Page 8

Xenobia

T he kitchen echoed with my laughter, a foreign sound that startled even me. Damara’s voice crackled through the phone, her latest gossip about the McClendon family’s scandal lighting up my world like a firefly in the darkness.

“No way.” I gasped, leaning against the cool marble countertop. “He didn’t!”

Damara’s giggle confirmed it, and I felt a rare lightness bubble up inside me. I was just a girl sharing secrets with her best friend for a moment.

The floorboards creaked behind me, and my spine stiffened. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Daddy. It was the first time he’d been back for more than twenty-four hours at a time, and his presence filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy and ominous. I felt his eyes boring into my back, probably wondering what had his usually somber daughter in such high spirits.

“I gotta go,” I murmured into the phone, the joy evaporating from my voice.

I quickly hung up and turned, plastering on a neutral expression. My father stood in the doorway, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. The wrinkles around his brown eyes deepened as he studied me, searching for… what? Did he even know?

“Good morning, Daddy,” I said, my voice steady despite the knot forming in my gut.

He grunted in response, moving to the coffee pot with measured steps. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I busied myself by preparing a light breakfast of scrambled eggs and buttered toast. I hadn’t been in the mood for the sausage gravy and fried potatoes the cooks made. Still, the simple movements were a poor distraction from the tension in the room.

Then, the air went cool, and I turned to see Adonis’s towering, six-foot-two frame filling the kitchen’s entrance. My traitorous heart skipped a beat, but I kept my eyes fixed on the eggs sizzling in the pan. My father’s gaze flickered between us, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

Adonis nodded a silent greeting, his presence adding another layer to the already complex atmosphere. I wondered, not for the first time, what went on behind his piercing eyes. Did he feel the weight of my father’s suspicion as intensely as I did?

As I plated the food, my mind wandered to darker places. How long could we keep up this charade? How long before my father’s business travels subsided and his overprotective nature turned into something more dangerous? How long before I confronted him about hiding the truth from me for all these years? The eggs suddenly looked unappetizing, a reminder of how quickly things could go from seemingly normal to nightmarish within these walls.

My stomach began a slushy churn, and in an instant, I didn’t know how to feel. I couldn’t shake that he’d known the truth about Adonis’s whereabouts all this time and chose to lie to me about it. I felt less and less like a part of the family and more like an heirloom that needed to be locked away in a vault—only to be seen and not heard.

Damara called back, my Bluetooth ringing in my AirPods as I answered it. If no one were going to carry on a conversation, I’d just talk to someone who brought me joy.

Her voice chirped in my ear, a constant lifeline to normalcy. “Rude to just hang up on me. So anyway, I told Christoper if he thinks he can just—”

“Uh-huh,” I replied, only half-listening as I maneuvered around the kitchen. I poured a cup of coffee while keeping an eye on my father’s brooding figure at the table. Multitasking was my superpower, born from years of walking on eggshells around everyone—everyone except Adonis.

I cleared my throat before tapping the mute button on my phone so that Damara wouldn’t hear me. “Would you like a plate, Daddy? There’s more than enough.”

He grunted again, this time with an accompanying nod.

“You too?” I asked, making brief eye contact with Adonis.

He dipped his chin, and I turned back to the stove, my heart palpitating.

“Did you hear me?” Damara’s voice chimed in my ears, bringing me back to our conversation.

I quickly unmuted the phone. “Sorry, girl. Say it again.”

I slid a plate in front of Papa, then Adonis. Our fingers brushed, sending a jolt through me. I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned.

“You gonna eat that phone for breakfast, Xenobia?” My father’s gruff voice cut through my thoughts.

I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see with my back turned to him. “No, Daddy. Just finishing up with Mara.”

As I served myself, I kept the chatter going with Damara as a thin veil of defiance. Letting my father think I was just a typical, phone-obsessed young woman was better than him guessing the truth about the storm brewing in my heart every time Adonis was near.

I sat down, still yammering into the phone, but I felt my father’s eyes boring into me. His gaze flickered between me and Adonis like a pendulum of suspicion. The old man didn’t miss a fucking beat. I’d give him that. Every bite he took was calculated like a silent warning that he was always watching and would stay one step ahead. Adonis kept his head down, methodically working through his eggs and toast. But I caught the tension in his bearded jaw, the way his knuckles tightened around his fork. He felt it too.

“Listen, I really gotta go this time, girl,” I said, my appetite nonexistent.

“For real?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you later.”

I pressed the earpiece to disconnect, and the sudden silence was deafening. My father’s eyes never left me as I picked at my food, shoveling it into my mouth without tasting anything. I held my breath while trying to chew the food into small enough pieces to swallow without throwing up. My skin crawled under his scrutiny. I wanted to scream, to flip the table, to do anything to break the suffocating tension. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. That wasn’t how things worked in the Hawthorne family. We smiled, ate, and pretended everything was fine while the walls closed in around us.

I risked a glance at Adonis. His eyes met mine for a split second, and at that moment, I saw everything I felt reflected at me: the longing, the fear, the goddamn impossibility of it all. I looked away first, my heart pounding so loud I was sure they both could hear it. This thing between us—fierce and nameless—would get us both killed.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved my chair back, the legs bunching up the rug that covered the hardwood floor. “Well, that was nice,” I muttered, desperate to escape.

