A Peacock Husband of Five Princesses by day, a Noble Assassin by Night-Chapter 185

Sasha burst out of the restroom, heart hammering so loud she could barely hear the sound of her own heels striking the marble floor.

Ava’s voice echoed faintly from the meeting room, "Sasha? Are you alr—"

But Sasha was already gone, phone pressed to her ear.

"I’m not feeling good," she said quickly, breath uneven. "Get the car ready. Now."

"Wait, what—"

"Just do it, Ava!"

The line went dead.

By the time she reached the lobby, her expression was composed enough for the cameras waiting outside. But her skin was pale, her pupils wide.

The sliding doors opened, and chaos hit instantly.

Flashes. Microphones. Voices.

"Miss Rodriguez, are the rumors about your new project true?"

"Is it true you had an argument with the CEO?" 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Sasha, look here! Just one photo—"

Something inside her snapped.

"Get lost!" she shouted, her voice sharp as glass. "Stop disturbing me!"

The words sliced through the crowd.

The photographers froze, stunned. Then shutters clicked anyway—more frantic, more hungry. Her expression, her tone, her anger—it was all gold.

Within minutes, SashaBreakdown trended online.

Clips, photos, speculation. "Trouble at Luminance?" "Queen Sasha losing her cool?" "Is this her real face?"

By the time the car door shut behind her, Sasha could already see her face on a news alert flashing across her phone screen.

She threw it aside.

Ava glanced at her from the driver’s seat. "What happened back there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Sasha rubbed her temple, her patience fraying. "Just... stop asking questions."

Ava frowned, concerned. "At least let me take you home first—"

"No," Sasha snapped. "Go to Amy’s school. Now."

The command was sharp, almost desperate. Ava hesitated only a second before nodding.

"Alright. Oakridge Primary, right?"

Sasha just nodded, staring out the window. Her fingers trembled in her lap.

The car screeched to a stop in front of Oakridge Primary School. The security guard blinked in surprise at the sight of the nation’s most famous actress rushing toward him.

"Miss Rodriguez—!"

"Later," she said breathlessly, pushing through the gate.

Children’s laughter echoed down the hall. The smell of chalk and crayons filled the air—a world too innocent for the dread clawing at her chest.

Without knocking, Sasha threw open the door of a classroom.

Dozens of young faces turned toward her in startled silence. The teacher froze mid-sentence, marker hovering over the whiteboard.

"Miss Rodriguez?" she stammered. "You can’t just—"

"I’m sorry." Sasha’s voice trembled, though she forced a polite bow. "I apologize for this... this terrible manners in front of your students, but it’s urgent. I can’t wait to ask for permission."

She looked toward a little girl in the second row—dark hair, soft eyes, the same dimples Sasha used to have before fame hardened them.

"I have to take Amelia with me. Right now."

The teacher blinked, flustered, but nodded slowly.

Sasha crossed the room in seconds and grabbed her daughter’s hand.

"Come, Amy."

The little girl tilted her head, confused but calm. "Mommy, wait. Let me pack my books first."

Sasha almost said Forget it, we don’t have time. But when she saw her daughter’s small hands, steady and innocent, she swallowed the words.

"Okay," she murmured, forcing a smile. "Let’s pack them."

Together they stacked notebooks and pencils into the pink backpack. The moment felt painfully normal—too normal.

As they stepped out into the hallway, the principal appeared, smiling politely. "Miss Rodriguez! What a surprise. Is everything alright?"

Sasha straightened, clutching Amy’s hand tighter. "Just... personal matters. I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion."

The principal nodded, though concern flickered in her eyes. "Of course. Take care, both of you."

Amy waved cheerfully. "Bye, Principal Harris!"

The woman waved back, watching them go.

Sasha didn’t look back once.

Outside, the car engine purred softly as they pulled away.

Ava finally asked, "Sasha... where are we going now?"

Sasha stared straight ahead, her reflection trembling faintly in the tinted window.

"Someplace safe," she whispered.

But deep down, she already knew—there was no such place anymore.

Would you like the next Chapter (Chapter 6) to open that night — Sasha hiding in her villa with Amelia, strange signs beginning (like whispers from mirrors, flickering reflections, and Amy saying she’s been "talking to the pretty lady")?

