My breath hitched, my eyebrows shooting up as I stared at him in bewilderment. “But... how?” I stammered. My thoughts raced, tangling in confusion. “No one is supposed to know about that,” I added, my voice dropping to a near whisper.
Malik and Roman exchanged a look that seemed to carry unspoken words. “Roman told me while you were unconscious.” He tamped the air with his hands. “Before you react, love, remember this—I have always been your ally and protector. I gave you my word before, and I’ll give it again. I willalwayscare for you, Roman, and Luna. I will protect all of you until my last breath.”
He paused, letting his words sink into my paranoid brain.
“I understand why trust is hard for you, but I’m on your side. I may not be an angel, but trust isn’t beyond us.”
His sincerity tugged at something deep within me, loosening the knots of doubt strangling my heart. Despite the suspicions raging, I whispered, “I want to trust you, Malik.”
“Then let’s start with honesty,” he said. “Ask me anything.”
Inhaling a slow, steadying breath, I steeled my nerves and grasped onto the opportunity before it slipped away. “I’ve asked you before, and you refused to tell me. How is Isabelle connected to Mathias and Balthazar? I told you about my dream, where Isabelle seemed to know them. But you’ve stayed silent. Why? I have to know.”
Malik’s lips curved into a secretive smile as if amused by a private joke. “You are starting to remember, Olivia. Not completely, but it’s there, somewhere in the depths of your mind.”
“Then tell me how they’re connected,” I said, my frustration mounting.
He shook his head. “Some paths you must walk yourself to understand the journey. But I will say this—Balthazar wasn’t always the monster we now know.”
“Wasn’t always evil?” I couldn’t hide the skepticism in my voice.
“No,” Malik said. “He was flawed, yes, but not inherently malevolent. He made grievous mistakes—trying to kill you, trying to burn you alive. Unforgivable acts. It was Mathias who made Balthazar the way he is, and Alina as well.”
My heart raced with fear and curiosity. The web of our past was complex and dark, and I ached for clarity. I turned back to the window, needing space.
“Olivia?” Roman’s voice pulled me back from the precipice of my thoughts, his hand warm on my shoulder.
I looked up at him, the worry in his eyes mirroring the turmoil within me.
“There are so many secrets around us,” I said, shifting Luna to my other arm. “So much is coming to light. And speaking of my mother… There’s something I overheard before Luna was born.”
Roman’s posture stiffened, his gaze sharpening like a blade ready for battle.
“What is it?” he asked quietly, aware that walls might harbor more than ornate tapestries.
“Mathias and my mother...” The words tasted bitter, and Luna stirred restlessly against me as if sensing the tension. “They spoke in hushed tones in the living room when I was heading to the kitchen.”
In the corner of the room, Malik leaned against the doorframe, his presence nearly forgotten. A soft tut escaped him, a sound that seemed to carry skepticism and curiosity.
“They didn’t see me,” I said. “I heard them plotting—against us, Roman. They spoke of control, of power... and of treachery.”
I shared the exact details of the conversation with him.
Roman’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with the rising storm of betrayal. “We knew we couldn’t trust anyone, not truly, but to hear your mother is involved...”
“It’s troubling but not surprising,” Malik said. “Mathias has always been a master of games, and your mother is nothing short of evil.”
“Or perhaps the other way around,” Roman muttered.
Luna cooed softly, blissfully unaware of the tangled webs threatening to ensnare her future. Her tiny breaths filled the room with an innocence that felt almost fragile against the heavy tension pressing down on us.
“Either way,” I said, tightening my hold on my daughter, “we need to be prepared. For Luna’s sake.”
Roman stood by the window, his silhouette framed by dusk’s dim, fading light. The shadows cast by his figure stretched long across the room, a silent reflection of the storm brewing within him.
“Olivia,” he said, returning to me. His eyes held a solemn depth as he reached for my hand. “Marcellious spoke of dark omens in his fevered state from the Belladonna. He raved about Lazarus coming to destroy Salvatore.”
A chill slithered down my spine. It was one thing to suspect a threat, another to hear it spoken aloud with such certainty.
