9

The rain hadn't let up. It pressed against the glass in soft waves, the steady sound of it filling every room in the villa. Ellie was finally asleep in the guest room, her breathing even, the exhaustion of her escape catching up to her.

Lea stood by the door, watching her for a moment. There was a strange peace in seeing the young woman finally at rest, her damp hair spread over the pillow, her face softened by sleep. Lea brushed a strand of hair gently off her forehead and whispered, "You're safe now, anak."

Then she stepped out, closing the door quietly behind her.

Rafael was waiting in the hall, his arms folded, leaning against the wall like he'd been standing guard. "She's asleep?"

Lea nodded. "Finally."

They walked back to their room in silence, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down between them. As soon as they entered, Lea went straight to her nightstand, grabbed her phone, and scrolled to a number she'd never thought she'd call again.

Rafael shut the door behind them, the sound soft but final. "Who are you calling?"

Lea didn't answer. Her hands were trembling slightly as she pressed the call button. The ringing filled the room, slow and deliberate.

Rafael frowned. "Lea—who?"

She raised her hand, wordlessly asking him to wait.

"Lea." His voice hardened, tension coiling in his chest. "Tell me."

The call clicked, and an unmistakable voice came through — clear, commanding, and lined with age.

"Lea, dear? It's late. Is Rafael misbehaving again?"

Lea's lips parted, and her composure faltered instantly. "Lola," she said softly, her throat tightening.

On the other side of the line, Beatriz De Torre — Rafael's formidable grandmother and the matriarch of their family — sounded exactly as she always did: regal, sharp, and never asleep, even when the world was.

"That was our agreement, wasn't it?" Beatriz continued, the faint clink of porcelain in the background suggesting she'd been drinking tea, not sleeping. "If my grandson starts acting like a fool, you call me, and I set him straight. So? Has he?"

Lea blinked hard, her eyes stinging. "No," she whispered. "No, lola. He's... he's been good."

Rafael froze. "Lea—" he started, but she turned slightly away, pressing the phone tighter to her ear.

Beatriz's tone softened but didn't lose its edge. "Then why are you calling me at midnight, hija?"

Lea took a shaky breath. "Because I don't know what else to do."

That silenced even Beatriz for a heartbeat. "Tell me," she said finally. "Slowly."

Rafael started to step forward, but Lea held up a hand, wordlessly stopping him. He frowned, but something in her trembling shoulders told him not to push.

"There's this young girl we deeply care for," Lea began, her voice fragile but steady. "She's in trouble. Real trouble. Her family—her father—is after her. He's powerful, and he's angry. And I'm afraid he'll find her before we can keep her safe."

Beatriz's voice dropped, the sharpness now laced with something cold and deliberate. "Who is this man?"

"I can't say," Lea replied quickly. "Not yet. But he has people — men who do his bidding without question. He's looking for her even as we speak."

Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose, pacing silently.

Lea's tears fell quietly now, one after another, sliding down her cheek as she continued. "She came to us tonight, soaking wet, terrified, and alone. She didn't have anywhere else to go. I just—" her voice broke, "—I just want her safe. We all do."

On the other end, Beatriz didn't speak for several seconds. When she did, her voice was calm but laced with that unmistakable authority the De Torres were known for.

"You did the right thing calling me," she said finally. "You always do, Lea. You have better instincts than most of my blood relatives."

Lea let out a trembling breath, gripping the phone tighter. "I didn't know who else to call. I don't want this to reach Liam. He's too young. He can't see or hear any of this."

Beatriz's tone softened further — not warm, exactly, but resolute. "Then he won't. I'll send someone tonight to watch the house. Quietly. Discreetly. No one enters your property without my say-so. Not even Rafael's fool of a security chief."

Rafael muttered under his breath, "I can still hear you, Grandmother."

Beatriz ignored him. "Lea, lock your gates and keep the lights low. Don't open the door for anyone. Not until my people arrive. Understand?"

"Opo, lola."

"And Lea?"

"Po?"

"If this young girl you 'deeply care for' is who I think she is," Beatriz said slowly, her tone suddenly heavy with unspoken meaning, "then you tell her she's under my roof now, whether she knows it or not."

Lea's breath caught. "Thank you, lola."

"I'll be in touch in the morning. Get some rest, hija. And keep my grandson from doing anything reckless. You know how men get when they think they can protect everyone at once."

"Opo, lola," Lea whispered.

The line clicked off.

Lea lowered the phone slowly, tears still spilling down her cheeks. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, but her body was trembling from the weight of everything unspoken.

Rafael stood there, watching her — torn between anger, fear, and helpless admiration. "Lea," he said softly. "What did you tell her?"

Lea looked up, her voice breaking. "Enough. Just enough."

He stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders. "You shouldn't have called her."

She looked up at him, eyes bright with tears and resolve. "You would've argued until it was too late. I couldn't risk that, Paeng. Not with Ellie here. Not with Liam asleep down the hall. I had to do something."

Rafael sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. "She's going to ask questions. She always does."

"I'll handle her," Lea whispered. "But I won't apologize for keeping our family safe."

For a moment, neither of them spoke — the sound of the rain filling the spaces between words.

Finally, Rafael whispered, "You're going to start a war, Lea."

Her answer came without hesitation. "Then let it start — as long as it ends with everyone I love still breathing."

He closed his eyes and drew her into his arms, the both of them trembling — not from fear anymore, but from the dawning realization that the storm outside was nothing compared to the one they had just unleashed.