"What happened?" Nevaeh asked as he stepped into Eunice's room, his gaze sweeping over her disheveled appearance and the shattered vase on the floor. Despite his casual tone, there was a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes.
"A thief!" Eunice snapped, her arms crossing as she paced near the wreckage. "He tried to steal something from me."
Nevaeh's eyebrows shot up. "A thief? In this place? Nah, no way. You've got enough security to stop a damn army. I mean, I barely get past them, and I work here!"
Eunice shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Well, apparently they're not as competent as they should be, because I saw someone in my bedroom."
Nevaeh scratched his chin, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Okay, let's figure this out," he said, stepping closer to her. "Where'd you see him?"
"In my bedroom, you fatuous baboon," Eunice snapped, her voice dripping with exasperation.
Nevaeh chuckled, unfazed. "Yeah, yeah, you said that already. I mean, where exactly in the room? Like, was he hiding under the bed? Behind the curtains? Doing a little jig by the minibar?"
Eunice rolled her eyes so dramatically it was a wonder they didn't roll out of her head. "He appeared behind me," she said, her tone clipped. "Near the shelf. It was like he materialized out of thin air."
Nevaeh whistled low. "Materialized, huh?. All right, let's check it out."
He strode toward the shelf, his movements loose and easy, like he was examining a particularly interesting painting rather than investigating an alleged intruder.
Minutes Later
The door opened again, and Diego, the head of security, walked in with the precision of a soldier. His towering frame and tailored black suit made him look as if he'd stepped out of a spy movie, and his no-nonsense demeanor only added to the effect.
"Madam Eunice," Diego said, his deep voice carrying authority. "We conducted a thorough search of the premises. There is no evidence of any unauthorized entry. The CCTV footage is also clear—there were no anomalies."
Eunice's lips thinned, and she waved him off with a dismissive gesture. "Fine. Thank you, Diego. You may go."
Diego nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the room one last time before he turned to leave. "I'll have the guards search the surrounding areas just in case," he said as he stepped out.
The moment the door closed, Nevaeh picked up a piece of the shattered vase, turning it over in his hand like a detective examining a clue. "Hey, Eunice," he began, his tone half-teasing. "Isn't this the vase you got from that 'secret admirer'? The one with no note, no return address, and maximum creep vibes?"
Eunice stiffened slightly, her gaze briefly flicking to the shards on the floor before snapping back to Nevaeh. Her expression stayed carefully neutral. "It slipped," she said flatly. "And fell."
Nevaeh's grin widened. "Slipped? Just like that? No provocation? Gravity had a personal vendetta today?"
"Yes," Eunice said, her voice like a blade, cutting off any further speculation. "Slipped."
The truth gnawed at the edges of her carefully constructed calm. She could still feel the strange tension from earlier—the unnerving way the vase had seemed to watch her, its intricate patterns almost alive under the light. She'd thrown it in a moment of panic, convinced the voice she'd heard was coming from inside. But there was no way she'd admit that to Nevaeh.
He'd never let her hear the end of it.
Eunice lifted her chin, willing her composure to hold. "It slipped," she repeated, her tone making it clear the subject was closed.
Nevaeh's eyes narrowed slightly, though his grin never faltered. "Hmm... so, when this vase 'slipped' and smashed, that's when the thief appeared behind you?"
"Something like that," Eunice said, her gaze darting away for a split second before returning to him with full force.
Nevaeh's grin turned downright mischievous. "Huh. You sure this 'thief' didn't just pop out of the vase like some kind of—"
"Pop out like what, Nevaeh?" Eunice interrupted, her tone frosty. It was as if she knew exactly was he was about to say but didnt want to hear it.
Nevaeh raised a finger, his face lighting up as if he'd cracked a riddle. "Like a genie!"
Eunice froze, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Nevaeh," she began, her voice dangerously low, "if you say one more stupid thing, you are fired. And don't think I'm bluffing."
"Come on, Mama," Nevaeh said, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.
Eunice froze again, the word hanging in the air. She took a deep, deliberate breath, her fingers curling at her sides. "Did you just call me 'Mama'?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm.
"No, no," Nevaeh said quickly, though his grin betrayed him. "What I meant was—Madam Eunice, of course. Definitely Madam Eunice. Anyway, think about it! Mysterious vase shows up out of nowhere, you're unconscious, the vase breaks, a man appears. It's classic genie stuff! Just make three wishes and see what happens."
Eunice stared at him in stunned silence, her expression unreadable. "Thank you, Nevaeh," she said at last, her tone clipped. "You may leave now."
Nevaeh held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I'm going. But if you wish for a million bucks and it shows up tomorrow, just remember: I called it."
He turned and walked toward the door, his steps leisurely.
