Anya was still trying to figure out who Andres had spoken to when Murray appeared—so silently it was almost unnatural.
Not literally out of thin air, but it felt that way, as if he'd been waiting in some shadowed corner of the house—an ever-present guard who only needed a summons.
Unlike Hans, Murray barely spoke at all, and his handsome face held almost no expression.
He approached Remi with a cold, flat authority. "Come."
Remi trembled so hard she could barely stand. When she walked, her legs looked ready to fold beneath her.
Only after Murray and Remi disappeared did Anya find her voice again.
"Mr. White… did Remi do something wrong?"
Andres sat down with effortless composure, like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Family matters. Outsiders shouldn't involve themselves."
Anya wasn't stupid.
He was making an example, sending a message without ever raising his voice: Don't try that in my house.
Cold sweat prickled along her spine. She hadn't expected her little maneuver to be seen through so quickly.
"Miss Morales," Andres asked, his tone cool, "you're here early. What is it?"
He wasn't in a good mood.
If not for that intercom call, would he and Maeve be upstairs right now doing something he didn't even want to name?
Reason told him to cut it off before it went further.
But he couldn't deny the bitter edge of regret.
Anya sat properly across from him, posture careful.
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