marked by midnight: the enemy's heiress-Chapter 49 : Discovering the truth

And then it hit her.

Livia’s eyes lit up, the corners of her lips curling into a slow, mischievous grin—the kind that usually meant trouble for everyone involved. Ryan noticed it instantly.

"Oh no," he said warily. "Whatever that face means, stop."

She turned to him. "Do you know the passcode?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. "No. No, no, no. Absolutely not, Livia. I am not doing this."

Her grin widened. "Oh. That means you do know it."

He took a step back. "That is not what that means."

"Open it," she said casually, like she was asking him to pass the salt.

"No," he snapped, lowering his voice. "It’s wrong. It’s illegal. It’s unethical. They’ll get us arrested."

She tilted her head, thinking for half a second. "If you don’t open it," she said sweetly, "I’ll get you arrested."

He stared at her. "What?"

"By Cassian," she added.

His jaw tightened immediately. "Mr. Draymond has nothing to do with this. Keep him out of it. Do you get that?"

She raised both hands in surrender—fake surrender. "Relax. I’m not dragging him into this." Then, softer but firmer, "Just open it. I’ll go in, check what they’re doing, and come back. Two minutes. Max."

Ryan laughed under his breath, incredulous. "You know what they’re doing. Why do you even want to witness it? Just to see it with your own eyes, you’re ready to risk everything?"

She met his gaze without flinching. "Yes."

He searched her face, hoping to find hesitation. There was none. Just stubborn resolve and that dangerous spark of curiosity. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"Don’t be so scared, Mr. Ryan Hale," she whispered dramatically, stepping closer. "Now open it before I snap your head."

He let out a long, defeated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "You’re unbelievable."

"And yet," she smiled, "here you are."

He nodded slowly. "Okay. I know the passcode." He hesitated. "I don’t know if she changed it."

Her eyes gleamed. "But?"

"But if it’s the same as years ago," he said quietly, "then... this is it."

He stepped toward the door, fingers hovering near the keypad, the weight of old memories pressing down hard—regret, betrayal, and now this reckless moment pulled straight out of his past.

Livia leaned in slightly, heart pounding, whispering, "See? Trust issues solved the old-fashioned way."

Ryan shot her a look. "This better not ruin my life."

She smirked. "Relax. Mine’s already ruined. You’re just visiting."

He scoffed dramatically—and then the door clicked open.

Livia’s eyes immediately lit up as Ryan slowly pushed the door inward. She slipped in right behind him, practically vibrating with curiosity.

"Wow," she whispered, looking around. "It’s... pretty big."

"Shh," Ryan hissed instantly, glancing over his shoulder like the walls themselves might snitch.

She froze—just for a second.

Then she heard it.

Low voices. Too close. Too familiar.

Her head snapped toward the sound, and before Ryan could grab her sleeve, she was already moving, tiptoeing toward the hallway like this was a late-night reality show and she’d paid front-row tickets.

"Livia—" he whispered urgently, reaching for her.

Too late.

As she turned the corner, her elbow clipped a small decorative vase on the side table.

Crash.

The sound echoed much louder than it had any right to.

"Huh?" came a voice from inside.

Livia’s breath caught.

Ryan didn’t think. He reacted.

In one swift motion, he crossed the distance, grabbed her firmly by the waist, lifted her clean off the ground like she weighed nothing, and clamped his other hand over her mouth. She let out a muffled sound of protest as he dragged her backward and ducked behind a large piece of furniture.

Her back hit his chest. His arm stayed tight around her middle. His palm covered her mouth completely.

"Don’t. Move," he whispered directly into her ear, his voice low and sharp.

Her eyes went wide—not just with fear, but with something else she absolutely refused to name.

They stayed frozen like that, barely breathing.

Footsteps sounded closer. A shadow passed by. Someone muttered something irritated, then the footsteps faded again.

Ryan didn’t loosen his grip immediately. He waited. Counted silently. Listened.

Only when the apartment fell quiet again did he finally exhale.

He leaned in, whispering, "Are you trying to get us caught?"

She nodded against his hand, eyes sparkling with adrenaline.

