18. LEIGH

Chapter 18

LEIGH

“Leigh?” Dolph’s voice cuts through the silence as the bedroom door creaks open, flooding me with relief.

Oh, thank God it’s Dolph!

For a second, I thought I was in one of those horror movies where the ominous phone call turns out to be coming from inside the house .

I quickly switch off the phone, hide it, and walk into the bedroom, masking my nerves with feigned annoyance.

“What?” I frown, crossing my arms to sell the act. Inside, I’m barely restraining myself from jumping into his arms and clinging to him like a terrified baby koala. It’s taking everything I’ve got to keep my jelly legs from buckling beneath me. “Is something wrong? Have I been summoned to the bowels of hell for a thousand lashings?”

Dolph sighs, undeterred. “Do you mind if I do a quick sweep of the room? Writing area, dressing rooms, bathrooms?”

“Looking for contraband, Mr. Prison Warden?” I arch a brow, sarcasm dripping to cover the sheer relief coursing through me.

He moves through the space, checking every corner, bolting windows and doors. I fight the urge to trail him, following his every move like a nervous shadow.

I’ve seen enough horror movies to know leaving the guy behind usually means someone’s about to get killed. I force myself to play it cool, hoping Dolph doesn’t notice I’m on the verge of giving myself whiplash trying to keep an eye on every damn window and door.

Seriously, how many fucking windows and doors does one room need ? For a family of criminals, you’d think they’d limit to many windows and hiding places for assassins.

I hear Dolph walk into the bathroom, and my stomach twists. Did I turn off my phone properly? That’s all I need—to get caught because of a vibrating phone. The reason I haven’t told Dolph I think I’m being watched is because I rather not admit I have the phone. Although maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after the blocked number messenger.

I’m so lost in thought that the cool facade I was clinging to evaporates when Dolph suddenly reappears in the bedroom. I nearly jump out of my skin, barely holding back a scream that would’ve done a little girl proud. His sharp gaze locks onto me.

“Did you have a beef with one of your desk drawers?”

“Huh?” I frown, my brows knitting as confusion overtakes me. Following his gaze into the writing room, my steps falter. The moment I cross the threshold, my heart clenches. That eerie, skin-crawling sensation from the dining room earlier tonight returns, settling over me like a suffocating fog.

The drawer I’d closed earlier, the one holding my mother’s journal, is open—dangling on the brink of falling out like someone rifled through it in a hurry.

A cold chill races up my spine, propelling me into the room. Dolph resumes his sweep while I peer into the drawer, the shock hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My mother’s journal is gone. In its place is a pristine white card embossed with a gold crown. My fingers tremble as I pick it up. A flicker of recognition flits through my mind, but I shove it aside.

“Leigh, please don’t open the balcony door off the bedroom,” Dolph calls from the other room. “We’re on lockdown.”

“Open?” I shake my head, quickly dropping the card back into the drawer and shutting it before he sees it. “I didn’t… yes, I did. I’m sorry, I like the cold breeze.” I walk back into the bedroom.

Something holds me back from telling him the truth— that I didn’t open that door .

“Everything’s bolted,” Dolph confirms as he finishes his sweep. “You’re secure.” He says goodnight and leaves, but the room suddenly feels way too big, the shadows too dark. My skin prickles again as if unseen eyes are watching me.

“Great!” I mutter, shutting the door behind him. “Guess I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

I move through the room quickly, slamming doors shut, locking them, and pocketing the keys. The Bratva might not care about deterring assassins, but I do. I know they can break the doors down. But at least I’ll hear the crash and have time to prepare.

Breathing a little easier, I glance at the television. Nope! I’m scared enough already without watching something else that may frighten the bejeebers out of me. I think my bejeebers have had enough bejeebering for one night. But if I’m not going to sleep, I may as well write. Back in my writing room, I grab a pen and reach for my songbook—but my fingers hit solid wood where it should be.

“What the hell?” Panic flares in my chest as I frantically search the floor and behind the desk. It’s gone.

The air grows heavier, the shadows shifting and stretching around me. The writing room feels alive, its atmosphere thick with an unnatural chill. My mother’s journal… gone. My songbook… gone. A shiver snakes up my spine as a ludicrous thought strikes me— the fucking room is possessed . First, it swallowed my mother’s words, and now it’s devoured mine.

The silence presses down like a weight, my pulse roaring in my ears. I start backing toward the door, fumbling for the key and yanking it from the lock. Spinning on my heel, I bolt out of the writing room as if hell itself is licking at my heels.

My bare feet skid on the floor as I dart into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My hands tremble as I manage to jam the key into the lock and twist it shut.

I lean back against the door, panting. “Hells balls!” I mutter, glaring at the writing room like it might come after me. “Okay, maybe I have an overactive imagination, but with the luck I’m having…” I shake my head. “And not a fuck am I going back in there without a priest, holy water, and a match.” I point a trembling finger at the door as if berating it. “This place is like a goddam house of horrors!” A shudder racks my entire frame.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, trying to shove the Ghostbusters theme song out of my head, my gaze lands on the round table to the side of the room. An antique chessboard gleams under the dim light, its pieces meticulously arranged—poised for a battle of wits, strategy, and sheer nerve.

