Chapter 4 Mischievous Little Brother

• Tara’s apartment was eerily quiet, the door left ajar as if it had been waiting for her. Her sharp gaze flickered over the entrance, her instincts kicking in. With a deliberate motion, she kicked the door open, the sound echoing like a warning shot.
• Tara: "You’ve got three seconds to step out, or I’ll make you regret this for your whole life I swear. Staying in here will become your biggest mistake for life."
• Her voice was calm, cutting through the stillness like the edge of a blade. She took a step inside, her hand instinctively grazing her concealed weapon.
• Then came a familiar voice from the shadows, warm and playful but with a hint of mischief.
• Lyon: "No need to get violent, sis. It’s just me, your charming little brother, Lyon."
• He stepped into the light, leaning casually against the doorframe of the other room, his signature grin plastered across his face. The sight of him did little to soften Tara’s expression; her eyes remained cold and calculating.
• Tara: "How many times do I have to tell you, Lyon? Don’t come here uninvited. It’s not somewhere you should be, and I don’t need you messing around in my space."
• Lyon shrugged, completely unfazed by her icy tone.
• Lyon: "You weren’t at the office, and the mansion’s as dead as a graveyard. So, I figured you’d be here. And everywhere you go is somewhere I should be or should I say I can go because I know there is no one who can touch a single strand of my hair (saying this there was a silly smile on his face) By the way You’ve been out, haven’t you?"
• His eyes flicked over her outfit, noting the dark stains across the fabric. His grin widened.
• Lyon: "Another hunt? You know, you’re really good at this whole ‘mysterious assassin’ thing, but you’re terrible at keeping clean. Going out like that might give the wrong impression."
• Tara stepped closer, her movements deliberate and almost predatory. Her tone dropped, each word laced with warning.
• Tara: "This is not some sort of a game, Lyon. Stop meddling in my business. My work has nothing to do with you."
• But Lyon didn’t move, his grin shifting into something softer, though no less mischievous.
• Lyon: "And your life? Does that have anything to do with me or it's also the same? Because from where I’m coming, I can clearly see that you’ve been shutting me out from your work, your side, and even your life and it's not like a day or a months it's been same for years. Is it that bad to want to know the truth? Or are you just too scared to let me in?"
• Tara’s eyes flared with a mix of anger and something else she wouldn’t name.
• Tara: "You think this is about fear? It’s about keeping you alive, safe and..... (she stopped for a second and said) Every time you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, you make my job harder. And one day, it’s going to get you either killed or vanished from old man and Jack's life."
• Lyon’s grin faded completely this time, replaced by a rare seriousness. He straightened from the doorframe, taking a step toward her.
• Lyon: "And what about you, Sis? If I am gonna vanished from their life then I am gonna vanished from your life too. Or am I such a big problem in your life that it doesn't really matter to you that if I am dead or alive.
• Tara just sees toward Lyon like she didn't expected such words from him her features soften a bit but within a second she said in a bitter tone.
• Tara: there is always a limit to everything you do and say Lyon so just shut up and go back to the mansion I will meet you there.
• Lyon: "Who’s keeping you alive? You think you can carry this alone forever, but even you have limits."
• Her hand tightened into a fist at her side. The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken words.
• Tara: "I don’t have limits, Lyon. That’s why I’m still standing right here and not doing anything, and that’s why you need to leave."
• Lyon tilted his head, studying her as if searching for cracks in her armor.
• Lyon: Why do you always greet me with such harsh words when You know they can't harm me?
• Tara: Go back Lyon right now and no more funny business.
• Lyon: "You say that, but I see through you, sis. You can push me away all you want, but we both know there’s only one place you ever go when you’re not wearing the mask. The place where you’re... someone else entirely. Let me come with you this time."
• Tara’s gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.
• Tara: "Are you blackmailing me, Lyon?"
• He laughed softly, but there was an edge to it.
• Lyon: "Not blackmail. Call it... persuasion. I know you better than anyone, and you know that. We share a few secrets, don’t we? Ones I’ve never told anyone."
• Tara took another step forward, and the space between them was now almost nonexistent. Her voice was like ice, but her eyes betrayed the storm raging beneath.
• Tara: "And maybe it’s time you learned that secrets can get you killed."
• Lyon didn’t back down. He met her gaze head-on, his own eyes softening with familiarity, even as he refused to budge.
• Lyon: "Fine. I’ll go. But you and I both know this isn’t over. Push me away all you want, but one day, you’ll need me. And when that day comes, I’ll be there, whether you like it or not."
• He turned and walked toward the door, but just before leaving, he glanced back over his shoulder.
• Lyon: "Oh, and sis... maybe try being human for a minute. It suits you."
• As the door clicked shut behind him, Tara stood in silence, her hands gripping the counter until her knuckles turned white. His words clung to her, stirring emotions she’d long since buried.
