Chapter 3: Broken Bones, Shattered Lines

Until one night, after a late meeting with my dad, I saw a shadow climbing over the wall.

Instinct kicked in before I even thought. I slipped outside, leaving my maid behind, moving through the dark like I’d done a hundred times.

He was quick, but not quick enough. I caught up, pinning him before he could get away.

I pinned him, yanked off his mask, and the scent of blood hit me—his face was smeared with it.

Under the hazy moonlight, I looked into those deep, dark eyes and recognized him. Eli opened his mouth, managed two words, then passed out.

He whispered my name, voice raw with anger—or maybe pain. Then he went limp, collapsing in my arms.

He’d called my name through gritted teeth, like he hated me.

The sound haunted me. Something was seriously wrong.

To get to the bottom of it, I dragged him to his room and secretly called a doctor, pretending I’d handle it myself.

I worked fast, making sure no one saw. I trusted the doctor, but not enough to leave them alone with Eli.

The doctor checked his pulse, frowned, then opened his shirt.

I stood by, heart pounding, as the doctor peeled back the fabric to reveal the mess underneath.

He was covered in knife wounds—new and old, deep and shallow, all from blades.

It made my stomach twist. So many scars—how was he still standing?

I froze.

I’d seen wounds before, but never so many on one person. It was a miracle he was still here.

Why did he leave the house at night? What was he doing? Why was he so badly hurt? And why had he called my name with such hatred?

The questions spun through my mind, each heavier than the last. I needed answers. Now.

When Eli woke the next day, I went straight to him for answers.

No small talk. I needed the truth, ugly or not.

He was cold, but told me everything: every night, someone lured him out and tried to kill him. Had to be someone from the Mayor’s estate. So he thought I wanted him dead—he knew too many of my secrets.

His voice was flat, almost accusing. I saw the hurt, the betrayal. It stung more than I expected.

"I’m not the kind to betray those who help me," I said.

I tried to sound convincing, but even I wasn’t sure anymore.

But Eli just stared, voice low, "That’s not for you to decide."

He meant it. There was a finality there I couldn’t ignore.

He meant more than that. I was torn—half convinced, half doubting.

The trust between us was hanging by a thread, and I wasn’t sure who would cut it first.

A few days later, I visited the Governor at the Cross estate under my own name.

It was a risk, but I needed to see his reaction. Sometimes, you have to poke the bear.

Samuel Cross seemed happy to see me, lingered over lunch, and when he noticed Eli wasn’t there, he asked about him—mocking.

His smile was all teeth, words dripping with fake concern. I played along, keeping my cards close.

I said calmly that he was injured. Cross’s face darkened instantly. "Autumn, who would dare hurt you?"

His concern was sharp, possessive. I wondered if he was more worried about me, or about his own secrets.

I shook my head, called it nothing, and, seeing his reaction, doubted it was his doing.

I watched his eyes for any sign of guilt. Nothing. If Cross wanted Eli dead, he wouldn’t bother hiding it from me.

We investigated for months, found nothing, and the matter faded away.

The city moved on. But I never forgot. I kept my guard up, waiting for the next blow.

Time flew—spring to winter, seasons turning. There were still dangerous moments every month, but Eli always kept me safe.

He was my shadow, always there, always one step ahead.

Until the day I screwed up at a party with the city’s golden boys.

Supposed to be simple—horses, drinks, laughter. Should’ve known better.

I, Autumn Langley, Mayor’s daughter, broke my right arm falling from a horse—and was nearly assassinated.

One minute, I was riding, wind in my hair. The next, the world flipped, pain exploding in my arm. Then chaos.

Only the city’s elite sons were allowed in, so Eli was stopped at the gate.

I protested, but the guards wouldn’t budge. Eli’s face was stone, but I saw the worry as I disappeared inside.

That was all it took for disaster.

Sometimes, all it takes is a moment. The world doesn’t wait for you to catch up.

My horse went wild, bolting around the field. It happened so fast, no one was ready. I was thrown, and as I flew, I didn’t hear Cross’s shouts. All I saw was Eli’s sharp, agile figure in my mind.

In that split second, I wished for him—wished he was there to save me. But he wasn’t.

No one caught me—Eli wasn’t there.

I hit the ground hard, breath knocked out. Pain shot through my arm, sharp and blinding.

I tumbled, barely able to get up. My right arm wouldn’t move.

I tried to stand, but the world spun. I bit down on my lip, refusing to cry out.

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. The pain was unreal.

Every breath felt like fire. I gritted my teeth, refusing to show weakness.

Then, masked attackers rushed out, blades flashing, targeting the unarmed sons.

The world exploded—screams, shouts, steel clashing.

The city guard scrambled, chaos everywhere. The pampered sons screamed, tripping over themselves as they ran.

It was a stampede—rich boys falling over each other, desperate to escape. The guards tried to restore order, but it was no use.

But one attacker spotted me hiding behind a tent, charging with murder in his eyes. My scalp went numb. As his blade swung down, a tall figure appeared, knife clashing with a metallic ring.

Time slowed. I saw the flash of steel, heard the ring of metal. Then Eli was there, standing between me and death.

