(Ruby's POV)
Liam is in the greenhouse when we find him.
He's pretending to prune a rose bush, but his hands are shaking, his movements jerky. He saw everything. Kai's men. My performance. Nicholas's hands on me, rough and cruel. He heard my screams echoing in the main hall.
He thinks he knows what happened.
He doesn't know anything.
Nicholas closes the greenhouse door behind us, and the sound makes Liam flinch. He doesn't turn around. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched. He's waiting for the Beast to speak.
"Liam."
Nicholas's voice is quiet. Not the cold, imperious tone he uses for the staff. Not the snarling fury of the main hall. Just a man, saying another man's name.
Liam's hands stop moving. "Master Nicholas."
"Look at me."
Slowly, reluctantly, Liam turns. His face is pale, his eyes darting between us. He looks at me, at the tear tracks still drying on my cheeks, at the shadows under my eyes. Then he looks at Nicholas, and I see the calculation happening. The weighing of loyalties. The fear of a man who has chosen the wrong side.
"You saw what happened," Nicholas says. "Tell me what you saw."
Liam's throat works. "I saw you hurting her. I saw her begging for help. I saw—"
"What did you see?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy and sharp. Liam's eyes meet mine, and I see something there I didn't expect. Guilt. Shame. The memory of a friendly smile offered to a scared woman in a library, a kindness that was never really kindness.
"I saw a performance," he says slowly. "I saw… a stage."
Nicholas nods. He moves to stand beside me, not in front of me, not looming over me. Beside me. His hand finds mine, and he doesn't hide it. He lets Liam see.
"You're Kai's spy," Nicholas says. "His eyes in this house. His ears. I've known since the day you arrived."
Liam's face goes white. "I—"
"You don't need to explain." Nicholas's voice is calm, measured. "I know why you're here. I know what Kai promised you. I know what he told you about me."
Liam's hands curl into fists. "He told me you killed my mother. He told me the fire was your fault. He told me you were a monster who needed to be stopped."
"Did he tell you he set the fire himself?" I ask softly.
The silence that follows is absolute. Liam stares at me, his face cycling through confusion, denial, and something that looks like terror.
"What?"
I pull my mother's sketch from my pocket, the one she hid behind her painting. I unfold it carefully, smoothing the creased paper, and hold it out to him. "My mother was here before the fire. She was a researcher, working with Nicholas's parents. She discovered what Kai was doing. The medical experiments. The poisoned treatments. The people he was killing to perfect his formula."
Liam takes the sketch, his hands trembling. His eyes move over the lines, the circled window, the arrows pointing to the truth.
"She tried to stop him," I continue. "She tried to go to the authorities. Kai threatened her family. He threatened her life. So she ran. But before she left, she hid the evidence. The proof that Kai set the fire that killed Nicholas's parents. The proof that he murdered your mother too."
Liam's face crumples. He looks at Nicholas, and the hatred in his eyes is gone, replaced by something raw and broken. "Is it true? Did Kai… did he kill my mother?"
Nicholas nods slowly. "I've spent ten years trying to prove it. The evidence is there. The arson report, the accelerant, the witness statements. Kai buried it all. Made it look like an accident. Made it look like my fault."
"But you were just a boy," Liam whispers. "You were only a child."
"I was a child who ran away from home that night. I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to be with them." Nicholas's voice cracks on the words, and I see the weight he's carried for a decade, the guilt that has been his constant companion. "I lived because I was selfish. Because I wanted to punish my father for a stupid argument. I've hated myself for that every day since."
Liam sinks onto a bench, the sketch falling from his fingers. He buries his face in his hands, and his shoulders shake with silent sobs.
I move to kneel beside him, my hand on his arm. "Kai lied to you. He used your grief to control you. To make you his spy. To make you believe the man who wanted to save you was the one who wanted to hurt you."
He looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed, his face wet. "I told him everything. Every move you made. Every word you said. I told him about the painting. About the west wing. About the night you went to his door." His voice cracks. "He knew. He knew everything, because of me."
"You didn't know the truth." I squeeze his arm. "Now you do."
He looks at Nicholas, and something passes between them. A recognition. A forgiveness. Two men who lost everything to the same monster, finally seeing each other clearly.
"What do you need me to do?" Liam asks.
---
An hour later, I'm pressed against a bookshelf in the library, Nicholas's body a solid wall against mine, his breath warm on my ear.
This is a lesson, he told me. Situational awareness. The first rule of survival.
His hands are on my waist, holding me still. His eyes scan the room, cataloging exits, blind spots, places an attacker might hide.
"Kai has cameras in this room," he murmurs. "Two of them. One behind the globe, one in the chandelier. He's watching us now."
I force myself not to look up. "What does he see?"
"A man teaching his wife a lesson in obedience." His lips brush my ear, and despite everything, despite the danger and the lies and the men who want to destroy us, I feel a shiver run through me. "Liam will tell him we're fighting. That you tried to run, and I caught you. That I'm keeping you close. Keeping you controlled."
"And what are we really doing?"
He shifts, his body pressing me harder against the shelf. From the outside, it looks threatening. Dominant. But his hands are gentle on my waist, his touch a question, not a claim.
"We're learning," he says. "How to move. How to fight. How to survive when the people watching want us dead."
His hand slides up my arm, over my shoulder, to my neck. He demonstrates a pressure point, a way to break a grip, to escape an attacker. His fingers are light, careful, never hurting. But when I mimic the movement on him, his eyes darken, and I feel the power in it. The possibility.
"Good," he breathes. "Again."
I do it again, faster this time. His hand falls away, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The library is silent. The cameras are watching. And somewhere in the main house, a clock chimes the hour, marking time we're running out of.
"Kai will make another move," Nicholas says, his voice low. "The men today were a test. Next time, it won't be a test."
"Then we need to be ready."
He nods, stepping back. The loss of his warmth is immediate, and I have to fight the urge to reach for him. "Liam will get us the information we need. The layout of the facility. The security protocols. The location of the vault where Kai keeps the original research."
"And my mother?"
He hesitates. "If she's alive, she's there. Kai would want to keep her close. To control her. To make sure her secrets stay buried."
I think of my mother's face in the photographs, her smile bright and fierce, her eyes full of the same determination I feel now. She ran to save me. She hid to protect me. And now, after all these years, it's my turn to save her.
"We need more than information," I say. "We need proof. Something so damning Kai can't bury it."
Nicholas smiles, and it's not the cold smile of the Beast. It's the smile of a man who has been waiting ten years for someone to fight beside. "Then let's go find it."
He takes my hand, and we walk out of the library together, leaving the cameras to capture whatever story Kai wants to see. A monster. A victim. A tragedy waiting to happen.
But we know the truth. And soon, so will everyone else.