Hay clung to my pants. I didn’t care. My back ached in the best way, and a hint of stable musk clung to my collar. Again, didn’t care.
There was a lightness in my chest that hadn’t been there yesterday. A rare kind of peace. It wasn’t about what happened in the barn, not entirely. It was the quiet. The slowness.
Every choice was mine. No responsibilities. No expectations. Just what I wanted to do, and someone who very much wanted me to do it to them.
I was crossing the lawn back to the house when she emerged from the trees.
I thought I was imagining her. For a second, I had to be. Then she stepped into the light, and all I could see was what was left.
Grass stains marked her thighs, smudged and smeared where Marcelo had pressed her down, hard.
Her legs were scraped to hell. Sharp shallow wounds along her shins, the kind you get when you’re on your knees, trying to crawl away through brush.
Her hands were bruised across the knuckles, two of them split open, swelling already setting in around the joints. She’d hit him. That much was clear. And he’d hit her back.
There was a bruise forming beneath one eye. Not an accident. Not a fall. A strike. Measured. Intentional.
Her hair was matted with leaves, the ends twisted like it had been gripped hard.
I pictured Marcelo holding her by it, dragging her back when she fought too hard, pulling her head back to make her look at him while he-
I stopped myself. I didn’t want to know.
And still, the worst part, she didn’t limp. She didn’t wince. She just walked.
That was what scared me most.
She carried it all like it didn’t matter. Just the same walk I’d seen a hundred times before. Like none of it had touched her.
I caught up to her near the veranda.
“Joy.”
Her name came out quieter than I intended.
My hand twitched like it wanted to reach for her, but I didn’t. Not after seeing the bruises. Not when I didn’t know where they stopped.
She didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
Joy stepped past me and pulled the door open.
Then she paused. Looked back at me blankly.
“You smell like hay. And sweat. And… fun.”
It didn’t sound like it was meant to cut. But it did.
Because she was right.
I had fun. I laughed. I didn’t think about anything outside that barn.
And it looked like she’d been fighting just to stay alive.
“Joy-”
“I’m starving.”
She turned and slipped inside the house. The door clicked shut behind her.
Then the shouting started.
And whatever quiet I’d carried out of the barn shattered with it.
I stepped inside. Jacobi’s voice echoed through the house.
Joy was already in the kitchen. No urgency in her stride. No tension in her shoulders.
Just quiet movements, like she couldn’t hear the shouting from upstairs.
She opened the cupboard, pulling out a loaf of bread.
“He’s probably looking for me,” she said, without looking over. “I’ll go up in a minute. After something to eat.”
A crash came from upstairs, a vase maybe.
Then Jacobi shouted again, and something in it fractured.
I knew that tone.
Jacobi wasn’t mad.
He was afraid.
I was out of the kitchen before I knew what I was doing. The hallway blurred. My foot hit the first step hard. Two at a time. Fast. Too fast. I stumbled over the top step.
I caught myself on the banister, breath sharp in my chest.
A figure at the end of the hall caught my attention.
One of the maids, frozen in place outside Joy’s room. She was standing stiffly, arms tucked close, staring through the open doorway like she didn’t know if she should go in, or run.
I didn’t stop to ask. I pushed past her and stepped inside.
Glass crunched beneath my boots as I stepped into the room.
It was wrecked.
Curtains and bedding ripped. A chair overturned. Shards of a porcelain vase littered the floor.
For a second, I thought Jacobi had lost it, trashed the place in a rage. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But then I saw the blood.
Not just from a cut—it was everywhere.
Smearing across the dresser. Splattered along the floorboards.
Soaking into the corner of the rug, dark and thick.
Jacobi stood in the centre of it, hands over his face, breathing fast and shallow.
I moved closer, stepping around the worst of it.
“Brother?”
No answer.
His eyes, when I got close enough to see them through his fingers, were wide and unfocused.
I reached for his shoulder. He didn’t flinch.
I stepped in front of him, gently grabbing his arms with my hands.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Still nothing.
His hands dropped a little, enough that I could see more of his face. His mouth moved, but no words came out.
I turned slightly, following the line of his gaze, except it wasn’t fixed on anything. His eyes kept skipping around the room, like he didn’t know where to land. Like he couldn’t see what he was expecting.
And then I saw it. A sheet of paper pinned to the far wall, a dagger sunk through it into the plaster.