Nevaeh closed the door softly behind him, leaning his back against it as though the weight of the conversation had finally caught up with him. He took a deep breath, his head tilting back against the carved wood as his gaze drifted to the high ceiling above. The faint hum of distant activity from the mansion barely reached him in the hallway, which felt impossibly quiet despite its grandeur.
The hallway stretched endlessly, a cathedral of wealth and opulence. Marble floors gleamed like glass beneath the warm light of the chandelier, and ornate tapestries hung in solemn rows, their intricate designs almost seeming to watch him. Nevaeh glanced at one of the paintings on the wall—a pastoral scene of a family at play, their faces frozen in joy. His lips pressed into a thin line.
His hand found his pocket, fumbling briefly before pulling out a cigarette and lighter. He lit it with a flick, the tiny flame casting fleeting shadows across his face. He took a slow drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before releasing it into the air. The swirling tendrils seemed to disappear as quickly as they formed, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of tobacco.
"You're one lucky woman, y'know that?" he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the mansion. His words were tinged with something uncharacteristic of him—bitterness, maybe, or just exhaustion. "You've got everything. Power, money, the whole world at your feet. But what's it all worth if you don't see the people who need you most?"
His grip tightened on the cigarette as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. He let his gaze fall to the marble floor, where the reflection of the chandelier above seemed to ripple faintly in the polished surface.
"It's her birthday, Eunice," he said, the words catching slightly in his throat. "Sixteen. A big one, y'know? And she's up there, sitting in that big, empty room, waiting for you to care. Just... waiting."
His voice grew quieter, almost as though he were afraid of being overheard by the silence itself. "She doesn't even want the stuff you buy her. All that designer crap—what's it mean to a kid who just wants her mom to look at her like she matters?"
For a moment, Nevaeh closed his eyes, his head bowing slightly. His shoulders sagged under the weight of unspoken thoughts, unvoiced frustrations.
"She's a good kid," he whispered, almost to himself. "Too good for this."
The cigarette burned low between his fingers, and he stared at it for a moment before stubbing it out against the edge of an ashtray tucked discreetly into the wall. He lingered there, his hand resting on the tray, his gaze far away.
"You care, Eunice. I know you do," he muttered, his voice breaking just slightly. "So why can't you just... show it?"
He let out a long breath, one hand raking through his hair as he straightened. The lights in the hallway flickered once, briefly dimming before settling back into their steady glow. Nevaeh turned and walked down the corridor, his footsteps echoing faintly in the vast emptiness.
As the shadows swallowed him, the silence seemed to grow heavier, as though the house itself mourned the pain hidden behind its gilded walls.
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"Do you think she'll open the vase?"
A man's voice, low and smooth, filling a dimly lit room like a shadow slipping through the cracks. He sat with an almost regal posture in a high-backed chair, his striking features illuminated by the flickering glow of an oil lamp. The room was filled with unusual objects—a jumble of glass jars with swirling liquids, dusty old books with cracked covers, and strange symbols carved into the stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of burning incense, a cloying mix of spices and something metallic.
Despite the darkness, the man's good looks shone through. His chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones framed a face that exuded both charm and menace. He wore a perfectly tailored suit that clung to his broad shoulders, the faint glint of his watch catching the light as he adjusted his cuffs with practiced precision.
"She will," came the reply, soft and confident.
The voice belonged to a woman seated across from him. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long, flowing hair that shimmered like spun gold even in the faint light. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds, their gaze piercing and unyielding, and her porcelain skin seemed to glow with an otherworldly perfection. She looked no older than twenty-nine, though there was an agelessness to her beauty that made her seem almost unreal.
"As soon as she opens the vase, the curse will take hold," the woman continued, her tone calm but edged with satisfaction. "It will follow her, Gabby. Everywhere she goes. Everything she's built will crumble."
Gabby's handsome face twisted into a sneer. "Disgusting people like her deserve to suffer," he spat, his voice thick with disdain. His hand curled into a fist on the armrest of his chair, the veins in his forearm standing out like ropes beneath his skin.
The woman reached out, her touch soft as she took his hand in hers. "She will," she said soothingly, her words like silk. "She'll be brought to her knees, my lovely Gabby. The curse will do what it was meant to do—it will destroy her, piece by piece."
Gabby's expression softened slightly at her touch, though the fire in his eyes remained. He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back in his chair. "Thank you, my love," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost tender.
The woman smiled, leaning forward as Gabby drew her closer. Their lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss. The flickering light cast their shadows on the wall, two figures intertwined against a backdrop of arcane symbols and unspoken vengeance.
As they pulled apart, Gabby's gaze lingered on her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "She has no idea what's coming," he said, his tone carrying a chilling certainty. "And when it happens... she'll have no one to blame but herself."
The woman smiled again, but this time, it was colder—a razor-thin curve of satisfaction. "That's what makes it so perfect," she replied.
The room fell silent again, the faint crackle of the oil lamp the only sound as they sat together, their plans already set in motion.