The weight of my mother's words hung in the air like a storm cloud, suffocating and impossible to ignore. She was trembling, her wide eyes darting to the darkened hallway behind me.
"We can't talk here," she whispered urgently, gripping my arm so tightly I could feel her nails through the fabric of my sweater. "Not where they can hear us."
Before I could respond, she tugged me into the nearest room—a small study filled with ancient books and heavy furniture. The door closed with a soft click, but it might as well have been the slam of a prison gate.
"Mom," I began, my voice barely steady, "what's going on? You said you're trying to get me out. Why? What's happening?"
She paced the room, wringing her hands. "You don't understand, Tiana. You've stepped into something far bigger and more dangerous than you realize. Peter's world... it's built on secrets. Lies. Blood."
"I already know that," I snapped, surprising even myself with the sharpness of my tone. "I've been dragged into it against my will. And now Andrea is breathing down my neck every time I try to figure out what's really going on!"
At the mention of Andrea, my mother froze, her face paling further. "Andrea…" she murmured, almost to herself.
"What about him?" I pressed, sensing her hesitation. "What aren't you telling me?"
Her eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of fear and something else I couldn't quite place. "Andrea isn't who you think he is," she said slowly. "He's not just Peter's son. He's…" She faltered, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you can't trust anyone in this house. Not him. Not me. Not anyone."
The words were a punch to the gut. "Not even you?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
She flinched as if I'd struck her. "I'm trying to protect you, Tiana. But this family…" She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor. "There are things I've done, things I've had to do, just to keep us both alive. I don't expect you to understand, but I need you to listen to me. Please."
Before I could respond, the faint sound of footsteps echoed outside the door. My mother stiffened, her head snapping toward the noise.
"Someone's coming," she hissed, her voice barely audible.
In an instant, she was by the door, peering through the crack. I held my breath, every nerve in my body on edge.
After a tense moment, she turned back to me. "It's not safe here. We'll talk later," she said hurriedly. "For now, stay away from Andrea. And whatever you do, don't let Peter know what you found."
She didn't wait for my response. The door creaked open just enough for her to slip out, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence of the study.
I stayed in the study longer than I intended, trying to piece together the fragments of what my mother had said. Andrea isn't who you think he is. Don't trust anyone. What did it all mean?
I couldn't shake the feeling that her warning was about more than just the family's criminal dealings. There was something deeper, something more personal.
Eventually, I forced myself to leave, my mind still spinning. The mansion's dimly lit corridors felt even more foreboding than usual as I made my way back to my room. I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder every few steps, half-expecting to see Andrea lurking in the shadows.
When I finally reached my door, relief washed over me. But as I pushed it open, I froze.
Andrea was inside, sitting on the edge of my bed.
"You're late," he said, his voice low and deceptively calm.
My heart pounded in my chest. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.
He stood, his tall frame looming over me as he approached. "You've been busy," he said, ignoring my question. "Talking to people. Asking questions. Snooping."
"I'm not snooping," I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady. "And even if I were, what business is it of yours?"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. But instead, he took a step back, his expression unreadable.
"Everything in this house is my business," he said finally. "Including you."
There it was again—that infuriating mix of possessiveness and protectiveness that made my head spin.
"Well, I didn't ask to be part of your business," I retorted. "I didn't ask to be here at all."
His eyes softened, just for a second, before the hardness returned. "You're here now. And whether you like it or not, that means you're under my protection."
I laughed bitterly. "Protection? Is that what you call this? Spying on me? Threatening me?"
"I'm keeping you alive," he snapped, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into? What could happen to you if you keep pushing?"
"I'm not afraid of you," I said, lifting my chin defiantly.
"You should be."
The words sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to let him see it. Instead, I crossed my arms and stared him down. "If you're so concerned about me, then tell me the truth. What's really going on here? What are you so afraid I'll find out?"
Andrea hesitated, his gaze flickering to the door as if checking for eavesdroppers. Then he stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You think you want the truth," he said softly. "But trust me, Tiana, you don't. The truth will destroy you."
Before I could respond, he brushed past me and left the room, leaving me trembling in his wake.
The next few days passed in a blur of tension and paranoia. My mother's warning and Andrea's harsh words played on a loop in my mind, driving me to the brink of madness.
I tried to focus on small tasks—organizing my things, reading, anything to keep my mind occupied. But the mansion seemed to conspire against me. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow in the corner of my eye, felt like a threat.
And then, one evening, it happened.
I was sitting by the window, staring out at the sprawling gardens below, when I saw movement. A figure darting between, too quick and too deliberate to be a gardener or servant.
My pulse quickened as I watched, my breath catching in my throat. Whoever it was, they weren't supposed to be there.
Without thinking, I grabbed a flashlight and slipped out of my room, determined to find out who—or what—was lurking outside.
The cool night air hit me like a slap as I stepped onto the terrace. I hesitated, glancing back at the mansion's imposing silhouette, before descending the stairs into the garden.
The darkness swallowed me whole as I moved deeper into the maze of hedges and fountains. My flashlight cast long, eerie shadows, but it did little to calm my nerves.
And then I heard it—a rustle of leaves, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
"Who's there?" I called, my voice trembling.
No response.
I took a step forward, my heart pounding. "I said, who's there?"
This time, the footsteps stopped.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. And then, a figure stepped out from behind a tree, their face obscured by the shadows.
"Tiana," the figure said, their voice low and familiar.
My blood ran cold.
It was Andrea.
"What are you doing out here?" he demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory.
"I could ask you the same thing," I shot back, my fear giving way to anger.
He didn't respond. Instead, he took a step closer, his gaze intense.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said. "It's not safe."
"Safe from what?" I demanded. "Or who?"
Andrea hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Go back inside, Tiana. Now."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was something there—something I couldn't quite decipher. Fear? Anger? Guilt?
Reluctantly, I turned and made my way back to the mansion, my mind racing with questions.
What was Andrea hiding? And why did I have the sinking feeling that whatever it was, it would change everything?