It’s as if the universe itself is mocking me, laying out the perfect metaphor for the con I’m about to line up. “Oh, sure,” I mutter, a nervous laugh slipping out despite myself. “That’s not ominous at all…”

Clutching my arms, I glance at the bedroom door, really not wanting to be alone in a room that’s really way too big and not to mention as creepy as fuck.

I can either use all the salt in the house to put a protective ring around my bed or steal Dolph’s gun, which I don’t think’s going to protect me if this is a haunting. I also don’t think Radomir would look too kindly at me, blowing holes in his furniture at the slightest creek or shadow that freaked me out.

So, no gun or salt, but maybe a game or two of chess? My eyes land on the board. I can keep the game going for as long as it takes for the sun to come up. It beats asking Dolph to sleep on the couch because I’m a big, fraidy cat, crazy lady who thinks the writing room is possessed. Although I do think we really should call a demon hunter or exorcist first thing in the morning.

I’m about to reach for the door handle when a hand snakes around my mouth, and another locks around my waist, pulling me against a solid, warm body. My heart stops, then pounds wildly in my chest. Relief flickers— thank God, it’s not a ghost —but panic surges immediately after. It’s a person.

And they’re here in the room. I’m not sure how, though, as I locked the place up. Oh, fuck maybe they’re a demon. I’m about to sink my teeth into the calloused hand, praying it doesn’t taste like sulfur, when I feel the person’s face move closer to mine. I catch the person’s shadow on the door— phew! No horns.

I start to struggle, and a deep voice whispers against my ear. “Don’t fight, Lulu-Petal. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Lulu-Petal.

The name strikes like a whip. I hear my mother’s voice calling me that in memories I can barely piece together, but her voice starts to get distorted in my mind becoming gruffer, heavier, threaded with an emotion I can’t name but feels like something squeezing my heart.

Confusion and panic grow inside me, and I thrash against him, digging my nails into his arm, trying to bite his hand. He lets out a soft grunt but doesn’t loosen his hold.

“Shh, little duchess,” he murmurs. “If you scream, I’ll have to kill Dolph to protect you, and I really don’t want to do that.”

Terror twists my stomach, and I go still. “Who are you? What do you want?” I mumble against his hand.

“If I let go, you have to promise not to scream,” he whispers, low and calm. “Nod if I can trust you.”

I hesitate, my body trembling, but I nod. Slowly, he releases me, stepping back just enough for me to turn around.

I whirl on him, ready to scream if I have to—but the sound dies in my throat the moment I see his face.

Eyes. Those eyes. They’re mine . A rare, piercing green—almost too vivid to be real. The exact same pigmentation. His jet-black hair, dusted with silver, frames a face both familiar and foreign. A face that pulls at something deep inside me. A locked door in my memory rattles violently, threatening to burst open.

I stumble back, my voice cracking. “Who the hell are you?”

His lips press into a thin line, his expression careful, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffen. He’s holding something back. Something heavy.

“I’m Nickolas Vasilikis,” he says, his voice gentler than before. “This isn’t how I wanted us to meet again, Lulu-Petal.”

Again? My chest tightens, and I shake my head, trying to make sense of the swirling chaos in my mind. Shards of memory flash—half-formed images, fragments of voices, laughter, warmth—but they’re blurry, distorted, just out of reach.

“I know you,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I don’t know how, but I do.”

“You do,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest smile. “Your memory may be locked away, but your heart remembers.”

My pulse thunders in my ears. “How do you know what my mother called me?” I demand, the words rushing out like bullets. “How do you know anything about me? Answer me, or I’ll scream this house down.”

His smile fades, replaced by something raw—grief, maybe, or regret. It’s almost too much to look at. “Lulu-Petal,” he says softly, “I gave you that name.”

“No.” I shake my head, taking a step back as if distance will undo what he’s just said. “You’re lying.” But the words don’t feel right. They stick in my throat, heavy with doubt. My pulse roars louder as the fragments swirl faster, almost frantic now. His eyes, those damn eyes, tug at something buried deep inside me. Something familiar. Something I’m too scared to name.

He exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself for a blow. “I named you Leigh on the day you were born because your mother and I hadn’t found a name for you yet,” he says. “Then, the first time you smiled at me, you became my Lulu-Petal.”

My heart stutters. “Liar!” My voice cracks as panic rises, sharp and jagged. “My father named me Leigh.”

A shadow crosses his face. Nikolas nods, his voice low but steady. “You were named Leigh because when you first opened your eyes, their green was so vibrant, it put the lushest spring meadow to shame.”

His words swirl in my mind, shattering something deep inside me. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. “What are you saying?” My voice is barely above a whisper now, trembling as violently as my hands. I already know. Deep down, I’ve known since the moment I saw him. But my mind refuses to accept it. “ Who are you ?”

He steps closer, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. “I know you’re scared Leigh,” he says, his voice a mix of pain and warmth. “And I know this is too much, too soon. But we’ve run out of time.”

I back up until my shoulders hit the door. “Don’t—“

“I’m your father.” The words hang heavy in the air, final and inescapable.

The words hang in the air, heavy and final. My breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s tilting. Everything I thought I knew about myself shifts, cracks, threatens to break apart entirely.

Nikolas doesn’t move, doesn’t say another word. He just stands there, letting the truth sink in, his eyes never leaving mine.

And in those eyes, I see it. The same pain, the same longing, the same love. The truth.