The bedroom remained in darkness.
Trinidad's heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
That slow clap echoed once more.
Then stopped.
Her fingers tightened around the photograph.
"W-Who's there?" she called, hating how shaky her voice sounded.
Silence answered first.
Then footsteps emerged from the shadows.
A tall figure stepped into the thin silver moonlight pouring through the balcony doors.
He was dressed in black from head to toe. Black shirt. Black trousers. Black gloves. Even his expression looked carved from darkness.
His face was handsome in a colder, sharper way than Colt's. Where Colt burned like dangerous fire, this man felt like hidden ice.
His eyes settled on her.
Calm.
Unreadable.
Predatory.
Trinidad scrambled backward on the bed.
"How did you get in here?"
He ignored the question and looked at the photo in her hand.
"So you found that."
"Who are you?" she demanded.
The stranger tilted his head slightly.
"Marcus."
Just Marcus.
No surname.
No explanation.
No warmth.
Trinidad swallowed.
"Why are you in my room?"
No answer.
"What does this picture mean? Who scratched out that man's face? Why did you leave it in the contract? What do you want from me?"
She fired the questions one after another, but Marcus merely watched her for a second longer.
Then he turned.
And walked toward the balcony.
"Hey!" she snapped, jumping off the bed. "You can't just come in here and leave!"
He paused at the open balcony door, his profile cut by moonlight.
His lips curved faintly.
"I just did."
Then he disappeared into the night.
Trinidad ran to the balcony.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No guards shouting.
No sign that anyone had been there at all.
The cold wind brushed against her skin.
She looked down at the photo still clutched in her hand.
Who was Marcus?
And why did he hate Colt enough to sneak into this mansion like a ghost?
The next morning, sunlight spilled across the Clifford mansion like liquid gold.
Servants moved quietly through the halls. Fresh flowers were replaced. Marble floors shined. The air smelled of coffee and expensive perfume.
Downstairs in the grand parlour, chaos had already arrived.
"You got married?"
Reid's voice nearly shook the chandelier.
He stood in the center of the room wearing ripped designer jeans, a fitted white shirt, and a leather jacket slung over one shoulder. His expression was pure disbelief.
"You got married," Dylan repeated, pacing dramatically.
Today the singer wore cream trousers, a silky blue shirt half tucked in, and rings that flashed whenever he moved. Even angry, he looked camera-ready.
Bethany sat elegantly on the sofa with crossed legs, dressed in a fitted red dress that hugged her body perfectly. Her glossy hair fell over one shoulder as she narrowed her eyes at Colt.
Franco sat beside the window in a black sweatshirt and dark pants, one ankle over his knee, silent as usual.
At the center of their storm sat Colt Clifford.
Unbothered.
Perfectly dressed in a charcoal shirt and black slacks, one hand resting on the armchair, the other holding a cup of coffee.
He looked like a king watching jesters perform.
Reid pointed accusingly.
"Do you know how disrespectful this is? We're your people!"
Dylan gasped. "Your family!"
"We almost died with you during your attack and you couldn't send a text saying, guys, by the way, I'm taking a wife?"
Bethany's smile was thin.
"Very sudden, Colt."
Franco finally spoke.
"Why?"
All eyes turned to Colt.
He placed his cup down carefully.
"I have my reasons."
Reid groaned loudly.
"That's all? I have my reasons?"
Dylan threw himself dramatically onto a couch.
"I'm wounded."
Bethany's gaze sharpened.
"What reasons could possibly make you marry a stranger overnight?"
Colt's face gave nothing away.
"The kind that don't concern anyone else."
The room fell into a charged silence.
Reid muttered under his breath.
"He's impossible."
Then footsteps sounded from the staircase.
Every head turned.
And the room forgot how to breathe.
Trinidad descended slowly, one hand lightly touching the rail.
She wore a cream-colored gown that looked like it had been made by angels.
The soft fabric flowed around her body in elegant layers, hugging her waist before falling into a graceful skirt. Tiny ribbons decorated the sleeves and sides, delicate and feminine without being childish. Pearl details shimmered across the neckline, while the gentle cream color made her skin glow warmly under the morning light.
Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders.
No heavy makeup.
No jewelry.
No effort to impress.
Yet she looked ethereal.
Like beauty wrapped in innocence.
Reid's mouth dropped open.
Dylan clutched his chest.
"Whoever designed that dress deserves an award."
Reid blinked twice.
"Brother… your wife is insane."
Franco looked up from where he sat.
His calm gaze rested on her for a moment.
Then, with zero expression, he said,
"She's cute."
Dead silence.
Dylan whipped around so fast he nearly injured himself.
"Did he just compliment someone?"
Reid looked offended.
"You can talk?"
Even Colt's brows lifted slightly.
Franco only shrugged.
Trinidad stopped at the last step, unsure whether to laugh or run.
Bethany's nails dug into her palm.
