A Week Later.
As Helen expected, the concert was already big. Her mother, Bianca Percy Scott, of a noble lineage, would settle for nothing less than a royal party worthy of her high social status to celebrate her 25th wedding anniversary. Bianca, who always took pride in her blue blood, traced her ancestry back to noble English forebears, and her title of countess, acquired through her marriage to Count Henry Scott Graham, himself descended from one of Scotland's most distinguished and ancient royal families, only added to her sense of superiority.
Helen paused momentarily in front of the opulent reception hall, its massive antique chandelier casting shadows over the carefully placed artworks and sculptures that adorned the space with unparalleled elegance. She took a deep breath before stepping inside, her gaze sweeping over the sea of faces—people of various ages and nationalities mingled throughout the room.
In truth, she recognized few of them and cared even less to know who they were. Her eyes were solely focused on finding one particular person—her mother. It didn't take long to spot her. Bianca stood arm in arm with her husband, conversing with two close friends and their wives in the center of the room. Helen recognized the group immediately, and without hesitation, she moved toward them, fully aware of the admiring glances that followed her as she walked. Her tall, statuesque figure moved gracefully within the flowing silk of her turquoise gown. The dress clung to her slender waist and highlighted her bare ivory shoulders, while her fiery hair, elegantly pinned up with a few loose strands framing her oval face, accentuated her striking features. A diamond necklace encircled her long, graceful neck, adding the final touch to her stunning appearance.
Finally, Helen came to a stop a few steps away from her parents, observing them as a wave of anxiety washed over her. This cursed feeling always seemed to overwhelm her whenever she was near the woman who had given her life.
Her mother looked as elegant as ever, wearing a regal blue velvet gown draped smoothly over her slender frame. Her blonde hair was styled sophisticatedly, highlighting her angular features and the icy beauty of her face. Yet, as always, there was an air of coldness about her, with her blue eyes reflecting nothing but the frosty nature of her soul.
Helen moved closer, focusing solely on her father's calm, composed expression. He appeared dignified in his formal black suit, adorned with a few inherited medals that symbolized his noble heritage and family prestige.
"Happy anniversary, Father," Helen said with a confident smile, drawing on the warm expression that lit up her father's face as soon as he noticed her.
"Happy to see you, my dear," he replied, his voice filled with genuine affection.
She smiled as she leaned in to gently kiss his kind cheek before turning to her mother with a slight nod of her head.
"Happy anniversary, Mother," she offered her congratulations.
As was typical of Countess Bianca, she did not respond to the greeting but quickly averted her gaze from Helen.
"I apologize for being late," Helen added politely, ignoring the snub and offering no explanation for her tardiness. It didn't matter; it certainly made no difference to her cold mother that her plane had only landed in England two hours ago after a flight from New York. Helen then went directly to her private apartment to prepare for the party before being driven to her parents' mansion in one of the city's most affluent neighborhoods.
"Don't forget to greet our guests—or have you lost your manners?" her mother's voice was icy.
Once again, Countess Bianca, with all her esteemed status and lack of maternal warmth, did not miss an opportunity to embarrass Helen and make her look foolish in front of others.
Helen thought about it without emotion—no bitterness, pain, or anything. Years of living under the same roof with this heartless woman she had rendered her immune to such treatment. It had all become routine, so with complete indifference, she turned to greet the guests beside her father with impeccable politeness. This meant she didn't notice the brief flash of dark anger in her mother's eyes, followed by a more sinister expression and a mysterious smile that curled Bianca's perfectly painted lips.
During some time, Helen managed to engage somewhat with the atmosphere around her. This became much easier after she distanced herself from her parents, allowing her to push aside the negative emotions and converse with some familiar guests. However, she couldn't escape questions about her personal life and career, which, though slightly annoying, were met with a diplomatic smile and carefully measured responses that avoided delving into specifics.
But that fleeting sense of peace was short-lived. She suddenly felt someone push her from behind, causing her to stumble forward. She spun around in alarm, her eyes flashing with anger, only for that fury to evaporate into sheer shock when she saw the culprit—her mother, the last person she'd have expected.
"Follow me," Bianca murmured through gritted teeth, her wide smile masking the tension.
Stunned, Helen didn't argue. She obeyed, letting her mother lead her, all the while a growing sense of unease gnawing at her. 'What is happening now?' she wondered.
Her mother stopped abruptly, and without warning, she gasped in horror before Helen could even register what was happening.
"Oh, God."
She felt herself falling toward the ground, but before her body could collide with the cold marble floor, a pair of strong arms caught her just in time.
The side of her face collided with the hard chest of her rescuer, the scent of his masculine cologne filling her senses. She remained frozen in shock for a few moments, unable to move as her mind struggled to process what had just happened.
"Are you alright?" a deep voice with a strange accent pulled her back to reality. It took her a few seconds to compose herself and step back, quickly adjusting her appearance with practiced precision before looking up.
"Thank you, sir…" Her words trailed off as a strange sensation gripped her stomach, seeing the towering man before her.
He was, quite frankly, incredibly handsome. He was tall, and she barely reached his chin, despite her considerable height.
The light reflected off his chiseled features, emphasizing the unique tone of his skin. But what truly unnerved her were his piercing gray eyes, which sent a shiver down her spine.
A deadly mix overtook her—a blend of apprehension and fear. Despite his overwhelming attractiveness and the breathtaking allure that could leave one speechless, she sensed an intimidating aura around him, heightened by the enigmatic gleam in his gray eyes.
His gaze felt like a searing arrow, piercing through her defenses and laying her bare.
"Mr. Vissalis, I'm delighted you could come," her mother's smooth voice cut through, a lifeline pulling Helen out of the storm of emotions that had engulfed her. With great effort, she tore her eyes away from his mesmerizing gaze. She turned to her mother, bewildered by the evident pleasure on Bianca's face as she warmly addressed the mysterious stranger. This only deepened Helen's anxiety and suspicion.
The man lifted her mother's hand and kissed it, his deep voice speaking in flawless English that still carried a distinctive accent:
"I'm pleased as well, Countess."
Helen was acutely aware of his gaze on her, which made her limbs tremble. Her anxiety heightened as he turned his attention fully toward her once again.
"Helen, greet our guest," her mother commanded.
Before she could comply, the man stepped closer, taking her hand. The touch sent a jolt through her, and a mysterious smile played on his lips, mirroring the inscrutable look in his eyes.
A shiver ran through her blood as his burning lips brushed over her trembling fingers, the deliberate slowness of the gesture sending a wave of unease through her as if he were savoring the moment with sadistic pleasure.
"Helen," he spoke her name in a tone that sent a chill through her entire being, making her feel as though she stood in the presence of a dark demon, one who had come to cast his shadow over her, ready to seize her soul and drag it down into the abyss of his infernal domain.