Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Archives
Down in the east wing, Wren sat cross-legged on a plush wool rug, surrounded by empty shipping boxes, colored markers, and a very quiet, very observant little boy.
Her legs were tucked comfortably beneath her, and though she was still mortified by the coffee incident, the sheer sweetness of the boy sitting across from her had completely disarmed her anxiety. Leo had not let go of her wrist since they left the foyer. He sat close, resting his head lightly against her shoulder as she drew crude, lopsided cartoon cats on the cardboard flaps.
"Do you like cats, Leo?" Wren asked softly, sketching a particularly fat feline with oversized whiskers.
Leo nodded once, a solemn, miniature gesture.
"Me too," Wren whispered, smiling. "Especially fat ones that sleep on your feet when it's raining outside."
A soft knock at the door made Wren jump. The heavy wooden door swung open, and Julian Castellan stepped into the room.
Up close, without the barrier of a desk or the shock of the foyer, Julian was overwhelming. He filled the space with an effortless, predatory grace. His sharp jawline was shadowed by evening stubble, and his piercing dark eyes swept over the room, taking in every detail—the cardboard boxes, the crayons, and the way Leo instinctively shifted closer to Wren’s side, using her as a shield.
Julian noticed the protective instinct in his son, and a strange, unreadable emotion flickered across his face.
"Mr. Castellan," Wren stammered, scrambling to stand up, instantly feeling self-conscious in the oversized guest t-shirt Mrs. Higgins had lent her. "I'm... I'm so sorry about the mess. We were just—"
"Sit down, Miss Calloway," Julian interrupted, his voice smooth and deep. He walked further into the room, stopping a few feet away. His gaze lingered on Leo for a long, quiet moment before shifting to Wren. "Leo doesn't usually let anyone within three feet of him, let alone hold their hand for hours."
Wren felt a hot blush creep up her neck. "I didn't do anything special. I just... gave him his crayon back."
"People in my world don't give things back," Julian said quietly, a shadow passing over his eyes. "They take them."
Wren frowned, sensing the immense, dark weight resting on the man's shoulders. She had read the headlines years ago when Julian’s wife, Elena Castellan, had died in that terrible crash. The gossip columns had whispered about mob ties, rival shipping cartels, and tragic secrets buried deep within the Castellan family history. Looking at Julian now, she didn't see a monster; she saw a grieving father drowning in an ocean of his own power.
"Well," Wren said gently, her voice steadying despite her nerves. "It's a good thing I'm not from your world, Mr. Castellan. In my world, we share our crayons."
A faint, almost imperceptible ghost of a smile touched the corner of Julian’s mouth—a rare expression that transformed his harsh, dangerous features into something devastatingly handsome.
"Your contract is on the desk in the study," Julian said, turning toward the door. "Salary is triple what the agency quoted. You start tomorrow morning. Don't worry about the floor; the marble can be replaced."
May you like
As Julian walked out, closing the door softly behind him, Wren let out a long, shaky breath. She looked down at Leo, who had already gone back to coloring his fat cat.
What had she gotten herself into?