I stepped around Jacobi slowly, careful not to disturb the blood tracked across the floor beneath it.
The blood soaked into the paper had started to dry at the edges, but the writing was still legible.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
I stared at the words.
You shouldn’t have delayed.
She screamed for you.
It wasn’t signed, but the stationary gave it away. Thick, off-white, with a subtle embossed edge.
Levanth Estate.
Marcelo.
I turned towards Jacobi but he hadn’t moved. His eyes still darted, searching the space like she might materialise if he just looked hard enough.
I stepped closer to the wall, carefully pulled the dagger free, and lifted the page.
“This is Marcelo’s paper. From his estate.”
No response.
“Please tell me he didn’t do something stupid.”
Nothing.
I stepped in front of Jacobi again and held the paper up.
“What happened here last night?”
I let out a slow breath, barely more than a sigh, and stepped back toward the door. If he wasn’t going to answer, maybe she would.
I leaned halfway out into the hall.
“Joy!” I called down the staircase.
Behind me, I heard Jacobi finally move.
A hand landed on my shoulder, gentle pressure, but I could feel the tremble.
“She’s gone.”
I turned, confused. “No, she’s-”
His hand fell away, his voice dropping lower.
“She’s gone,” he repeated. “He took her. Did something to her.”
He turned toward the wall and drove his fist straight through the plaster.
“Jacobi-”
Another hit, the other hand this time.
A second hole, just beside the first.
And more blood.
“I’m going to kill him,” he ground out. “I’m going to find him, I’m going to slit his fucking throat, and I’m going to dance in his blood.
His teeth clenched audibly. Breath ragged. Body shaking.
This was a new look for Jacobi. A break in his perfect, measured, shell.
A familiar, throaty chuckle came from behind us.
“Who are we killing?”
We both turned.
Joy stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes skimming the room.
They landed on Jacobi, then the blood on the wall. The ruined bed, the dagger in my hand.
Jacobi’s fists dropped to his sides, blood still dripping from the knuckles. He stared at her like he wasn’t sure if she was real.
Then his eyes flicked to the note in my hand. Back to her.
And his face darkened. He took a step forward.
I moved without thinking, putting myself between them as his fists curled again.
“What the fuck is going on here!?” he shouted, voice cracking.
Joy flinched. Not much, just enough that I saw it.
Her expression shifted fast, from detached to concerned. She stepped into the room, gaze still locked on Jacobi.
“What’s wrong? What happened? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant.”
She moved closer, and I moved back. Suddenly I wasn’t part of the moment, just watching from the edges again.
She stopped in front of Jacobi and without hesitation reached out, taking his bloodied hands in hers, fingers gentle against his torn skin.
“What can I do?” she asked quietly, searching his face.
The sight twisted something in my chest.
I stepped forward again, lifted the blood-soaked paper, and held it between them.
“What do you know about this?” My voice came out sharper than I intended.
She let go of Jacobi’s hands and took the page from me. Her fingers hovered just above the dried letters, not quite touching.
Her brows pulled together. “Marcelo?”
Jacobi made a sound, something between a breath and a laugh. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then finally, “I thought it was you.”
He turned away from her, walked to the window seat and dropped down like his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore.
Joy moved to step towards him, but I caught her eye, and she paused.
Jacobi looked over his shoulder. “I sent him up here to you.” His voice was quiet, raw. “If you weren’t here… where were you?”
Joy’s gaze dropped to the floor and then she looked down at herself like she was only now realising what she looked like. Wearing last night’s dress, and mud, the hem torn and dirty.
I stepped in before either of them could say anything else.
“That doesn’t matter right now.” I nodded to the paper in Joy’s hands. “If that’s not about you, then who? What does it mean?”
Jacobi glanced between us at my dismissal of his question. Me, then Joy, then back again.
Something flickered across his face. Not confusion.
Something quieter, darker.
Joy’s brows furrowed deeper, and her grip on the page tightened. Her eyes went wide. She looked around the room like she was seeing it for the first time. The blood. The chaos. The bed.
She didn’t speak. Just crumpled forward, still clutching the page, her arms tight around her middle.
Jacobi and I moved at the same time, one to each side, catching her as her knees gave out.
We lowered her to the floor gently. She didn’t fight us. Didn’t move at all except for the short, sharp breaths dragging in and out of her lungs.
I crouched beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. My thumb rubbed against her skin softly.
