7 - Playing dirty

The moment Ophelia vanished back into the shadows, Lilith's heart thundered—not from shock, but fury.

She wasn't pregnant.

Not anymore. Not for years.

The ache hadn't left her. The memory hadn't dulled. No one knew what had happened—not really. Rafael only learned the truth for not even a full day yet. So how could Ophelia possibly know?

She didn't.

Which meant she wasn't guessing. She was manipulating.

Lilith stood frozen in place, her arms tightening around herself, her breathing shallow and loud. That lie—it wasn't reckless. It was calculated.

And it worked.

It struck Rafael's most fragile fault line with surgical precision.

She turned to him, still stunned in the aftershock. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—they burned with too much emotion. Guilt. Regret. Love. And something darker: hope.

And that was the dagger.

Lilith turned away, swallowing the lump in her throat. Why would Ophelia lie? And why like that?

Because she knew what it would do.

She knew Rafael well. Too well.

He'd go to war for the idea of a child. He'd destroy cities, spill blood, burn every obstacle if it meant protecting what he thought was his.

That lie wasn't for Lilith.

It was bait.

A spark to ignite the powder keg between families.

And more than that—Ophelia hadn't just wanted to shatter Lilith's world.

She wanted to expose something. Or someone.

Lilith's thoughts spiraled.

Ophelia had always been clever. Cruel, sometimes—but never chaotic without purpose.

So whose side was she really on?

And what would she gain from dragging Lilith and Rafael into this war, using a nonexistent child as kindling?

The air in the room grew cold again.

And Lilith realized, with a sick twist in her gut—Ophelia hadn't just come to warn them.

She'd come to choose the battlefield.

And she'd already played her first move.

Lilith stepped back into the dim hallway, heartbeat thudding like war drums in her ears. Rafael followed closely, his every movement taut with unspent fury. But neither of them spoke—yet. The silence between them was no longer born of shock, but strategy.

Because their world had just turned upside down.

Ophelia's lie wasn't just a ghost from Lilith's past—it was a blade, slid cleanly between them.

And Rafael was bleeding hope.

He hadn't pressed her about the pregnancy again. Not yet. But Lilith knew he would. And that when he did, the answer would unravel whatever fragile truce they'd formed since her return.

As they walked down the corridor toward the security room, their footsteps echoed off stone—cold, calculated. The lights remained off, backup power running on a limited grid. Rafael's men were already searching the estate, but Lilith suspected Ophelia had long since vanished.

"She didn't come here alone," Rafael muttered, as if confirming her thoughts aloud. "Someone let her in. Someone we trust."

Lilith stopped. "Or someone you thought you did."

His jaw clenched, and she watched the muscle tick just beneath his cheek. He was furious—at Ophelia, at the betrayal, and maybe, just maybe, at himself.

She hesitated, then murmured, "You believed her."

His silence was an admission.

Lilith folded her arms tightly over her chest, the ache pressing in from all sides. "I lost that child, Rafael. Years ago. Before I could even grasp the weight of what I had."

"I know." His voice was low. "But hearing it... it did something to me. I didn't want to believe her, but—God—there was a moment where I hoped."

Lilith looked away. "That's exactly what she wanted."

They reached the security room, where the monitors flickered with surveillance feeds. Rafael scrolled through footage, flipping back to a timestamp from ten minutes before the power outage.

There—on camera two—was a guard letting Ophelia through the west entrance.

Rafael stilled. "That's Mateo."

Lilith frowned. "He's been with you for years."

"He was also the one assigned to your wing during the first threat. When you disappeared."

The implication rippled through the air like static.

Lilith stepped closer. "So either he's been compromised this whole time... or Ophelia's not just playing for one side."

Rafael's eyes narrowed. "She's playing her own game."

And that's when it hit Lilith. The lie. The intrusion. The face of her dead sister resurfacing in the midst of a brewing war.

Ophelia wasn't trying to warn them.

She was testing the waters—for loyalty, for leverage. And if the Viluf clan believed Lilith carried the heir to two powerful bloodlines...

They wouldn't just hunt her.

They'd want to control her.

Lilith's gaze snapped to Rafael. "We have to make them believe I still am."

He blinked. "What?"

"If they think I'm pregnant, we become too valuable to kill."

"Have you forgotten? Those damn Vilufs tried to kill you in the first place! What more if there was a child between us? Yet you still want to use a lie to shield us?" His voice unintentionally rising in frustration and worry.

She met his eyes, voice steady. "Their failure to kill me the first time will weigh on them—you know they can't risk more than what they have right now,"

She held his hands and inched closer, staring into his eyes that were now clouded with worry. "I want to use their weapon—and turn it against them."

"No. I can't allow you to expose yourself to whatever the hell you're planning. I'll deal with it my way." He snapped. His stance wavering, and shaken.

He grabbed her to his embrace, firm and resolute.

"Just let me do this one thing, please. No time can make up for what we've lost..so," His voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

And from down the hall, another buzz echoed. Not a phone this time.

It was a breach.

The gates had been opened again,

They had no way of knowing where the intruder is currently, and the darkness was no help.