Eli.

He was breathing hard, eyes wild, blood on his sleeve. But he didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.

He dispatched the attackers in a flash, then knelt to help me up, brow furrowed with worry. He must have forced his way in.

His hands were gentle as he checked my arm, careful not to hurt me more. I saw the relief in his eyes when he realized I was alive.

Maybe I looked too desperate, because he seemed awkward, eyes dropping, Adam’s apple bobbing, voice deep and gentle.

He cleared his throat, searching for words. "You’re safe now," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Forgive me for being late."

He said it like it was a mortal sin, like he’d failed some sacred duty. But I knew better. He was never late. Not really.

That was Eli’s gift—appearing when I needed him, even if it meant breaking every rule.

The other sons were barely hurt; only my arm was out of commission for months.

I tried to play it down, but the pain was real. I hated being weak, hated being a burden.

That night, my dad rushed to my room, not even changing out of his suit. Seeing my arm wrapped up, his face was so grim I could barely look at him.

He hovered in the doorway, torn between anger and worry. I saw the fear in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it.

He signaled Eli to leave, spoke to him, then left himself.

They exchanged words in the hall—quiet, tense. I caught only fragments, but I knew Eli was being blamed, whether he deserved it or not.

The attack shocked the city—trying to kill the Mayor’s daughter and the elite sons right under everyone’s nose. The attackers all bit their tongues and died—clearly organized.

The news spread like wildfire. Everyone had an opinion, but no one had answers. No one was safe—not even the powerful.

The Governor was furious, ordering a full investigation inside and out.

Heads rolled. People vanished. The city held its breath, waiting for the next blow.

After that, my days were quiet. With my arm useless, I had Eli write reports for me—just minor stuff for Cross.

It was strange, dictating to him, watching him focus on every word. His handwriting was careful, almost elegant.

Eli’s handwriting wasn’t wild or showy like Dad’s, but it was neat, showing he’d been trained.

I found myself studying the way he wrote, wondering what his life had been like before all this.

I couldn’t help but get curious about his background.

He was a mystery, even to me. I wanted to know everything, but didn’t dare ask.

Life was dull, and I’d lost my freedom.

I chafed at the rules, but there was nothing I could do. I was trapped, like everyone else.

Because my shadow, the ever-serious Eli, had started running my daily life—no drinking, no wandering, medicine on time, strict schedule.

He took his job seriously—maybe too seriously. I resented it, but I couldn’t help feeling cared for, too.

If I refused, he’d just fix those dark eyes on me. He never forced me, but those eyes could make my heart skip.

He had a way of looking at me that made me feel seen. It was comforting and terrifying.

He acted like he was in charge now, showing no mercy.

Sometimes I wanted to rebel, just to see if I could break through that wall.

Even my maid couldn’t stand it.

She grumbled, shooting Eli dirty looks when she thought I wasn’t watching. I almost laughed.

So rigid. Too rigid.

But maybe that’s what I needed—someone who wouldn’t let me fall apart.

Cross always came to the house in secret, never announcing himself.

He liked to catch us off guard, remind us who really held the reins. I learned to expect the unexpected.

So when he came to visit, he happened to see Eli leaning over me as I lay on a lounge chair, whispering in my ear.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Eli was just following orders, but Cross saw what he wanted to see.

He thought we were kissing.

The look on his face was pure outrage—jealousy, possessiveness, something darker. I braced for the storm.

He went red on the spot. He smashed the box of pastries he’d brought, crumbs flying. We both jumped. Then he grabbed Eli by the collar, fists swinging.

It was chaos—shouting, fists, furniture toppling. I tried to get in between, but Cross was beyond reason.

He didn’t act like a Governor—he acted like a madman.

For a second, I saw the boy he used to be—wild emotion, no self-control.

I couldn’t use my right arm, but I shouted for him to stop. Of course, he didn’t listen.

My voice cracked, but it didn’t matter. He was seeing red, nothing would stop him.

Luckily, Eli was quick—after two punches, he broke free and jumped out the window.

He landed on his feet, vanished into the night. Cross stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched.

Cross was being totally unreasonable. I’d only had Eli lean in for a secret order.

But logic had no place here. Cross saw what he wanted, and nothing I said would change that.

But my explanation just earned me a vicious glare.

His eyes burned with something I couldn’t name. I felt small, powerless.

After sending Cross away, I went to find Eli.

He was easy to find—always waiting in the shadows.

He stood by a pillar, knife in his arms, the setting sun casting a golden glow around him, making him look even more striking.

The light caught in his hair, almost angelic. But the bruises on his lips ruined the illusion.

His lips were bruised, but he showed no emotion, hiding everything in his eyes.

He stared at the ground, refusing to meet my gaze. I saw the hurt, even if he tried to hide it.

I handed him a bottle of ointment, apologizing on Cross’s behalf, but he wouldn’t take it. He just stared at me, then looked away, disappointed.

The silence stretched between us, heavy. I wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.

My heart skipped a beat.

I realized just how much I cared—how much it hurt to see him in pain.

He was overstepping—he should be thanking me, not disappointed.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Not yet.