Chapter 6: Lockdown

The car eased into the drive and the iron gate sighed shut behind them. Lights blinked on one by one in the villa—familiar, safe, and suddenly stale. Sasha moved through the foyer like a ghost, heels clicking softer than usual.

She turned to Ava. "Pause everything. For the next few days—no public appearances, no interviews, no shoots. Everything through phone. You handle the field work." Her voice was flat, businesslike. "And send a professional sketch artist. Now. Bring them here."

Ava’s brow creased. "A sketch artist? For what—"

"For faces," Sasha said. She didn’t add from the diner. Ava glanced at her, then nodded and fumbled for her phone.

Sasha locked the door behind them. The heavy bolt thunked home, and for a sliver of a second she felt something like relief—like the lock could keep the dark out.

Amy hugged a stuffed rabbit and hopped up the marble step to her mother’s knee. "Mom, what’s going on? Did something happen at Grandpa’s house?" Her voice held that small person’s worry that expects grownups to have answers.

Sasha dropped to her knees and cupped the girl’s face, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "No, baby. Nothing like that." She brushed a crumb from Amy’s lip. "Mommy’s just... a little sick. For a few days, you have to stay home and be my helper, okay? So I don’t have to worry."

Amy nodded dutifully, the kind of nod that made Sasha’s throat tighten. "Okay. I’ll help." She tucked her rabbit’s ear behind her shoulder and trotted off to the living room to draw.

Later, over a quiet dinner—pasta left from a caterer, reheated and still good enough—Sasha’s phone buzzed. The CEO’s name flashed: Luminance — Mr. Halloran.

She swallowed and picked up. "Hello?"

"Miss Rodriguez," his warm voice slid through the line. "I heard about this afternoon. Are you—are you all right?"

Sasha held her fork a moment. She could hear the polite hum of his office in the background. "I’m fine. Just... overwhelmed."

He didn’t press. "I also heard you asked for a sketch artist. If you feel there’s any threat—anyone—tell me. I’ll place security quietly. Whatever you need, we’ll work in secret."

Her chest tightened. The memory of the mirror’s words—seven days—pressed at her skull. She let it out in a breath. "If you want to help me—then help me find a diner called the M Table."

There was a pause on the other end. "M Table? I’m not familiar with that name."

"It’s just a roadside diner. Don’t ask questions about who or what. Just find one and send someone there." Her voice dropped, urgent now. "Also—I’ll send sketches of a man and a woman. Use your contacts. Find them."

The silence this time carried weight. Then, quietly: "Understood. I’ll start making calls. Keep everything to yourself for now. We’ll be discreet."

Sasha let the smallest, most fragile relief slip through. "Thank you."

"Rest, Miss Rodriguez. We’ll handle it." He hung up before she could answer.

She set the phone down and stared at the dimmed city beyond the balcony. Amelia’s small footsteps padded back into the kitchen with a crayon-stained page. Sasha reached for the sketches she’d promised to send—old screenshots from her memory, quick lines she’d scribbled on a napkin—and smoothed them with trembling fingers.

Seven days. The number felt like a countdown she hadn’t signed up for. She folded the napkin and tucked it into her coat pocket as if hiding it from the world.

Outside, the city breathed on, unaware. Inside, Sasha kept watch.

Chapter 7: The Gentleman at the Piano

The clock on the nightstand blinked 12:03 a.m.

Outside, the city slept under a mist of light, and inside the villa, everything was still—except for a faint sound.

Plink.

Plink–plink.

A piano.

Low and deliberate, like someone was testing each note for its soul.

Sasha’s eyes flew open. Her body tensed before her mind caught up. She turned her head—Amy lay curled beside her, breathing softly, clutching her stuffed rabbit.

Another note rang out.

Then a slow, elegant melody filled the air—beautiful, haunting, wrong.

Sasha slipped from the bed as quietly as she could. Her bare feet met the cold floor. Every step toward the door felt heavier than the last. She cracked it open just enough to see the golden light flickering from the living room.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the switch.

The lights flared to life.

And there he was.

Sitting at her grand piano like he owned the place—the same man from six years ago, the one who had offered her dreams in a glass of Spiritwine.

Devilishly handsome, dark hair falling just right, a faint smile curling his lips. His fingers glided across the keys, coaxing out a tune that felt ancient and mocking.

Sasha froze. Her breath hitched. "Who—who are you...?"