• She looked at her reflection in the glass window—no mask, no armour, just the person she couldn’t afford to be.
• Tara: "One day, Lyon, you’ll understand why you can’t follow me."
• Her voice was barely a whisper, spoken to the empty room as though it might make the weight of her choices easier to bear. But the silence only pressed heavier, a quiet reminder that some truths were never meant to be shared.
• Tara sat alone in the dimly lit room, her shoulders tense as her eyes drifted over the collage of pictures scattered on the walls and the desk before her. The photos were faded, some curling at the edges, each a window to a past she could barely bring herself to remember.
• A picture of two children—herself and Lyon—caught her gaze. Their faces were lit with innocent laughter, long before the darkness of their lives consumed them. She brushed her fingertips over it, her expression unreadable, though a storm of emotions raged beneath the surface.
• The weight of her memories pressed her down until her head rested against the back of the chair. Her eyelids grew heavy, and before she could fight it, sleep pulled her under.
• The rich aroma of spices and sizzling food stirred Tara awake. She blinked, her senses sharpening instantly as the smell filled her apartment. Confused, she grabbed her weapon from the desk and crept toward the kitchen, every muscle tensed.
• When she turned the corner, she froze.
• There he was—Lyon—standing in her kitchen, humming a soft tune as he stirred a pan on the stove. He was wearing her apron, the one she hadn’t touched in years, and the sight of it on him nearly made her laugh. Nearly.
• Tara: "Lyon."
• Her voice was sharp, cutting through the serene scene like a knife. Lyon turned casually, holding a spatula in one hand, an unapologetic grin plastered across his face.
• Lyon: "Morning, sunshine. Or should I say, evening? You really should lock your doors better. Anyone could waltz right in."
• Tara crossed her arms, her glare sharp enough to pierce steel.
• Tara: "You’re in my house. Again. And I locked my door well enough but I guess still some mouse can enter in easily."
• Lyon: "And you’re welcome." He gestured to the stove. "I figured you wouldn’t bother feeding yourself, so here I the mouse, saving you from starvation. You can thank me later."
• Tara’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, lowering her weapon but not her guard.
• Tara: "Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want you here?"
• Lyon: "Sure, but I stopped listening to you years ago. Besides, someone has to look after you. You’re not exactly the ‘warm, home-cooked meal’ type."
• She leaned against the counter, watching him flip something in the pan with practised ease.
• Tara: "You’re not my babysitter, Lyon."
• Lyon smirked, sprinkling a pinch of salt over the dish.
• Lyon: "No, but I’m your brother. That’s close enough. Because once you took care of me like a babysitter but did I say something like this to you? Did I?"
• She sighed, the fight in her tone softening slightly as the smell of food made her stomach betray her. She hadn’t eaten all day, but she wouldn’t admit that to him.
• Tara: "What are you even making?"
• Lyon: "Pasta. Simple, quick, delicious. Something even you can’t complain about." He turned off the stove and plated the food with surprising care, sliding the plate toward her.
• Lyon: "Sit. Eat. Scold me later."
• Tara hesitated but eventually pulled out a chair, sitting down with a reluctant sigh. She eyed the plate, the warmth and aroma reminding her of simpler times. Times she’d tried to forget.
• Lyon leaned against the counter, watching her with a satisfied grin as she took the first bite.
• Lyon: "Good, right? You’re welcome."
• Tara: "It’s... edible." Her words were clipped, but the faintest flicker of a smile tugged at her lips.
• Lyon chuckled, grabbing a second plate for himself and sitting across from her.
• Lyon: "You know, you could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I did break into your apartment and cook for you, after all."
• Tara shot him a look, but there was no real anger behind it.
• Tara: "Breaking in isn’t exactly something to brag about."
• Lyon: "Sure it is. It’s a skill. You should be proud of me."
• The tension in the air began to ease, the warmth of the food and the familiarity of their banter pulling them into a rare moment of peace. For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the faint clink of utensils against plates.
• Finally, Lyon broke the quiet.
• Lyon: "You know, sis, you don’t always have to carry the world on your shoulders. You’ve got me. Whether you like it or not."
• Tara paused, her fork hovering mid-air as she glanced up at him. His tone was light, but his eyes held a sincerity that was impossible to ignore.
• Tara: "I don’t need anyone."
• Lyon leaned back, crossing his arms with a small, knowing smile.
• Lyon: "Keep telling yourself that. One day, you might actually believe it."
• Tara didn’t respond, her gaze dropping back to her plate. But something in her chest softened—just a little.
• As Lyon started rambling about his “culinary skills” and how he was single-handedly saving her from a life of takeout, Tara let herself relax, if only for a moment. The weight of her secrets and the world she carried didn’t feel as crushing with him here, even if she’d never admit it.