But the universe had other plans. My foot caught on the edge of that stupid antique rug my father insisted on keeping. One second, I was upright. The next, the world was tilting sideways. My stomach lurched as I braced for impact. But it never came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around me, catching me mid-fall. I found myself pressed against Adonis’s chiseled chest, his heart hammering against my ear. Time seemed to stop. His cologne filled my senses, and I wanted to bury my face in it. I felt the heat of his skin through his shirt and the strength in his arms as he held me. For a moment, just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If we weren’t who we were.

But we were who we were. And this—whatever this was—between us was a death sentence waiting to happen. My father would sooner kill Adonis than give his blessing for me to marry the son of his enemy.

I pulled away, my legs shaky. “Thanks,” I said, not meeting his eyes. I felt my father’s gaze burning into us, assessing what had unfolded right before his eyes.

Adonis’s voice was low, meant only for me. “Careful, Xenobia. These floors can be treacherous.”

I didn’t know if he was talking about the floor or the minefield we danced through daily. Maybe both. My heart raced, pounding so hard I was sure it would leave my chest. I stepped back, trying to distance myself, but Adonis’s warmth lingered on my skin. The pull toward him was maddening, and I couldn’t shake it.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. But I wasn’t fine. Not even close.

Every fiber of my being screamed to close that gap again, to feel the safety of his arms. But I couldn’t. I risked another glance at him, catching the intensity in his eyes before he masked it. God, how I wanted to—

“Xenobia!” My father’s voice cut through the air like a whip, making me flinch. “My office. Now.”

The irritation in his tone was clear as day. I’d seen that look before—the narrowed eyes, the tight set of his jaw. It never ended well.

“Coming, sir,” I called back, my voice steadier than I felt.

As I turned to leave, Adonis’s hand brushed mine, just for a second. But it was enough to send electricity shooting up my arm. I walked toward my father’s office, each step feeling like I was marching to my execution. The weight of unspoken words and forbidden desires pressed down on me, threatening to suffocate me.

I was halfway there when my phone buzzed in my pocket. The sudden vibration made me jump, my nerves already frayed from the tension with Adonis and my father’s aggressive summons. My hand trembled as I reached for it. Something in my gut screamed danger, and I’d learned the hard way to trust those instincts. I hesitated, fingers hovering over my pocket. Did I really want to know?

“Fuck it,” I muttered, fishing out the phone. The screen lit up, revealing a message from an unknown number. My heart hammered against my ribs as I swiped to open it.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut: “The sins of The Guardian will be paid in blood. Your days are numbered, Xenobia.”

The blood drained from my face. This was personal. How the fuck had they gotten my number? My knees suddenly turned to water, and I leaned against the wall for support. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, reality warping around me. I’d known danger all my life, but this felt immediate. Visceral.

“Shit,” I whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I glanced down the hall toward my father’s office as my mind raced. How the hell was I going to tell him about this? And what would it mean for all of us? Did we have a rat in the ranks? Or worse, had Adonis’s father found out he was here protecting me? The phone felt like a grenade in my hand with no pin in sight. I wanted to throw it, to pretend I’d never seen the message. But I couldn’t. This was my life—our lives. And ignoring it wouldn’t make the threat go away.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed off the wall and continued toward the office. Each step felt like walking through molasses, the weight of the threat pressing down on me. I needed a drink—or ten. But first, I had to face my father and somehow find the words to tell him our world was about to come crashing down around us. On the bright side, maybe he wouldn’t mention anything about Adonis. I knocked on the large door, my knuckles colliding against the dark wood. My heart was pounding so hard I swear he could probably hear it through the door.

“Come in,” his gruff voice called out.

I stepped inside, the familiar scent of cigars and leather hitting me like a punch to the gut. My stomach soured. My father was at his desk, looking every bit the mafia boss he was. His hardened brown eyes narrowed as he took me in.

“Xenobia, is there—” he started to ask, his tone sharp.

I swallowed hard before cutting him off. “Daddy, I… I just got a text. I think it’s from the Toussaints.”

His face darkened instantly. “Show me,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

As I handed over my phone, my fingers trembled. I watched his expression change as he read, his jaw clenched tight.

“Adonis!” he suddenly bellowed, making me jump. “Get in here, now!”

I heard rapid footsteps in the hall, and then Adonis was there, all coiled tension and alert eyes. His gaze met mine for a split second, and I felt that familiar jolt of electricity.

“What’s happened?” Adonis probed.

My father tossed him my phone. “The Toussaints. They’ve made their next move.”

As Adonis read, I sank into a nearby chair, suddenly exhausted and still queasy. The weight of our family’s legacy, all the blood and violence, it all came crashing down on me at once. I’d never felt so trapped, so utterly nauseous, so completely fucked.

“What do we do now?” I inquired, hating how small my voice sounded.

They exchanged a look that sent chills down my spine. Whatever was coming, I knew it would be worse than before. Much worse.

“We take the war to them,” my father announced. “I’ve been making alliances. We have men at the ready. All I have to do is make the call.”

As I left the office, those words echoed in my head. War. Fuck. I’d lived in a world of shadows and danger my whole life, but this… this felt different, like we were standing on the edge of a cliff, about to plunge into the abyss.

I caught my reflection in a hallway mirror, noticing the haunted look in my eyes. This was my life now—constantly looking over my shoulder, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And for what? A family name? A legacy built on blood and fear? I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. The walls of our grand house suddenly didn’t feel so safe, not even with The Guardian standing across the room.