Serena's POV

After staying at the manor for a week, I had figured out Carlo's schedule.

During the day, he wasn't in the main building. The butler said the master was handling business matters, but no one told me what those matters were specifically. I often ate dinner alone, with the place setting across from me at the long table remaining empty—the tableware laid out and then cleared away untouched.

But the study light stayed on until three in the morning every day.

I knew this because I woke up at two o'clock every night, and the window on the east side of the third floor faced directly toward that floor-to-ceiling window of the study. The light went out at that exact time every day.

I kept waiting for Carlo to come find me, to tell me the rest of the information.

But he never came.

On the eighth night, I decided I wouldn't wait anymore.

One forty in the morning.

I walked barefoot on the carpet, avoiding every joint in the floorboards that might make a sound. My father had taught me that the floors in old houses all had patterns—within thirty centimeters of the wall was relatively safe.

The study door wasn't locked.

I pushed it open just enough to slip through sideways. Moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating a tall stack of documents on the desk.

I circled around and pulled open the first drawer. There was nothing inside.

The second drawer contained some office supplies. When I tried to pull the third one, it wouldn't budge.

I pulled two bobby pins from my hair and bent them into angles to insert into the keyhole. I pushed one all the way in, then used the other to manipulate the tumblers inside.

The tumbler was stuck.

I took another bobby pin to help.

"Use a thinner one for the third pin—your angle is off by fifteen degrees."

I froze immediately and turned around.

Carlo was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a loose silk robe and holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

The moonlight came from behind him, making it impossible for me to see his expression clearly.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked.

"Since you pushed the door open." He took a sip of coffee. "The hinges are oiled, but when you came in, you brought the draft from the hallway with you. The curtains moved."

I clutched the bobby pins and leaned back against the edge of the desk, too embarrassed to look at him.

But he didn't seem surprised at all.

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"I thought you enjoyed picking locks." His tone was light. "After all, everyone has their own particular hobbies."

I was somewhat speechless and pinned the bobby pins back into my hair.

"You've been too busy. I didn't know if you'd forgotten that you..."

Carlo walked over, set his coffee cup on the desk, circled around me, and pulled a small key from his pocket. He opened the drawer I'd been struggling with for so long.

Click—effortlessly, almost mockingly.

He leaned against the desk. "I didn't forget. I've just been too busy."

I ignored him, my attention drawn to several letters in the drawer.

On the envelopes was my father's handwriting.

These weren't the cold investigative reports Carlo had shown me before—those had been clinical, full of dates and evidence and transaction records. These were different. Personal. The kind of letters my father would have kept in a locked drawer, the kind Carlo had deliberately chosen not to give me.

I picked up the first one. The date was two weeks before his death.

"Vera has been getting close to a university professor lately. I'm not comfortable with it and have already started investigating. If I find anything, I'll let you know. Also, Serena's birthday is next month. I've booked tickets to Monterosa—I want to take her to see the flower fields."

The letter ended there.

Next month's birthday—my birthday—I would have to spend it alone.

My throat tightened. I forced myself to take a deep breath, not letting the tears fall.

My father had suspected something was wrong with Vera long ago, but he'd been investigating secretly without telling me. And Carlo had known about these letters all along—had read about the birthday trip my father had planned, the flower fields I would never see with him—and said nothing.

I stared at the date on the signature for a while, my fingertips gently touching the handwriting. The ink was slightly smudged in one corner, as if my father had rested his hand there while thinking about what to write next.

"Why didn't he tell me? Didn't I deserve to be trusted?"

"Perhaps..." Carlo was silent for a few seconds. "He just wanted to protect you."

That made me feel even worse.

Concealment in the name of protection was more devastating than deception, because you didn't even have the right to be angry.

Carlo was silent for a few seconds, then said, "You'll be starting school in four days. Vera has people at the school. You need to practice some basic self-defense."

My attention shifted. "You're going to teach me?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, in the basement." He placed the empty coffee cup on the desk. "Now go back to sleep."

The basement was larger than I'd imagined.