He slowly removed his palm from her mouth but kept his arm around her waist. "you drop one more thing," he murmured, "and I’m leaving you here as evidence."

She whispered back, barely containing a grin, "Worth it."

He groaned silently.

"Okay," she whispered suddenly, forcing a smile as she turned to him. "Let’s go now."

Ryan blinked. "All of a sudden?"

"Yes." She nodded, already tugging at his sleeve. "Now."

They took a few steps, then she stopped short. Her expression shifted. "My purse," she murmured. "I left it behind the furniture. Stay here."

Before he could argue, she slipped back.

Ryan stayed frozen on the stair landing, heart thudding, already regretting every life choice that had brought him here. Seconds stretched. Too long.

Then she saw it.

She froze where she stood, purse half in her hand. Through the gap, through the half-open door, there they were—Jason and Nina, tangled together, careless, intimate. The sounds followed, unmistakable. Real. Ugly in their honesty.

Her chest tightened. Her throat burned.

She didn’t linger. She couldn’t.

Livia turned away immediately, clutching her purse like an anchor, and walked back out. Her face was pale now, her smile gone, eyes fixed on the floor as if it had personally betrayed her. She brushed past Ryan without a word, pulling the door shut behind them as quietly as before, and started down the stairs.

Ryan followed, slower this time. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. One look at her stiff shoulders told him everything.

Outside, the night air felt heavier than before.

She walked straight to the car and reached for the driver’s door.

"Livia," he said gently, stepping closer. "Let me drive."

She didn’t look at him. She simply moved aside and slid into the passenger seat. As soon as he got in and shut the door, she let out a breath—and then laughed.

A sharp, hollow laugh.

"That’s really funny," she said, staring straight ahead. "Honestly. What a joke. Forget it. That idiot." She laughed again, louder this time, like it was supposed to erase something. Like if she laughed hard enough, it wouldn’t hurt.

Ryan didn’t start the car.

He turned toward her, studying her face—the way her jaw trembled, the way her hands clenched in her lap.

"Stop," he said quietly.

She kept smiling.

"Livia. Stop it."

Her laugh faltered.

"Don’t do this," he continued, voice steady but firm. "Don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re clearly not. You’re allowed to feel this. You’re allowed to feel sad. You’re allowed to feel angry. Betrayed. Stupid. Hurt." He paused, softer now. "You don’t have to perform strength for anyone. Not for me."

Her smile cracked.

She inhaled sharply, like she’d been holding her breath for hours, and then her face collapsed. She brought her hands up, covering her face as the first sob broke free—raw and unfiltered. Her shoulders shook as she cried, the kind of crying that came from somewhere deep, where jokes and sarcasm couldn’t reach.

Ryan stayed silent. He didn’t rush her. He just leaned slightly closer, steady presence, letting her cry it out—because sometimes that was the bravest thing anyone could do.

A moment later, she slowly lifted her face from her hands. Her eyes were red and glassy, lashes clumped together, nose sniffing as she tried to steady her breathing. She hated how exposed she felt—but she hated pretending even more.

Ryan reached into his pocket and held out a neatly folded handkerchief without a word.

She hesitated for half a second, then took it. "Thanks," she murmured, dabbing at her eyes, then her nose, embarrassed but too tired to care. The fabric smelled faintly clean—soap and something neutral—and for some reason, that small normal detail grounded her.

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile as he finally started the car. The engine hummed to life, filling the silence gently instead of breaking it.

"I’ll drop you home," he said, not phrased as a question.

She didn’t argue. She just leaned back into the seat, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. Her chest still felt tight, but the sharp edge of the pain had dulled into something quieter—heavy, but survivable. The kind that sat with you instead of knocking you over.

Neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward this time. It was the kind that let wounds breathe.

Behind them, high above the street, Jason stood on a balcony. Bare torso exposed to the night air, cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his face. His expression was unreadable as he watched the car pull away, its taillights disappearing into the distance.

"So," he muttered to himself, exhaling slowly, eyes narrowing.

"She was here. He smirked "interesting."