Page 181 of Malicious Claim

Caterina didn't look back. She couldn't speak either, because even though she had not shed those tears they were forming and any word from her it would burst like a dam.

Leila threw one last glance at Caterina, her lips curling into a twisted grin. She turned away, following Makros inside.

Caterina had been dismissed just like that, as if she were nothing more than an afterthought. Leila should've felt only the satisfaction of that, but instead, she found herself wondering if that same cold indifference with which Makros had sent the girl away could close in on her someday.

Could he dismiss her too? Just like that. Without hesitation. Without a second glance.

Leila shook the thought off as soon as it surfaced. It didn't matter. She wasn't Caterina. And she'd walk away before he even dreamed of kicking her out. He was only ever a means to an end.

"Yeah, keep lying to yourself." Her inner voice told her.

As they stepped into the living room, Sofia looked up from the corner where she was arranging flowers in a vase. Her gaze flicked from Leila's face down to the bandaged arm.

"Lady Leila," Sofia said, her voice soft with concern, "What happened to your arm?"

Leila forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a small accident."

Sofia's brows furrowed, but she didn't press further. She quickly turned her attention to Makros.

"Welcome back signor Makros, is there anything you need?" Sofia asked, her voice shifting to a more formal tone.

Makros barely acknowledged her, his eyes still on Leila, who couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. "No, Sofia. Thank you," he replied in a clipped tone, then motioned toward the stairs. "Come on."

As Makros started up the stairs, Leila hesitated, her eyes flicking back to Sofia. The maid gave her a fleeting, sympathetic look before turning back to her task. Leila then turned away and followed Makros up the stairs in silence.

They reached the top of the stairs, and the silence continued to stretch between them. The tension was almost suffocating, and Leila wondered if she should address it, if she should question what happened in front of Caterina, what Makros had been thinking. But something held her back.

Maybe it was because part of her didn't want to face the possibility of an answer she's not ready to hear.

She followed him down the corridor in the same tense silence that had settled upon them

until he stopped at a door and pushed it open.

Inside, the room was minimalistically elegant with dark furniture, a king-sized bed was covered in black sheets, and the floor-to-ceiling windows were covered by heavy black curtains. A dragon sculpted fireplace sat against one wall, unlit, while a laptop sat open atop a polished glass table near a leather armchair. The air carried the faint trace of whiskey smell.

Leila lowered herself onto the bed, watching as Makros strode to the TV stand. He grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey, popped the cap, and pulled open a drawer fetching two shot glasses. The whiskey trickled smoothly into the glasses, the sound momentarily breaking the tense silence.

He handed one to her without asking, assuming she needed it. Her fingers brushed his as she took the glass. It was only a fleeting touch still it made her pulse spike.

Leila took a slow sip, feeling the burn spreading down her throat. She exhaled, rolling the glass between her fingers.

Makros watched her, offering a low dark chuckle. "Not your usual?"

She lifted a brow. "What is this?"

"Mecedora. Thirty years old."

She made a face. "Tastes like fire."

His face relaxed with a smirk. "That's the point." He tossed back his own shot, barely flinching. "You get used to it."

Leila set her glass down beside her on the bed. "Not sure I want to."

Makros leaned back against the TV stand, watching her. "So, how's your arm?"

She shrugged. "Still attached."

A sudden, rich laugh burst from him, catching her off guard. It wasn't amused—it was something else.