~LAYLA~
"Are we sure we’re in the right place?" I asked, staring out the window. "This looks like where people disappear."
"It looks warm," Axel said sarcastically.
The Rolls-Royce drove slowly over the gravel driveway. Looking through the rain-streaked window, Blackwood Manor looked like sothing out of a horror movie. It had grey stone, tall towers, and ivy growing up the walls. It was lovely, of course. But it was also scary.
The car stopped in front of a massive oak doors. Before the driver could even get out, the doors swung open.
A group of staff mbers was waiting. There were maids in black and white uniforms, footmen, and a butler who looked like he’d been ironing himself. But it was the three people standing at the front who caught my attention.
Pennyworth looked relieved to see us.
Beside him was who I believed was Lady Isabelle. She was tall and slim and wore a tweed suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back so tightly it probably hurt, and her face showed nothing, no expression at all.
And beside him was Julian. He looked like a model who’d gotten lost on his way to a photoshoot. Sa blonde hair like his mother, straight nose, and a slouch that scread, "I’m better than you."
"Showti," Axel murmured.
I stepped out into cold, damp air. Axel was beside in an instant, placing his hand on my back.
"Mrs. O’Brien," Pennyworth said, stepping forward with a bow. "Welco to Blackwood Manor."
"Thank you, Arthur," I said.
Lady Isabelle stepped forward. She didn’t offer her hand. She just looked up and down like I was sothing she found on her shoe. "So," she said in a sharp voice. "You actually ca."
"The Duke asked for ," I said, eting her eyes. I pulled out my CEO voice. "I wasn’t going to ignore a dying man’s wish."
Her lip curled. "How Arican. Sentintality is so tedious."
"Mother," Julian drawled, stepping up. He looked at with a fake smile. "Don’t be rude. We should welco our guest."
He said "guest" like I was temporary, like I’d be gone soon.
"I’m Julian," he said. "Your cousin. Though I suppose we’ll see what the DNA test says about that, won’t we?"
"We will," Axel replied in a tone that sounded dangerous. He stepped forward, and Julian actually flinched. "I’m Axel O’Brien, her husband."
Julian looked at Axel, then at the two large security guards behind us. He swallowed. "Chard."
"Co inside," Isabelle commanded, turning around. "It’s freezing, and the Duke is resting. You won’t be able to see him until the doctors clear it."
We followed them into the foyer. It was huge: marble floors, a chandelier the size of a car, and it slled like old furniture and cold stone.
"We’ve prepared the Blue Room for you," Isabelle said, gesturing to the butler. "It’s quite comfortable. Down the East Hall."
"That’s fine," Axel said. "I’ll just have my team sweep the room before our bags go up."
Isabelle stiffened. "This is a private ho, Mr O’Brien, not a hotel. We do not have ’sweeps.’"
"Your security scanned us at the entrance," Axel said calmly. "It’s only fair we return the courtesy. My wife’s life isn’t something I take chances with. And considering your family history of convenient accidents, I’m sure you understand."
Isabelle went pale and Julian’s jaw clenched.
"Fine," Isabelle snapped. "But try not to break anything. So of these pieces are older than your country."
She walked away, her heels clicking on the marble.
"Friendly," Axel noted.
"They hate ," I whispered.
"Good," Axel said, looking around with predator eyes. "That ans they’re scared."
We were led up a staircase that seemed endless. The "Blue Room" was exactly what they called it. Blue walls, blue curtains, and a four-poster bed that looked like it ca from a museum. It was beautiful, but the air felt stale.
"Don’t unpack yet," Axel told as the footman left.
He nodded to Russo, his security guy who’d flown in early. Russo pulled out a device and started scanning the walls, lamps, and even the old telephone in the room.
"You really think they’d bug the room?" I asked, hugging myself for warmth. "Axel, they’re aristocrats, not spies."
"They’re people protecting billions of dollars, Layla," Axel said, checking the balcony lock. "People kill for a lot less."
Russo finished and shook his head. "Clean, Boss."
"Better safe than sorry," Axel said.
A sudden knock made jump.
"Mrs. O’Brien?" it was Pennyworth’s voice. "The physician is here to collect samples for the DNA test. Lady Isabelle insists we do it imdiately."
I looked at Axel. He straightened his jacket. "Shall we?" he asked.
—
We went back downstairs to a drawing room that felt more like an interrogation chamber. A fire was roaring in the hearth, but it did little to warm the tension in the room.
Isabelle and Julian were sitting on a sofa, posed like they were models for a painting, sipping tea.
A doctor stood by the window, an older man with a grey beard and a dical bag in hand.
"Ah, Mrs. O’Brien," the doctor said kindly. "I’m Dr. Thornhill. This will only take a mont. A simple cheek swab for DNA comparison."
"Comparison to what?" I asked.
"To the Duke’s DNA, which we have on file," Dr. Thornhill explained. "And we’ll need a sample from you as well, Mr. Huntington, for comparison purposes."
Julian looked annoyed but nodded.
"And what happens to the samples after?" Axel asked.
"They’ll be sent to our laboratory," Dr. Thornhill said. "Results in forty-eight hours."
"No," Axel said flatly.
Everyone looked at him.
"I’m sorry?" Dr. Thornhill blinked.
"We want independent verification," Axel said. "My wife’s sample will be split. Half goes to your lab, and another half goes to a lab of our choosing. We compare the results; that way, there’s no chance of tampering."
"How dare you..." Isabelle started.
"It’s standard procedure," Axel interrupted. "Unless you have a problem with accuracy?"
Isabelle’s face went red, but she said nothing.
"That’s perfectly acceptable," Dr. Thornhill said quickly. "Very professional, actually. You are very thorough, Mr. O’Brien."
"I’m protective," Axel corrected. "There’s a difference."
He gestured to the doctor. "Please, you can proceed."
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