The chair felt colder than it should have as Jackson lowered himself onto the wrought-iron seat opposite Elara. He should have left. He should have walked away, but after hearing Elara say she knew who his mother was, a truth he’d clawed at for decades, he couldn’t. Not now.Growing up as a young boy, his mother’s name had always been a ghost. And every question Jackson had dared to ask as a boy had been met with a cold deflection or a tighter curfew. Eventually, he stopped asking. But the wondering never died.Elara poured a second cup of tea — her movements slow and deliberate, every motion steeped in a quiet authority that made Jackson’s skin prickle. The delicate porcelain clinked against the cracked marble table as she slid the cup toward him. Her fingernails tapped once against the rim like a signal only she understood.“Drink, if you’d like,” she said softly, her smile as precise as a scalpel’s edge. “It soothes the nerves. And tonight, Jackson… you will find you need your nerv

Jackson pushed open the door to his room, his thoughts still half-stuck in the way Mr. Copper had dismissed the need to dig deeper into his mother's case. It was unlike the Mr. Copper he knew who'd do anything to help in such a situation. And even if Mr. Copper didn't want to make it appear so obvious, Jackson could still tell that there was more to what Mr. Copper knew about his parents than he was letting on.Mr. Copper himself, had once told him that he was there when he was born, and if that was true, he must have known who his mother was.Bella stepped in behind him, closing the door softly. She lingered by the kitchen counter as Jackson shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the armrest. He didn’t bother to hide the frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, pacing to the window and back again.“Jackson,” Bella said gently, folding her arms, watching him. “Talk to me. What’s still twisting you up? Was it what she said about your mother?”Jackson stopped pacing. He turne

Away from the low hum of the old glasshouse’s ruined garden, Jackson stood under the broken iron arch, the paper trembling slightly in his fingers. In his hand, the note was crisp — fresh ink, folded once with the careful neatness of someone who wanted him to know they were close enough to slip it into his pocket without him noticing.He had told Bella he needed to put a call through to Mr. Jerry Haas over a deal with a foreign investor who had shown interest in partnering with the Harts.He read the words again, each one cutting through the haze that Elara’s cryptic stories had wrapped around him only moments before:She knows the truth. So do we. You’re not safe here.At the bottom, instead of a name, there was the same crescent moon just like he had seen on the mask of the person who had slipped the note into his pocket.He could still hear the echo of Elara’s voice drifting through the garden ruins behind him. Her stories had been spun like silk — hints of his father’s secrets, w

The corridor outside Celestine’s hospital room was hushed except for the faint shuffle of nurses changing shifts and the rhythmic beeping of monitors behind every closed door. Jackson paused just outside her room, flanked by Bella, James, Andrew and Hailey, who had tagged along after the masquerade party. The quiet energy between them was thick and none of them had spoken much during the drive here, each lost in their own thoughts.He pushed the door open gently, bracing himself for the familiar sight of Celestine resting, still fighting her way back from the brink. But what he saw instead rooted him to the spot.Celestine was awake. Sitting upright against crisp pillows, her hair pulled back loosely. The sharp, clinical light of the room caught on something gleaming at her wrist — a delicate, unmistakably expensive bracelet that didn’t belong in this drab hospital setting.Her tired eyes brightened when she saw him. “Jackson,” she rasped, her voice still rough but steadier than it h

Jackson hadn’t meant to sleep, but sometime after dawn he woke in the stiff hospital chair beside Celestine’s bed, his coat draped half over her blanket like a makeshift shield against the cold air of the ward. The scent of antiseptic mixed with the faint sweetness of the lilies Elara had left behind. He blinked the grit of sleep from his eyes, listening to the steady beep of Celestine’s monitor — a small mercy that she was still here, still breathing.He flexed his fingers and reached for her wrist again, grounding himself in the quiet, stubborn pulse that reminded him what was still worth fighting for.The door clicked softly behind him. Jackson turned to see Mr. Copper step inside, his coat still on as if he’d never really left his post in the hallway. The old man’s eyes swept over Celestine, then settled on Jackson — sharp, restless, carrying something heavy that didn’t belong in the calm hum of the ICU.“You look like hell,” Copper said flatly, though there was a flicker of reli