Chapter 3 Ghost in the Garden

Alessia didn't move for a full minute.

The shadows were still again, the soft trickle of the fountain now thunderous in her ears. Her pulse was a drumbeat,tight, fast and warning.

That voice.

She hadn't heard it in years. Not since Milan. Not since the night her entire family legacy burned in blood and betrayal.

Slowly, she slipped her hand into the slit of her gown and felt the cool steel of the blade strapped to her thigh. She wouldn't be caught unarmed. Not here. Not ever.

Footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor beyond the garden wall, servants, maybe. Harmless. But that whisper... no, that had been deliberate.

She moved quickly now, slipping between the hedges, tracing the path toward the surveillance blind spot she'd clocked earlier. Her contact code named Falcon had provided her with the palace schematics weeks ago. There was a gap behind the west hedge arch that even the internal security network couldn't see.

She stepped into the pocket of shadow and pressed her back against the cold stone wall. Then she spoke, just above a whisper.

"Who's there?"

Nothing.

"I'm not in the mood for ghosts," she added, voice sharp.

Still nothing.

Then, a sound.

A breath.

She spun, knife in hand, but no one lunged. No attacker emerged. Only a folded note, lying delicately on the stone bench she had shared with Nikolai minutes earlier.

Alessia narrowed her eyes. She hadn't heard anyone approach. No scent, no shift in the air. Whoever this was, they were good. Maybe as good as she was.

She snatched the note and unfolded it.

One line.

"The Vasari heir bleeds just like his father did."

Her blood turned to ice.

Whoever this person was, they didn't just know who she was, they knew why she was here. Which meant everything was compromised. The plan. The identity. The timeline.

She didn't panic.

Panic was for amateurs.

Instead, she burned the note with a silver-plated lighter from her clutch and watched the ashes scatter into the fountain's surface like ghosts.

Then she walked back inside.

The ballroom had shifted. The mood was brighter, music faster, people looser with wine and power. It was nearing midnight. The perfect time to disappear unnoticed.

But as she turned toward the main stairwell, a hand gently caught her elbow.

"Leaving so soon, Contessa?" Nikolai's voice was warm, teasing.

She masked the flicker of alarm in her chest. "A lady must know when to make her exit."

"Or when to stay," he replied, guiding her gently toward the balcony. "There's something I want to show you."

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

Careful, she warned herself. Be careful.

Still, she followed him.

The balcony doors opened to a breathtaking view of Estaria's ancient skyline,domes , towers and candlelight windows stretching into the velvet night.

Nikolai leaned against the railing, his gaze distant. "Did you know I never wanted this?"

She frowned slightly. "The crown?"

"The cage," he corrected. "My father was a tyrant behind closed doors. The perfect monarch in public. He died adored. But I know better."

Alessia remained silent.

She had waited years to look the Vasari heir in the eyes and hate him.

And now he was... vulnerable. Human.

She hated that.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be more than his legacy," he added.

"That depends," she said softly. "On the kind of man you choose to become."

Their eyes met.

And for a fleeting moment, truth danced between them unguarded, raw.

Alessia looked away first.

"I should go," she said quickly. "It's late."

"I'll walk you out."

She almost refused. Almost.

But no. Let him walk her. Let him fall deeper.

Let the mask do its work.

As they reached the palace entrance, he stopped her.

"Will you come to the coronation ceremony tomorrow?" he asked.

Alessia blinked. "Your official crowning?"

He nodded. "It's private. Only a few guests. But I want you there."

Her mind reeled. Access to the private wing? That wasn't in the plan until week three.

"Yes," she said smoothly. "I'd be honored."

His smile was gentle. "Good. I'd like to see the real you."

She stepped into the waiting car and forced herself to smile as the door closed.

She had no idea how much of her he really wanted to see.

But if someone else already knew her face, her name, her vengeance?

Then tomorrow's coronation might just become a funeral.

And she wasn't sure whose.