2025-08-26 16:35:36Lana couldn’t move.
The man in the shadows stood tall, his features carved sharp by the dim light. His tailored suit fit like armor, every inch of him precise, controlled, dangerous. And yet—his eyes. His eyes were the same haunting grey as the boy in the painting. And they were staring directly at her. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, his voice calm but cold, as if he were calculating every breath. Lana’s fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. “You’re Greyson Thompson?” A pause. His eyes flicked to the painting behind her, then back to her face. “I go by Grey,” he said slowly. “No one calls me Greyson anymore.” There was something unspoken in his tone—something dark and unfinished. Lana took a half step back, her instincts coiling tighter with each word. “This is… some kind of mistake,” she said, her voice quieter than she intended. “I got a letter. No signature. No explanation. Just an address and a name.” He didn’t answer. He just stared. Lana hated silence. Especially the kind that felt like it held answers hostage. “I shouldn’t be here,” she added, turning slightly toward the door. “This isn’t what I thought—” “You’re not leaving.” His voice was calm, but the finality in it made her freeze. “What?” Her heart stuttered. “You were summoned by guardianship,” Grey said. “That means you’re bound to fulfill the terms of the contract.” Lana turned back toward him, her confusion boiling into anger. “I haven’t signed a damn thing. I don’t know you. I didn’t agree to any of this. And if you think you can trap someone with a wax seal and a ride in a fancy car—” “I don’t want this either.” He stepped into the light, and something shifted in his expression. “Trust me.” It caught her off guard—those last two words. Trust me. As if he already knew she wouldn’t. As if he didn’t expect to be believed. “I didn’t summon you,” he said. “I was summoned too.” Lana’s voice dropped. “By who?” “The people who still pull strings in this family.” His jaw tightened. “They arranged this years ago. We were just children.” Her mind whirled. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why me?” Grey stepped closer. His eyes moved over her slowly, like he was seeing something more than what stood in front of him. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “But I intend to find out.” Lana’s pulse raced. “So this is real? This whole thing? The marriage, the contract, the mansion—it’s all actually happening?” He gave a slight nod. “Unless one of us finds a way to undo it.” Her breath hitched. A long silence settled between them, broken only by the distant ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway. Then she asked the question she hadn’t dared voice since entering the house. “That painting,” she said. “The one in the foyer. Those children. Who are they?” Grey didn’t answer at first. He looked past her, toward the hall she’d just come through. Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of memory, maybe, or a doubt he didn’t want to name. “I used to think they were portraits,” he said quietly. “But now I’m not sure they aren’t real.” She blinked. “You mean… us?” He didn’t nod. He didn’t deny it either. Lana took a step closer, her voice a whisper. “That girl… she has my eyes.” Grey met her gaze again. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hollow. “I noticed.” The air shifted. For a moment, the mansion seemed to shrink around her, its high ceilings closing in, its elegant walls suddenly oppressive. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t belong here,” she said softly. “Neither do I,” he replied. They stood in silence. The kind of silence that came before thunder. Then he turned and motioned toward a side hallway. “You’ll be staying in the east wing. Third floor. There’s staff on call if you need anything.” “That’s it?” she asked. “You’re just sending me to bed like this is summer camp?” He didn’t smile. “You’ll need rest.” “For what?” “For what comes next.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. Whatever this was, it wasn’t over. As he walked away, Lana stood frozen at the base of the staircase, her mind racing. Her thoughts looped around a single word from the painting’s plaque. Thompson. She’d never used that name. Never known anyone with it. And yet— Alana Thompson. Why did that name feel like it had always belonged to her? She didn’t notice the butler return until he cleared his throat beside her. “Miss Rey,” he said gently, “your room is prepared.” She followed him in silence up the long staircase, her hand grazing the carved banister as she climbed. Every step echoed like a countdown. At the top, he gestured to a massive door with golden inlays. “You will be safe here.” Safe. Lana stepped inside, and the door closed softly behind her. The room was too large, too quiet. Heavy curtains blocked out the moonlight. She moved toward the vanity, touching the edges of old perfume bottles and framed photos that weren’t hers. In the mirror, she saw her own face. Then—just for a moment—she saw someone else standing behind her. A girl. Same face. Same eyes. But younger. Gone in a blink.