Jealousy rose hot and bitter inside her chest.
For years, she had been the center of male attention in their group. The pretty one. The only girl they openly praised.
Now all eyes were on Trinidad.
And worst of all—
Colt said nothing.
He simply watched in silence.
Bethany's lips curved faintly.
Good.
If Colt wasn't impressed, then none of this mattered.
"Come," he said to Trinidad at last, standing. "Breakfast."
The dining hall looked larger than some restaurants Trinidad had worked in.
A long polished table stretched beneath crystal chandeliers. Silver cutlery gleamed beside gold-rimmed plates. Fresh flowers sat in the center like a small garden.
And the food—
Her eyes widened.
There were fluffy pancakes stacked high with syrup dripping down the sides.
Golden waffles dusted with sugar.
Fresh croissants, warm rolls, and buttery pastries.
Bowls of colorful fruit—berries, grapes, kiwi, mango, watermelon.
Eggs prepared every way imaginable.
Crispy bacon.
Sausages glazed in herbs.
Grilled salmon.
Roasted potatoes.
French toast topped with cream.
Yogurt parfaits layered in glass cups.
Different cheeses.
Chocolate muffins.
Fresh juices in crystal pitchers.
Coffee, tea, hot chocolate.
Even dishes she couldn't name.
It was enough food to feed her entire street.
Trinidad stood frozen.
"You okay?" Reid asked, already loading his plate.
She nodded slowly.
"This is… breakfast?"
Dylan laughed.
"What did you think rich people do? Starve artistically?"
Stacy appeared quietly at Trinidad's side.
"Please sit, Miss Trinidad."
The timid girl helped pull out her chair, then began serving portions onto her plate.
Trinidad smiled warmly.
"Thank you, Stacy."
The maid looked startled.
Then shyly happy.
"You're welcome."
Bethany noticed the exchange and rolled her eyes.
Even the servants liked her already?
Trinidad picked up her fork and hesitated.
Then hunger won.
She took one bite.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, she forgot everyone around her.
She mixed foods with zero shame, trying everything she could reach. A forkful of eggs, then fruit, then pastry, then potatoes. She stuffed her cheeks adorably while her eyes lit up after each taste.
"This is amazing," she mumbled around food.
Reid burst out laughing.
Dylan nearly choked on juice.
"She eats like a real person," he said. "I love her."
Franco silently slid the basket of croissants closer to her.
Trinidad beamed.
"Thank you!"
He gave a tiny nod.
Across the table, Colt watched everything.
The way she forgot to act proper.
The way she tasted each dish like it was treasure.
The way her lashes fluttered when she smiled.
The way she looked too alive for a room full of polished masks.
He found himself… amused.
Unexpectedly so.
Bethany saw where his eyes rested and her appetite vanished.
Then a guard entered swiftly.
He bent down and whispered into Colt's ear.
Something dark flashed across Colt's face.
He rose at once.
"Eat," he said to the table.
Then to Trinidad, "Stay inside."
Without another word, he left.
The room buzzed with curiosity.
Reid leaned back.
"That can't be good."
Dylan pointed his fork dramatically.
"Since the tyrant is gone, we can finally talk."
He turned to Trinidad with a dazzling smile.
"So, sister-in-law, tell us everything."
She nearly dropped her spoon.
"There is no everything."
"Oh?" Reid grinned. "Then start with how you met."
Trinidad forced a smile.
"We… met unexpectedly."
Franco's eyes flicked to her face.
He knew that answer was fake.
Bethany dabbed her lips with a napkin.
"Interesting. Usually women chase Colt for years."
Trinidad met her gaze.
"I wasn't chasing anyone."
The table went still.
Reid coughed into his drink to hide a laugh.
Dylan openly smirked.
Bethany's smile sharpened.
"Of course."
Trying to ease the tension, Reid leaned toward Trinidad.
"Don't mind her. She wakes up dramatic."
Bethany shot him a glare.
Dylan jumped in cheerfully.
"So what do you like? Music? Fashion? Travel? Chaos?"
"Food," Trinidad answered honestly.
That made everyone laugh.
Even Franco's mouth twitched.
Minutes passed more easily after that.
Reid told stories about nearly getting arrested three times in one month.
Dylan complained about fans sneaking into his hotel rooms.
Franco listened in silence, occasionally glancing at Trinidad when she laughed.
Bethany remained quiet, every smile forced.
But while they talked—
None of them noticed the maid standing near the doorway.
Stacy.
Her hands trembled violently.
Her face had gone pale.
Because tucked under the serving tray she carried…
Was the same scratched photograph Trinidad had found last night.
And written beneath it now, in fresh red ink, were new words.
HE KNOWS ABOUT YOUR FATHER.
Stacy looked toward Trinidad in panic.
Before she could move—
A gloved hand appeared from behind the curtain and yanked her backward.
The tray crashed to the floor.
The lights flickered once.
Then went out.