She looked up at me, eyes wide and glassy.
“Ellah. Ellah was here. I told her she could use my room. I left her in my bed.”
Jacobi stood abruptly. The curse he muttered wasn’t loud, but it landed hard.
He crossed to the window and braced his hands on the frame, breathing fast.
I could hear the grind of his teeth from across the room.
Joy folded in tighter, forehead nearly to her knees.
“I made him angry. And I left. I thought he’d just… go home.”
Jacobi turned back around, slow and deliberate.
“Does Marcelo strike you as the kind of man who just walks away?” He took a step towards her. “Does he seem like someone who just shrugs and moves on when he doesn’t get what he wants?”
I stood, body moving before my mouth could catch up. “Brother-”
Jacobi’s voice sharpened. “Does he seem like someone who doesn’t take a knife to every obstacle and strip it clean out of spite?”
Joy’s voice was soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”
“You didn’t think? No one wants you to think, Joy. That’s not what you’re for! All you had to do was fuck Marcelo, and then trot on home.”
Joy didn’t react, her head bowed.
I moved between them again, holding a hand out toward Jacobi.
“That’s enough!”
Jacobi didn’t hesitate. He slapped my hand away—hard.
“And you. Some great trainer you are. The girls are running around wild and you’re off getting laid in the barn.”
His eyes didn’t just accuse me. They cut toward Joy.
The silence stretched. He thought she’d been with me.
And Joy knew it.
I saw the shift in her posture before she even moved. The way her spine lengthened. Her breathing slowed.
Not tense, controlled.
She rose to her feet, slow and deliberate. Every inch of her was poised. Present.
I knew that stance. I’d trained it into her.
This wasn’t a breakdown anymore. This was performance.
“I can fix this. Give me permission to go after them. I’ll bring Ellah back.”
Jacobi scoffed. “Permission? And if I refuse? You don’t listen to me.”
I stepped in, one hand pressed to his chest, the other to Joy’s arm.
“Fighting isn’t going to solve this. Neither is blaming Joy. There’s one person to blame here, Marcelo. She can track him. I trust her abilities.”
Jacobi’s eyes were locked on hers. Hard. Cold.
Joy didn’t flinch. She looked at him with the same stillness that he’d trained into her.
“If you don’t trust me to go alone,” she said, her voice silky and precise, the kind of tone Jacobi had taught her to use on clients, so they could pretend they were in control. “Maybe send me with the one man who doesn’t need a collar to make me obey.”
Jacobi’s eyes snapped to mine. Not confused. Not hurt.
Furious.
He shoved past us, his shoulder clipping mine hard enough to jolt my body.
“You two can do whatever the hell you want.” His voice was cold. Detached. “You always do anyway.”
He didn’t look back. Just walked out and left us standing in the wreckage.
Silence stretched.
Then—
Crunch.
Joy shifted her bare foot, pressing it onto another piece of broken glass on the floor. It cracked beneath her heel, loud and sharp.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t bleed.
Still.
I stepped toward her, instinct kicking in.
“Joy, careful. You don’t want to-”
“Wynford.”
I stopped. “What?”
She didn’t look up. “Last night. I was with Wynford.”
I blinked. The bruises. The mud. My brain filled in the rest. Her back to a tree, his hands on her hips, both of them breathless and dirty.
I flushed. I’d thought about her before. Thought about him too, in quiet moments. Never together.
And suddenly I was thinking about how wide Wynford’s shoulders were. And how Joy never backed down from a challenge.
I cleared my throat, tried to think of literally anything else.
It didn’t work.
“He must be huge,” I blurted, too loud, too fast.
One glance at my red face and she connected every thought I was trying not to have.
“Oh, ew. No. He’s like my brother.” She wrinkled her nose. “We were sparring.”
I stayed quiet for a second, then scratched the back of my neck.
“Oh, good.”
She looked at me sideways.
“Good?”
I shrugged, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“I just… yesterday at the arena… I thought there was maybe something. With Wynford. And me.”
Joy didn’t answer right away.
When she did, her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. Almost annoyed.
“He likes you more than he should.”
I looked up. She was watching me.
Then, after a pause, so quiet I almost missed it.
“I know how he feels.”
She blinked, like she’d just realised where she was.
“I have to go.”
And just like that, she turned and left, bare feet silent against the ruined floor.
Leaving me alone.
With that.