UNDER HIS ROOF: Happy Ever After?

The sharp, intoxicating smell of turpentine and linseed oil always grounded Taylor. Inside the sunlit studio of the city’s finest fine arts academy, she wasn’t a shadow moving through high-society galas, nor was she the woman carrying the heavy weight of an empire’s crown. Here, she was just Taylor—hands stained with raw umber and crimson, coaxing a vision onto an expansive canvas.

Her brushstrokes were fluid, sweeping across the fabric in chaotic, passionate arcs.

"You know, the light hits the upper corner better if you tilt the easel five degrees to the left."

Taylor didn't look up immediately. She carefully dipped the edge of her brush into a streak of white before turning to face Julian—no, Liam, her classmate—who had been hovering near her station for the better part of an hour. He leaned against the adjoining workbench, throwing her a warm, easy smile that was far too bright for two in the afternoon.

"I like the shadows where they are," Taylor said pleasantly, dabbing a speck of yellow onto her palette. "Shadows give it depth."

"Depth, huh?" Liam took a step closer, wiping his hands on a clean rag. "You always paint like you're keeping a secret. It’s captivating. A few of us are heading to the gallery opening downtown this Friday night. Drinks, live jazz, terrible art critiques... you should come with me. My treat."

Taylor offered a faint, polite smile, her mind already drifting to the mountain of syndicate balance sheets awaiting her back at the estate. "Oh, thank you, Liam, but Friday nights are usually pretty busy for me."

"Working late?" he pressed, his gaze lingering on her face a little longer than necessary. "Or do you just not do coffee with guys who can't paint as well as you?"

She laughed softly, missing the unmistakable flush in his cheeks and the hopeful tension in his shoulders. To Taylor, he was simply being a friendly classmate sharing space in an art studio.

Outside, across the rain-dusted avenue, reality watched in total silence.

Parked illegally in a shaded tow zone sat a sleek, obsidian SUV with heavy, custom-tinted glass. Behind the wheel, Max’s dark eyes were fixed on the wide glass studio windows. His broad frame filled the driver’s seat, broad shoulders tense beneath a tailored black coat.

His jaw locked as he watched the boy lean into Taylor’s personal space. Max’s leather-gloved fingers tightened on the steering wheel until the seams groaned. The urge to step out of the vehicle, cross the street, and personally dismantle the kid's confidence—and perhaps a few of his limbs—burned cold and lethal in his chest. But Taylor loved her sanctuary, and Max had promised her space.

Even if keeping that promise made his blood boil with possessive, unyielding jealousy.

The glass doors of the art institute pushed open twenty minutes later. Taylor walked out, her canvas safely tucked in a protective leather sleeve.

Before she could reach the curb, the rear door of the SUV opened, and Jackson stepped out to meet her.

At twenty-two, Jackson was the eldest son of Max’s most loyal syndicate captain, and he carried himself with a quiet, lethal precision that belied his age. Dressed in a dark turtleneck and a sharp jacket that concealed his sidearm, Jackson moved with fluid grace. He swept the sidewalk with sharp, vigilant eyes before taking the leather sleeve gently from Taylor’s hands.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Taylor," Jackson said, his voice crisp and respectful.

"Hi, Jackson. I told you, you don't have to carry that," she said with a soft smile.

"It’s no trouble at all, ma'am. Boss's orders," Jackson replied smoothly, holding the rear door open for her.

Taylor stepped inside, the heavy door sealing out the noise of the city. Max was already in the back seat beside her. The moment she settled in, his arm reached out, pulling her firmly against his side. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, possessive kiss against her temple, his dark gaze raking over her face as if checking for any trace of the outside world.

"Did your friend have a lot to say today?" Max asked, his tone deceptively smooth, though the dangerous undercurrent was impossible to miss.

Taylor chuckled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Liam? He was just offering tips on the easel lighting. Don't start, Max."

"I'm not starting anything," Max grunted softly, his thumb tracing the soft line of her jawline. "Just observing."

From the front passenger seat, Jackson checked the side mirrors and brought up a sleek, encrypted tablet. Without breaking a beat, he seamlessly transitioned the environment back to business.

