The Brown mansion was unusually quiet that night, the kind of silence that seemed to listen rather than rest. From her study on the second floor, Amara Brown sat in the dim glow of a single lamp, a glass of wine balanced elegantly in her hand. The crimson liquid caught the light, gleaming like blood.
Her thoughts, however, were anything but still.
They're hiding something, she mused, swirling the wine lazily. Lila especially. That girl has her father's stubborn eyes, the kind that never stop searching until they've found what they shouldn't. And Arie—too young, too soft. But sisters talk. Secrets spill. And I can't afford secrets in this house.
The door creaked, and Mr. Jackson entered quietly, bowing his head. He had the look of a man preparing to defend himself before he was accused.
"You're late," Amara said without looking at him.
"My apologies, ma'am. The girls move quickly. I lost track of Miss Arie at school—she left with her driver before I could confirm her route. And Miss Lila…" He hesitated.
Amara's eyes flicked up, sharp and glinting. "Go on."
"…Miss Lila has grown cautious. She doesn't use the main entrances at the company. She slips through side doors, changes her pace, avoids speaking openly. It is as if she knows she's being watched."
Amara set her glass down with a delicate click, rising from her chair. "Knows? Or suspects?"
Jackson swallowed. "I cannot say, ma'am."
She crossed the room slowly, her silk gown whispering against the polished wood floor. "You disappoint me, Jackson. My late husband paid you handsomely to guard his interests, and now I pay you more. Yet you come to me with excuses instead of answers."
"I assure you—"
"Assurances mean nothing." She cut him off, her voice low and icy. "If I wanted loyalty without results, I'd hire a dog. What I require from you is clarity. Where does Lila go? Who does she meet? What is she looking for?"
Jackson stiffened, his jaw tight. "I'll redouble my efforts, ma'am."
Amara studied him for a long, silent moment. Then she smiled, but it was a thin, merciless curve of her lips. "See that you do. Or you'll find loyalty has a price you cannot afford."
Jackson bowed his head again, the muscles in his neck taut, and slipped out of the study.
When the door shut, Amara returned to the window. Outside, the gardens stretched in perfect rows, roses gleaming silver beneath the moonlight. She rested her hand against the glass, her reflection staring back with cold precision.
Lila thinks she can play her father's game. She forgets—I watched him play it, too. And unlike him, I do not lose.
The next morning, the sisters came down to breakfast together. Arie carried her schoolbag, her uniform neat but her eyes heavy from another restless night. Lila, in contrast, looked composed, her dark hair brushed sleekly over her shoulders, her movements deliberate.
Amara was already seated at the head of the long dining table, dressed in pale lavender silk, her smile warm enough to deceive anyone who didn't know better.
"Good morning, my girls," she said smoothly, her tone filled with the practiced sweetness of a doting mother.
Arie murmured a quiet, "Morning," before sliding into her seat. Lila paused, meeting Amara's gaze with a polite nod, then sat down across from her.
"Arie, darling, you'll be late if you don't hurry," Amara continued, buttering her toast with graceful strokes. "Your driver is ready."
Arie reached for her plate, her hands clumsy. "Yes, ma'am."
Lila noticed the tremor in her sister's fingers. She reached under the table, giving Arie's knee a subtle squeeze, a silent reminder to stay calm.
Amara's eyes flicked toward the gesture, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to Lila. "And you, my dear. Spending so much time at the company these days—it warms my heart. Your father would be proud to see you finally showing interest in his work."
Lila lifted her teacup, hiding her expression behind the rim. "It felt like the right time."
Amara tilted her head, watching her carefully. "The right time… for what?"
"To understand what he built," Lila replied smoothly.
A brief silence followed, heavy with meaning. Then Amara laughed softly, her tone rich and disarming. "Of course. Knowledge is a fine thing. But don't wear yourself out, child. The company can be a cruel place for those who dig too deep."
Lila met her gaze evenly. "I'll keep that in mind."
Arie glanced between them, her heart thudding. The words sounded like an ordinary exchange, but the undercurrent was sharp, like two swords clashing beneath the tablecloth.
"Eat, Arie," Amara said suddenly, her smile returning. "You need strength for your lessons. And you, Lila—do stay a while after breakfast. I'd love to have a… private word."
Lila's hand stilled on her teacup. But she nodded. "Of course."
After Arie left for school, the air in the dining room shifted. Amara rose, circling slowly to Lila's side of the table. She moved with the elegance of a queen inspecting her rival, her perfume trailing behind her like smoke.
"You've grown into such a fine young woman," Amara murmured, resting her hand lightly on Lila's shoulder. "So much like your father. He was ambitious, curious… relentless. Qualities that made him great, but also qualities that made him reckless."
Lila's spine stiffened. She set her fork down, her voice calm. "Reckless enough to leave us in your care."
Amara's smile didn't falter. "He trusted me. Just as you should. After all, everything I do is for this family."
"Family," Lila repeated softly, almost to herself. Then she turned her head slightly, her eyes cool. "A family built on lies doesn't stand forever."
For the first time, Amara's hand stilled. Only for a heartbeat—but it was enough. Lila saw the flicker of tension in her face before the mask slipped back into place.
"My dear," Amara said sweetly, withdrawing her hand, "you've been reading too many novels. Real life is much simpler. People like us—people with power—we do what we must to survive. That's all."
Lila pushed her chair back, standing gracefully. "Then I suppose we'll see who survives, won't we?"
Amara's smile was serene, but her eyes glittered with steel.
As Lila walked away, the older woman's thoughts hardened. She knows something. More than she should. But how much?
The trap had to be set, and soon.
That evening, in her private study, Amara wrote a letter in her neat, elegant script. It was addressed not to the sisters, but to a board member loyal to her—a man who owed his fortune to the Browns but his allegiance to Amara.
Arrange a meeting, she wrote. Invite Lila under the pretense of discussing her role in the company. Give her access to certain files. Nothing incriminating, but enough to make her believe she's discovering something hidden. I want to see how far she is willing to go—and how much she already knows.
She sealed the letter, her lips curving.
"Let's see, my dear stepdaughter," she whispered to the empty room. "How clever you truly are."
Upstairs, in the sisters' shared room, Arie was scribbling half-heartedly in her school notebook when Lila entered, her face unreadable.
"What did she want?" Arie asked nervously.
Lila sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing her skirt. "She's watching us more closely than ever. Be careful, Arie. Promise me—no more slips. Not to Ruth, not to anyone. Our survival depends on silence."
Arie nodded firmly. "I promise. Never again."
Lila reached over, brushing her sister's hair back with gentle fingers. "Good. Because the game has begun, and we can't afford to lose."
Outside, the wind rattled against the windows, as though echoing the storm gathering inside the mansion.