The morning sun cast its warm glow over the Hamilton mansion, but the tension between Benjamin and Clara lingered like a stubborn shadow. Clara, though still hurt by Benjamin's secrecy, had softened after their emotional confrontation. They agreed to work through their differences, but both knew their journey wouldn't be easy.
Benjamin woke earlier than usual, his thoughts restless. Clara still slept soundly beside him, her delicate features illuminated by the soft morning light. He leaned over and brushed a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how someone so pure and good could love a man like him.
Slipping out of bed, Benjamin decided to prepare breakfast. He wasn't fully adapt in the kitchen, but he wanted to surprise Clara with something thoughtful. As he fumbled with the coffee machine and cursed under his breath at the stubborn egg whisk, Clara emerged from the hallway, her curiosity piqued.
"You're up early," she said with a small smile, leaning against the doorway.
Benjamin turned, a spatula in hand, looking almost sheepish. "I thought I'd give you a break and cook you breakfast. No promises it'll be edible."
Clara giggled softly. "I appreciate the effort. Need help?"
"Stay right there," Benjamin said firmly. "This is my treat."
Clara relented, sitting at the kitchen island and watching him work. Despite his initial struggles, Benjamin managed to whip up a simple yet hearty breakfast. They shared the meal together, exchanging laughter and stolen glances that slowly chipped away at the lingering unease.
---
The rest of the day was calm. Clara tended to her flowers in the greenhouse, finding solace among the vibrant blooms. Benjamin, meanwhile, locked himself in his study, engrossed in paperwork and strategy. He had received an unsettling report from Marcus earlier that morning.
The Blackstone Crew had gone silent after their defeat at the docks. Too silent. For an organization as brazen as theirs, such quiet was unnatural. Benjamin suspected they were regrouping, plotting something far more dangerous.
"Marcus," Benjamin called as his enforcer entered the study. "Anything new from our sources?"
Marcus shook his head. "Nothing yet, but I don't trust this silence. It's the calm before the storm."
Benjamin nodded, his expression grim. "Keep our men on high alert. If the Blackstone Crew makes a move, I want to know immediately."
"Understood," Marcus replied, then hesitated. "There's one more thing. We intercepted a strange message last night. It wasn't from the Blackstone Crew, but it mentioned you by name."
Benjamin's brow furrowed. "What did it say?"
Marcus handed him a slip of paper with the decoded message: "The king's crown will fall when the flower wilts."
Benjamin clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning the cryptic words. It was a veiled threat, one that seemed to target both him and Clara.
"Find out who sent this," he ordered. "And double Clara's security. I don't want her leaving the mansion until we know what we're dealing with."
---
That evening, Clara noticed Benjamin's distracted demeanor. He was quieter than usual, his gaze distant even as they shared a candlelit dinner.
"Benjamin," she said softly, placing her hand over his. "What's wrong?"
He hesitated, debating whether to tell her about the message. But the memory of their argument stopped him. He didn't want to risk pushing her further away.
"Just business," he replied with a faint smile. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Clara frowned but decided not to press. She knew better than to believe him, but she also knew he needed time to open up.
---
As the night deepened, Benjamin's unease grew. He patrolled the mansion himself, ensuring every security measure was in place. The quietness of the grounds unsettled him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.
In the greenhouse, Clara worked late, arranging a new bouquet for their bedroom. She found peace among her flowers, the vibrant colors and soft fragrances easing her mind. But tonight, the peaceful atmosphere felt different—heavy, as if the air itself carried a warning.
A faint noise caught her attention. She turned toward the greenhouse doors, her heart skipping a beat. The silhouette of a man stood just beyond the glass, his features obscured by the darkness.
"Who's there?" Clara called out, her voice trembling.
The figure didn't respond but took a step closer, his movements deliberate and unnerving. Clara's instincts screamed at her to run, but her feet felt rooted to the spot.
Suddenly, the glass shattered, and the figure lunged forward. Clara screamed, her bouquet falling to the ground as the man grabbed her arm.
Before she could react, another shadow appeared—a blur of movement that collided with her attacker. Benjamin.
He moved with lethal precision, disarming the intruder in seconds. The man crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain. Benjamin stood over him, his expression dark and menacing.
"Who sent you?" he growled, grabbing the man by the collar.
The intruder coughed, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You think this ends with me? You can't protect her forever, King."
Benjamin's fist tightened, but he refrained from striking. Instead, he called for Marcus, who quickly arrived with two other men to handle the situation.
Clara, still shaken, clung to Benjamin's arm. "What's going on? Who was that man?"
Benjamin hesitated, then looked down at her with a mix of guilt and determination. "It's a message," he said quietly. "And it's only the beginning."
As they left the greenhouse, the shattered glass glinting ominously under the moonlight, a chilling realization settled over them both: the shadows were closing in, and the fight for their lives—and their love—was far from over.