Chapter 41 Welcome To The Armory
ALISTAIR
An outstretched pair of arms pointing directly at my ceiling is not the sight I expect when stepping out of the steam.
I stop near the edge of the bathroom threshold, the damp towel around my neck absorbing the stray droplets falling from my hair. My dark gray bathrobe is tied loosely at my waist, leaving my collar bare to the cool air of the bedroom.
I still haven’t gotten used to sharing my room or generally my space with someone. If I remembered she was here, I’d have tried to cover up or something.
But I guess it’s okay since she’s my wife. My wife. It still feels a little strange to say in my head.
Emily is lying flat on her back under the silk sheets, her hands locked together in a rigid grip, her arms extended straight up as if she’s aiming a weapon at the plaster crown molding. She has her left eye squeezed shut, her right eye focusing intently along her thumb line.
"What exactly are you doing?" I ask, keeping my voice level and dry.
Her arms drop instantly against the mattress with a heavy slap. She snaps her eyes open, her face draining of color before a dark, hot flush climbs rapidly from the collar of her oversized sweater straight to her hairline. She scrambles backward against the headboard, her fingers twisting the fabric of the duvet into tight knots.
"I’m...I’m just stretching," she stammers, her voice pitching slightly higher than usual as she avoids my gaze. "My shoulders are stiff from the lake water. It’s an..." she looks at the ceiling like it holds the rest of her statement. Then her eyes widen. "It’s an upper body alignment exercise."
Before the excuse even fully leaves her lips, she dives downward, pulling the thick silk comforter entirely over her head. The fabric bunches into a trembling mound in the center of the bed, completely hiding her from view.
"An upper body alignment exercise?" I say as slowly as I can.
"Yep!" She murmurs under the blanket.
I stand by the doorframe, a sudden, unfamiliar tug pulling at the corner of my mouth. It’s an entirely childish display, a stark contrast to the fierce woman who stood in the freezing lake hours ago with my pistol in her hands. To my surprise, the ridiculous sight of her hiding under the blankets is almost cute.
I look at the bundle of blankets, my mind shifting back to the technical data Dr. Aris sent to my tablet earlier. Emily is a contradiction. She’s hiding from an embarrassing moment like a schoolgirl, yet this is the same independent mind that synthesized a world-class cardiology formula in a private lab under the nose of a hostile family. She’s incredibly young, her background with the abusive Vance family should have stifled her growth, but her raw talent is undeniable. Her full potential hasn’t even been scratched yet.
The Wolfe family needs her intellect as much as her womb, even if my father and the elders are too blind with aristocratic pride to see it. I find myself looking forward to seeing exactly how high she can climb once she’s completely free of the constraints of her past.
I clear my throat loudly, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet room to break my own train of thought. I turn toward the door of my adjoining study, stepping out into the hallway so I won’t spend any more time staring at the empty bed.
"Good night Alistair."
I pause in my movements, and to my greatest surprise, my heart does a tiny leap. What is going on with me today? It must be the stress of so many things that happened in one day.
"Goodnight," I grunt back.
EMILY
The morning sunlight cuts through the heavy velvet drapes of the bedroom, painting long, golden strips across the carpet.
I didn’t realize when I fell asleep last night. But I did and I had the best sleep I’ve had in days. I woke up buzzing with excitement and I hummed through my morning routine.
I didn’t wake up to meet Alistair in the room and I figured he was already ready for work. The bathroom smelled like him and the room carried the scent of his cologne.
When I’m done freshening up, I go to the balcony and see him downstairs. He’s talking to Jackson about something and Jackson nods. Then Jackson opens the car and Alistair steps in.
The moment Alistair’s car engine rumbles down the long driveway to signal his departure for the corporate office, I grab my phone from the nightstand. I’m so excited that I feel like dancing.
My fingers fly across the glass screen, typing a quick message to my new shadow.
