piece. More like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

"You know," he said softly, "when I first heard your name, I thought you were some spoiled general's daughter."

"And now?"

"Now I think you might be the most dangerous person I've ever been in a room with."

Mia's eyes narrowed — not offended, but intrigued.

"You say that like it's a compliment."

"It is."

There was a pause.

Then the air shifted — he moved a little closer. Not invading. Just... there.

"Why are you really doing this?" she asked.

"The marriage?"

She nodded.

Lucas looked away, then back — and for once, his smile dropped.

"Because every time I walk out of a briefing room, I'm carrying the weight of lives. And if marrying you saves a few… I'll do it. Even if I hate the spotlight. Even if I hate politics. I'll do it."

"You don't hate me, though."

"No," he said, a little too fast. "I don't."

The air thickened.

"So more than foxes" Mia asked with a glint of mischievous.

"Maybe yes or equally" Lucas replied.

"Aren't you one though" he Said.

Mia hits his biceps, Don't you dare call me a fox. "But foxes are clever like you mia"

Aren't you clever-- hehe

Mia pouted and both started laughing.

And from across the courtyard, in the shadows behind a stone pillar

Mino watched.

He didn't blink.

He didn't move.

But his jaw clenched.

Capital of Lina Loas – 3 weeks after the engagement announcement.

The plane descended over the dense canopy of Lina Loas — a country stitched together by war and tradition. As the tires met the airstrip, Mia exhaled.

Home.

But not the same.

Welcome to Lina Loas

Her homeland was beautiful in a way Rica could never imitate —

Mountains wrapped in mist.

Temples half-swallowed by jungle.

Markets screaming with color and chaos.

And everywhere — murals of soldiers, schoolchildren in uniform, and Diego's face painted over banners that read:

"Honor Before Peace."

Her country was breathe of fresh air, when compared to elegant stone walls of Rica.

Mia Returns to the Compound

Guards stood straighter when she passed. Some saluted her.

She didn't smile.

Inside the compound: cool stone, thick walls, shadowed corners.

Nothing had changed.

Except her.

She reached her old room — untouched. The bed still sharp-cornered. Her medals still on the wall. A photo of her and Diego from her cadet graduation still on the desk.

Then came the familiar knock.

"Permission to enter?" Diego's voice, deep and calm.

Mia turned toward the door. "Always."

He stepped inside. Still in uniform. Still wearing that unreadable calm.

"So," he said, "you really did it."

"The engagement?" she asked.

"No, the impossible. You got Rica to kneel."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Not kneel. Collaborate."

Diego smirked. "Call it what you want. But they'll see it as surrender. And that makes you dangerous."

She met his eyes. "I always was."

He stepped forward, placing a fatherly hand on her shoulder.

"Don't forget where your blood lies, Mia."

"Never," she said. "But sometimes peace needs a different kind of weapon."

He nodded once — not in agreement, but acknowledgment.

"Three months, then," he said. "Until the world watches you marry a Rica soldier."

"Until then," Mia replied, "I serve Lina Loas. Just like always."

They stood in silence for a moment. Diego, the father. The general.

Mia, the daughter. The commander.

Not enemies. Not yet.

Later that night, Mia stood on the balcony, overlooking the floodlit city.

She twisted the engagement ring off her finger and set it on the railing.

She didn't cry.

But her hand trembled as she pulled a folded photograph from her pocket.

It was worn. Old.

Mino's face.

From a year ago. Smiling. Pre-betrayal.

She stared at it for a long moment… then lit it with a match.

Later she returned back to her room. The lights were dim. Mia had just slipped off her heels when she felt it —

That presence.

Years of combat had trained her to recognize movement in the dark before it became danger. She reached instinctively toward the blade tucked inside her nightstand drawer—

"Easy," a voice murmured from the shadows. "It's just me."

She froze.

That voice.

It was calmer than she remembered. Older. But still cut straight through her skin like a scar reopened.

Mino stepped into the low light, dressed in black, his collar still damp from the garden fog. His boots were silent. His expression?

Empty.

No smirk. No charm. Just quiet tension and the smell of rain and regret.

"You've gotten better at sensing danger," he said.

"And you've gotten worse at hiding."

Her voice was cool. But her hands were still tense at her sides.

She didn't move toward him. But she didn't ask him to leave either.

"You shouldn't be here," she said.

"Neither should you — with him."

"Lucas?"

"Don't be naive."

"You think they just let me in because of peace treaties and diamonds?"

"I think they're using you," he said softly. "I think they've always used you."

She crossed her arms. "And you didn't?"

"That was different."

"Was it?"

His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, slow but deliberate.

"I was sent here on a mission," he admitted. "But not to fall for you."

That stopped her.

Her voice dropped. Flat. Icy.

"So you did fall?"

He didn't answer.

Because silence says more than liars can.

The tension snapped.

She moved first — maybe out of fury, maybe out of something far more dangerous. Her hands fisted in his collar, pulling him forward, and his lips met hers like an instinct he couldn't unlearn.

It wasn't soft.

It was heat and damage and desperation —

A collision of what they were and what they couldn't be again.

And then she pushed him back.

Just one step.

Her eyes sharp. Her breath uneven.

She took a deep breath and pulled him in once again, but this time she bit his nape hardly — For sure a hickey would be prominent next day.

He slightly tugged his hair, out of pain.

"You don't get to do that," she whispered.

"You kissed me."

"And you let me."

He swallowed. Regret flickered across his face, quickly buried.

"Stay safe, Mia."

And like the spy he'd always been, he vanished through the window.

Leaving her alone.

Breathing hard.

Heart heavier than before.

Wondering how many more of his lies she'd still be willing to kiss.

She stared at the door long after he'd gone.

And behind her, the window whispered open again —

This time, by the wind.

But it still felt like he never really left.

The paper curled, burned, and drifted into the wind.


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