Free Web NovelChapter 28: "It’s Aren"
The Sartori estate was massive.
Not merely large by the standards of old money and powerful families, but sprawling on a scale that bordered on absurdity.
Its grounds stretched across acres of carefully maintained gardens, stone courtyards, fountains, and private woodland paths.
A newly hired servant could spend hours wandering its corridors and still find themselves hopelessly lost before reaching the main entrance again.
Aren walked calmly along one of the stone garden paths with Biscuit trotting happily ahead of her.
The little dog zigzagged between bushes with endless enthusiasm, occasionally circling back toward her legs before darting away again the moment another scent caught his attention.
Aren observed the surroundings with grave professionalism, then informed Biscuit with a serious tone.
"No abnormal activities today, Captain Biscuit!"
Biscuit glanced up at her, tongue lolling happily from his mouth as though thoroughly pleased with every word. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
"Looks like we’ll have a good night’s sleep," Aren continued with a small nod. "Let’s head back, pretty boy."
The dog spun around and hurried after her at once.
Together, they made their way through the immense estate and back into the mansion itself.
Most of the household had already settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening. Only a handful of staff still moved through the distant corridors.
The silence felt peaceful.
Comfortable.
It lasted exactly until Aren stepped onto the second-floor hallway.
Suddenly...
Something stopped her cold.
A low, broken groan drifted through the silence, barely audible. More importantly, she recognized where it came from.
Her gaze snapped toward the suite directly opposite her own.
’Don Caio’s room.’
Every muscle throughout her body tightened instantly.
Ever since moving into the west wing, she and Caio rarely crossed paths except during scheduled meals or occasional work discussions.
She would be awake while he was finally collapsing into bed after work, or he would already leave before she woke. But right now, he was definitely inside.
Another groan escaped from behind the closed door.
This one sounded worse.
It was followed by ragged breathing that immediately triggered every alarm in Aren’s mind.
’His condition is unmistakably compromised.’
A sudden knot of anxiety tightened in Aren’s chest.
Without hesitation, she hurried back into her own suite and gently nudged Biscuit through the doorway, crouching to scratch behind his ears.
"I’m very sorry, Biscuit," she whispered quickly. "But I need to check on our client."
Biscuit blinked at her, unhappy and confused with the news.
"Go to sleep first," she added. "Don’t wait for me."
After quietly shutting the door behind him, Aren crossed the hallway at a near run and stopped outside Caio’s suite.
Knock, knock.
"Don Caio?" she called. "Are you okay?"
No response came. Only another strained groan from somewhere deeper within the room.
Aren knocked again, louder this time.
"Don Caio," she called. "May I come in?"
Still nothing.
Her hand immediately dropped to the handle. Twisted it. But it was locked.
’No time to hunt down a master key.’
Aren spun around and sprinted down the staircase.
Seconds later, she burst through the nearest terrace doors and into the cool night air outside.
Moonlight bathed the estate in silver, illuminating sweeping balconies and towering stone architecture.
Aren’s eyes scanned upward, then locked onto the balustrade surrounding Caio’s private terrace one level above.
She planted a foot against the stonework and launched upward. Within seconds, she reached the balcony railing and vaulted over it silently.
Fortunately, Caio had neglected to close his curtains completely. Aren approached the glass and peered through the narrow opening.
The room beyond lay almost entirely in darkness. Only faint moonlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, revealing the outline of a body twisted across the mattress.
Caio.
Alone.
No second person was visible anywhere in the room.
Carefully, Aren reached for the balcony handle.
It turned immediately.
’He forgot to lock it.’
Her brow furrowed.
’I’ll have to remind him tomorrow.’
Quietly, she slipped inside.
The moment she entered the suite, a dense wave of stale air hit her face — alcohol, strong enough to sting, and beneath it lingered the unmistakable chemical scent of narcotics.
Aren’s face tightened at once.
Without wasting another second, she swept through the suite at once, checking the bathroom, the closets, and the blind spots behind the heavy drapes.
Finding no signs of a physical threat, she let out a relieved breath and approached the bed.
A bottle of expensive liquor sat open on the bedside table beside an abandoned glass. The remaining ice had already melted into cloudy water.
The closer she moved toward Caio, the stronger the alcohol radiating from his skin became.
He looked terrible.
Even beneath the dim light she could see tension twisting through his body.
His fists were clenched so tightly that the tendons stood out beneath his skin. Damp strands of dark hair clung to his forehead while sweat soaked the collar of his shirt.
Carefully, Aren reached out and pressed two fingers against the side of his neck.
His pulse was hammering wildly beneath burning skin.
Her concern deepened immediately.
’He drank past tolerance level and mixed narcotics before sleeping.’
Slowly, she moved her hand from his neck to his forehead, trying to ground him.
"Don Caio?"
Caio didn’t open his eyes. Instead, a low, painful sound ripped from his throat, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.
Aren watched him in silence, a heavy ache pulling at her chest.
’Client just survived another assassination attempt.’
’Severe psychological stress reactions are normal.’
In her previous life, she had seen this countless times.
Men who could charge through gunfire without hesitation reduced to trembling wrecks once the danger finally passed.
Nightmares did not care how strong someone was.
Trauma never asked permission.
Then, another memory surfaced on Aren’s mind — the brief encounter they’d had with Caio’s aunt, Liviana, the other day.
’Ah... right.’
’He doesn’t like to sleep alone.’
She made her decision immediately.
Quietly, she slipped off her shoes and let them fall soundlessly onto the rug, then she climbed onto the bed.
The mattress shifted beneath her weight as she carefully slid under the heavy duvet and settled beside him.
Heat radiated from his body, carrying it with it all the exhaustion, the stress, the alcohol.
She shifted closer until her side pressed lightly against his and draped one arm gently across his chest.
Her palm began moving in slow, steady pats over his sternum, the same way she used to comfort her squad brothers during those brutal, sleepless nights in the barracks when the trauma got too loud to bear.
Sometimes there had been no solution. No medicine, no words capable of fixing what haunted them.
Sometimes all a person needed was proof that someone remained beside them.
"It’s okay, Don Caio," she whispered softly near his ear. "It’s Aren."
Her hand continued its gentle motion.
"You’re not alone."
The effect was immediate.
The violent twitching slowed first, then the ragged groans faded into a faint murmur.
His chest hitched once beneath her hand, before finally settling into a steadier rhythm.
After a moment, his eyelids fluttered open.
At first, his vision remained blurred.
The room looked distorted, reduced to shadows and fractured moonlight.
His mind still floated somewhere between reality and nightmare.
Blood on marble floors.
His father collapsing.
His mother dying slowly in a hospital bed while he stood powerless beside her.
Then, reality hit his senses.
First, there was a small, warm body pressed tightly against his own.
Then, a delicate, steady hand rested directly over his heart, patting him. He could feel soft, even breaths ghosting against his collarbone.
Caio turned his head slowly, his thoughts fractured badly enough that reality struggled to settle into place.
"...Mother?" he rasped weakly.
His voice sounded ruined, broken raw by alcohol and nightmares.
Aren’s hand never stopped its slow, rhythmic motion against his chest. If anything, her touch became even gentler.
"No," she whispered softly. "It’s not mother."
She leaned closer.
"It’s Aren."
Caio’s eyes flew fully open.
Shock slammed through his system so violently it burned straight through the haze of drugs and alcohol.
