The taxi slowed as it approached the rusted gates of Thornridge Estate. The sign hung crookedly, one chain broken, the letters faded from years of wind, rain, and silence. Amara leaned forward in her seat, heart pounding as the driver brought the car to a stop.
"This the place?" he asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror with a flicker of concern.
She nodded, unable to speak just yet. Her throat tightened as she stared at the towering manor beyond the gates. It stood like a forgotten castle, wrapped in ivy and mist, its windows dark and watching. Thornridge hadn't changed much since she was a child, and yet everything felt... different now. Heavier.
"Are you sure you don't want me to wait?" the driver asked.
Amara managed a small smile. "No, it's fine. Thank you."
She stepped out into the cool air, gravel crunching beneath her boots. The iron gates creaked as she pushed them open, and for a moment, the sound echoed like a warning. The wind carried the faint scent of damp earth and roses — wild, overgrown ones that had taken over what used to be her mother's carefully tended garden.
Her steps were slow as she made her way up the winding path. Every corner of the estate whispered memories she'd tried to forget: her mother's laughter, the smell of home-cooked meals, the night she ran barefoot through the halls, calling out for a mother who never answered back.
As she reached the grand wooden doors, they opened before she could knock. A tall woman stood there, pale and composed, with eyes that seemed to size Amara up in an instant.
"You must be Miss Thorn," the woman said. "We've been expecting you."
Amara hesitated. "And you are?"
"Margot. Housekeeper. Mr. Maddox is waiting in the library."
"Already?"
"Mr. Maddox doesn't waste time," Margot said curtly, stepping aside.
The foyer was even more imposing than she remembered. Dark mahogany paneling, a chandelier covered in dust, and silence that stretched through every corridor like a ghost. It was beautiful in a tragic kind of way — like someone had tried to preserve the past but gave up halfway.
Margot led her down a hall that smelled faintly of cedar and old paper, then stopped before two tall double doors. She knocked once, and a voice from inside answered, "Come in."
As the doors creaked open, Amara stepped into the library — and there he was.
Eli Maddox.
He stood by the fireplace, tall and sharply dressed, though something about him looked untamed. His eyes — dark, calculating — flicked up from a folder in his hand and landed on her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"You're younger than I expected," he finally said, voice smooth but clipped.
"And you're not what I expected either," Amara replied, lifting her chin slightly.
A small smile touched his lips, almost amused. "You're bold."
"I've had to be."
Silence stretched again, heavy and unspoken. Then he gestured to the chair across from him.
"Sit. We have a lot to discuss. And not much time."
Amara didn't move right away. Her gaze drifted to the shelves around the room, the closed curtains, the faint outline of a security camera in the corner. Something about this place felt watched — like the house itself was keeping secrets.
Finally, she took the seat.
She had returned to Thornridge to uncover the truth. And something told her... it had already begun.