*Remember that Alistair cleared the training right? When do we start?*
The reply comes back almost instantly, the text short and precise. *I’m already waiting in the main living room, Mrs. Wolfe. Put on heavy shoes. I’m taking you to the cellar armory to go over the firearms proficiency.*
An armory. A genuine weapon vault right beneath my feet. A thrill of pure, hot adrenaline wipes away the last remnants of my morning grogginess. I throw off the silk pajamas and pull on a pair of thick denim jeans, a dark zip-up jacket, and my sturdiest leather boots.
My true motivation in this house hasn’t changed. I need to get my formula licensed with Dr. Aris to build a financial wall between myself and these vipers. But until that contract is signed, I must survive. If Alistair is going to provide me with a human shield like Leo, the least I can do is learn how to handle a weapon myself so I’m never cornered by Julian or Chloe Vance again. Or any other person.
I walk down the grand staircase, the mansion quiet except for the distant clatter of porcelain from the kitchen. Leo is standing near the marble fireplace in the living room, his massive frame looking solid and unyielding in a tailored dark suit. He has his hands clasped in front of his belt, his posture a perfect reflection of his military past.
"We’re heading down the service lift behind the pantry," Leo says, gesturing for me to follow him down the long corridor.
The air grows noticeably cooler as we leave the carpeted luxury of the main floor and step onto a narrow, concrete staircase hidden behind a heavy wood panel. The smell of expensive wood polish and sandalwood fades, replaced by the sharp, crisp scent of damp limestone and old stone. Our footsteps echo evenly against the walls as we descend into the belly of the estate.
Leo keeps his pace measured, his broad shoulders nearly filling the width of the concrete hallway. "The cellar layout is divided into two distinct zones to keep operations organized," he explains, pointing toward a fork in the corridor ahead. "The right side is our static area. It contains the historical family collection room, storage vault, and the meditation room."
I stop walking, the cold air from the corridor rushing against my ankles. "The meditation room? Alistair mentioned that last night and I’ve read about it. So it’s actually a thing?"
Leo slows to a halt, turning his square jaw toward me. The faint scar near his left ear pulls tight as he speaks. "The old master built it three generations ago for spiritual reflection. Over the years, it shifted into a disciplinary cell for family members who break the clan rules. There are no windows. No light switches. The walls are three feet of soundproofed reinforced concrete. There isn’t an electronic device or a clock inside. A person loses their perception of minutes within the first hour. By day two, their will completely crumbles."
I look down the dark, unlit hallway to the right, thinking of Beatrice Wolfe sitting in that absolute blackness right now. I picture her pristine silk robes dragging in the dust, her manicured nails scratching at the stone walls while she tries to count the seconds in her head. I don’t feel a single drop of sympathy for her. She hired men to lock a child in a dog cage to ruin my reputation. A week of silence is a soft punishment compared to the terror she inflicted on Lily.
"And the left side?" I ask, turning my back on the dark wing.
"The dynamic area," Leo says, his boots clicking against the floor as we turn left. "We have the gun room, the indoor shooting range, and the tactical combat floor. This is where the security team tests the hardware."
We stop in front of a massive, double-reinforced steel door that looks like it belongs on a bank vault in the city center. It’s painted a flat, matte tactical gray, completely devoid of handles or keyholes. On the stone wall beside it, a digital keypad glows with a steady red security light.
Leo steps in front of the panel, his large torso blocking my view of the screen as his fingers move across the glass keys. A series of sharp, electronic beeps cuts through the damp silence of the cellar. A heavy, mechanical thud echoes from inside the wall as the internal deadbolts slide backward.
The pressure seal breaks with a loud, sudden hiss of compressed air. Leo reaches for the edge of the steel plate, his muscles straining against the weight as he pulls the massive door outward.
A bright, clinical glare of white fluorescent light rushes out from the open vault, reflecting off the polished concrete floor and blinding me for a brief second.
"Welcome to the armory, Mrs. Wolfe," Leo says, stepping aside to let me pass.