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Chapter Nineteen : The House That Shouldn’t Breathe
The morning came with a sky the color of pewter. The air was heavy, not with rain, but with the strange kind of stillness that makes the world feel as though it’s holding its breath.Lana stood at the edge of the gravel drive, the estate behind her, a small travel satchel clutched in one hand. Grey was already at the motorcar, inspecting the straps that held their supplies. His movements were deliberate, his expression unreadable.“You’re sure we can’t wait another day?” she asked, pulling her coat tighter against the chill.His glance was brief but decisive. “Every day we wait is another day someone else might find what we’re looking for.”She almost said, And another day I could pretend this wasn’t happening. But instead, she stepped into the passenger seat.The road to Willowmarch was long and uneven, flanked by thick woods that grew denser the farther they drove. The bare branches seemed to claw at the sky, and every now and then the shadow of a crow passed over the windshield.“H
Chapter Eighteen – Shadows in the Silver
The rain had stopped by evening, leaving the Thompson estate wrapped in a damp hush. The air smelled faintly of moss and wet stone, and the last of the storm clouds dragged themselves away across a bruised sky. In the library, firelight cast a low amber glow over the walls, where the leather-bound books stood in regimented silence.Lana sat on the edge of the chaise, her knees drawn slightly together, fingers curled around the delicate stem of a wineglass she’d barely touched. Across from her, Grey leaned against the mantel, the flames painting his profile in shifting light. Between them, resting on the low table, lay the locket.She hadn’t expected him to bring it out again. Since finding it that morning, he had kept it close, as though the small tarnished thing could burn him if left unattended.“It’s old,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Older than you, older than me… but it feels alive somehow.”Grey’s gaze didn’t leave the locket. “It was my mother’s. She never spoke much ab
Chapter Seventeen : Shadows Between Us
The rain had passed in the night, leaving the Thompson estate washed in a pale, reluctant dawn. Mist curled low over the lawns, clinging to the edges of the hedgerows like it feared to let go. Somewhere beyond the eastern wing, the river whispered faintly, its steady rhythm a contrast to the taut silence between them.Lana had been up before sunrise. She told herself it was the damp air that kept her from sleeping, but in truth, it was the weight of unspoken thoughts. The locket, and what it might mean, still pulsed at the edges of her mind — but she had resolved not to think about it. Not now. Not yet. She needed a day where the past didn’t have its claws in her.Grey was already in the breakfast room when she arrived, his posture sharp even in casual clothes. A silver coffee pot steamed on the table between them. He didn’t look up immediately; instead, he tapped the edge of his cup, the sound precise, deliberate.“You were awake early,” she said, settling opposite him.His gaze flic
Chapter Sixteen – Echoes in the Stillness
The first light of morning spilled through the heavy velvet curtains, a pale gold that softened the cold edges of the Thompson estate. Outside, the grounds were still slick with last night’s rain, the air sharp and clean, as though the storm had scoured away every trace of dust and sound.Lana stood by the tall window, her hands cupped around the porcelain warmth of her tea. She could still smell the faint trace of woodsmoke on her clothes from the cabin — that single, flickering fire they had kept through the long hours of thunder and wind. It was strange, how quickly the world could change. One night of isolation, of whispered words and careful silences, and now they were back inside walls lined with chandeliers and old oil paintings that seemed to watch her every move.She heard the faint creak of the door behind her and didn’t need to turn to know it was Grey. There was something distinct about his presence — not just the sound of his footsteps, but the way the air seemed to tight
Chapter Fifteen: Storms
The storm had only deepened through the night. Rain lashed against the warped cabin walls in relentless sheets, each gust of wind making the timbers groan. Inside, the air smelled faintly of damp wood and smoke from the struggling fire in the small stone hearth.Lana sat on the low bench beside it, rubbing her chilled hands together. Her damp skirt clung to her knees, the hem heavy from the downpour. Grey stood near the doorway, his shoulders filling the space as he looked out into the blackness beyond the warped frame. The light from the hearth cast his profile in bronze and shadow.“You’re shivering,” he said, his voice low but cutting through the storm.“I’m fine,” she lied, though her fingers trembled.He crossed the small room, the floorboards creaking under his weight, and shrugged off his heavy coat. “You’ll wear this,” he said, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest. It was warm, smelling faintly of cedar and something darker—him. She swallowed hard, feeling th
Chapter Fourteen: The Letter
The name hit Grey like a blow to the ribs.His mother had been dead for over a decade. He’d stood over her casket, felt the cold finality of the moment. So either this was an elaborate game, or someone had just detonated the past in his face.The man didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him as if he already belonged in the room. His shoes didn’t even squeak on the marble — expensive leather, broken in. Everything about him spoke of precision.“I was told,” the man said, “to deliver this directly into your hands. And to tell you — you’d know the truth when you read it.”Grey took the envelope but didn’t open it. His eyes stayed locked on the man. “And who told you that?”“I already answered that.” The stranger’s gaze flicked briefly toward Lana. “I wasn’t informed you’d have company.”Lana didn’t move from the doorway, but the weight of his look pressed on her like a hand on the back of her neck.“Maybe you should tell us your name,” she said
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