The floor was concrete, with soft padding around the perimeter. Some equipment sat in the corner.

The fluorescent lights were blazingly bright.

Carlo had changed into black training clothes and stood in the center of the space.

"Attack me."

He asked for it. I backed up a few steps, then rushed forward suddenly, preparing to strike from behind.

But Carlo saw through my trajectory. With a turn, he circled behind me and locked his arm around my neck.

Not with much force, but my windpipe was compressed and I had trouble breathing.

His arm pressed against my chin, body heat transmitting through the fabric.

"Move," he said.

I reached back to pry his arm away. It didn't work.

"Wrong." His voice came from above. "Don't fight force with force. Tuck your chin, turn toward the crook of the elbow, and drop your shoulder at the same time—"

He used his free hand to press down on my shoulder.

The heat from his palm seeped through my skin.

Very hot.

I turned my head following the force, and now I could breathe.

"Then what?"

"Turn around, elbow strike to the temple."

I did as instructed. The moment I turned, the distance between us closed.

Carlo looked down at me without defending himself.

My elbow stopped less than two centimeters from the side of his face.

"Good control." His tone was relaxed as he stepped back. "Again."

We practiced about ten times. Each time I turned, my shoulder would brush against his chest.

The friction between skin and fabric generated heat higher than body temperature, warming my skin.

The last time, I broke free with too much momentum and pitched forward.

He caught me mid-air by the waist.

This position crossed some kind of boundary, making me panic and pull away.

When the training ended, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath while he went to the corner to get a towel.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked.

He wiped the sweat from his hands with the towel without looking at me.

"For your father's sake."

It sounded perfunctory.

But when he turned to get a water bottle, I noticed his ears were a bit red.

Red ears could mean many things.

I didn't continue guessing.

Back on the third floor.

I had just come out of the shower when my phone rang.

Vera's number showed on the screen—again. The notification bar at the top displayed over a hundred missed calls from her, accumulated over the past week.

I'd watched the number climb every day, each call a reminder of the confrontation I wasn't ready to face, the performance I wasn't sure I could pull off convincingly.

But tonight, I couldn't avoid it anymore.

I stared at the incoming call interface without answering immediately. Two seconds later, the landline in the study rang once, then disconnected.

Carlo was monitoring.

Only then did I answer the phone.

"Serena."

Vera's voice came through the receiver, carrying an obvious crying tone.

"Where are you? I've been looking everywhere for you! I heard something happened at the Moranti estate. Are you okay? Why haven't you called me? I've been calling for days—"

I deliberately made my breathing louder.

"Vera..." I made my voice tremble. "I didn't succeed... He was too terrifying. I—I escaped..."

"You escaped? My God, where are you now?"

"At a friend's house... I'm afraid to go back, Vera. I'm so scared..."

I sniffled.

Vera comforted me with a few words, told me to hide for now, said she would figure something out. Before hanging up, Vera's tone wasn't as tense anymore. She seemed to believe me.

I hung up the phone and looked up.

At some point, Carlo had appeared, leaning against my bedroom doorway with his arms crossed.

"Not a bad performance," he said. "But you cried too hard at the end. Vera isn't stupid."

"Do you think she believed it?"

Carlo didn't answer right away.

"Seventy percent. The remaining thirty percent—you'll have to make up for it yourself after you start school."

He turned and walked away.

I suddenly realized this was the first time we'd worked together, and it had gone rather smoothly.

The day before school started, the butler delivered a complete set of luggage to my room.

School uniform, computer, toiletries—everything was there.

I picked up the uniform blazer. The fabric felt nice, but it was heavier than an ordinary suit.

I turned back the lining and felt something hard in the interlayer.

Bulletproof.

I put the uniform back in the case.

The next morning, I stood at the manor entrance with my suitcase.

The black sedan was already running, the driver waiting for me.

Carlo didn't appear. He only sent me a message.

[I have a meeting today. Stay safe.]

[Okay.]

After I replied, I put my phone in my bag and got in the car to leave.