"Boss, perimeter security at the academy checked out clear," Jackson reported, his voice sharp, efficient, and devoid of distraction. "We ran a background check on the classmate, Liam Vance—no relation to the family, pure civilian background, harmless. Security detail for tonight’s transit to the southern docks is fully posted, and Captain Miller has the perimeter locked down."

Max nodded once, approving of Jackson’s hyper-vigilance. "Good work, Jackson. Keep two men on the block until her semester ends."

"Understood, sir."

Jackson’s dedication to the empire was absolute. Raised in the shadows of the syndicate under his father's strict watch, he was sharp, disciplined, and fiercely loyal to both Max and Taylor. He represented the sharp edge of the syndicate's next generation.

As the SUV smoothly merged into the highway traffic, the mood inside the vehicle shifted. Taylor pulled her phone from her coat pocket, staring down at the screen with a small, exhausted sigh.

Max glanced down, his eyes narrowing as he saw the notification bar flooded with missed calls and unread messages.

"Still them?" Max asked coldly.

"Yes," Taylor murmured, scrolling through weeks of unanswered texts from Aunt Sarah and Violet. Pleading messages. Tears. Guilt trips. 'Please, Taylor, we were forced.' 'We miss you.' 'Give us five minutes.'

"Block the numbers, Taylor," Max said, his voice dropping an octave. "We've talked about this. In our world, a snake doesn't ask for forgiveness because it's sorry. It asks so you'll let it close enough to strike."

"I know," Taylor whispered, her thumb hovering over the screen. "It's just hard to erase family, no matter how toxic they—"

Before she could finish, the phone in her palm began to vibrate frantically. An incoming call from Violet.

Taylor hesitated for a fraction of a second before hitting speaker.

Instantly, a sharp, hysterical scream erupted through the car's speakers.

"Taylor! Oh God, Taylor, please!" Violet’s voice was completely shattered by frantic, hyperventilating sobs. "You have to talk to her! Please, she won't listen to me!"

Taylor sat up straight, her blood running cold. "Violet? What's going on? Calm down!"

"It's Mom!" Violet shrieked, the background filled with the sound of desperate banging on a wooden door. "She's locked herself in the bathroom! She has a gun, Taylor! She keeps saying she can't live like this—that she lost everything, that she betrayed you and ruined the family! She says if you can't forgive her, she has no reason to see tomorrow!"

"Violet, stop, tell her to put the gun down!" Taylor begged, her voice rising in sheer panic.

"She won't listen to me!" Violet cried hysterically. "She says she only wants to hear it from you! Please, Taylor, I'm begging you, don't let her do this! Just tell her you forgive her!"

Max’s eyes went dark, his hand gripping Taylor’s waist tightly, wanting to cut the call, but Taylor was already gripped by the terror of a life ending on her hands.

"Sarah!" Taylor yelled into the phone, her voice shaking violently. "Sarah, listen to me! Put the gun down! I forgive you! Do you hear me? I forgive you, just open the door and put the gun away!"

There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end of the line. The frantic banging stopped.

A moment later, the sound of a door handle turning echoed over the speaker, followed by soft, ragged weeping. Aunt Sarah’s voice came through the line, weak and trembling.

"Taylor...?" Sarah sobbed softly. "You... you really forgive us? After everything?"

"Yes," Taylor breathed out, letting out a ragged shuddering breath, her hand covering her mouth as tears pricked her eyes. "Yes, just put the weapon away. Please."

"Thank you... thank you, my sweet girl," Sarah wept, her voice trembling. "We were just so terrified... Uncle Julian threatened us to cut ties with you... he forced us into everything..."

Click.

The line disconnected.

Silence fell over the SUV like a suffocating blanket.

Taylor sat frozen in complete shock, the color completely draining from her face. Her hand remained suspended in the air, the cold echo of Sarah’s final words ringing in her ears.

Beside her, Max went entirely still. His dark eyes shifted slowly to Taylor, a chilling, razor-sharp aura washing over him. In the front seat, Jackson slowly turned around, his sharp gaze locking onto Max with intense suspicion.

The name hung in the air like a lethal threat.

Uncle Julian.

How was Uncle Julian involved in this? What connection did he still have to Sarah and Violet, how far did his reach go—and how deep was his pull inside their world right now?