The calming chime of the old grandfather clock in the study announced the hour, but Gabriella Cook had lost track of it. She was snuggled up in the wide chair by her bedroom window, a book open on her lap with unread pages. Her gaze was taken to the expansive grounds below, where large oak trees swung in a lazy waltz, leaving long and thin shadows on the groomed grass. The world outside, bright and busy, seemed impossibly far, a painted backdrop to her quiet existence.
Gabriella was widely regarded as a child prodigy worldwide. Her brilliant, inquisitive intelligence devoured knowledge with an insatiable desire. Before the incident, she had delighted her professors with her sharp questions and amazing recall. Her head had changed into a tranquil fortress, ready to deflect and flee. School, once a source of intrigue, has now become a new site for her hidden disobedience.
Her presence was irregular, and her concentration was fragmented. Her tutors, worried by Kinneth 's reputation and Gabriella's strange stillness, usually left her alone.
"Gabriella? "The history instructor is here." Mrs. Davies, her new academic instructor, waited patiently in the doorway, a stack of torn textbooks clasped to her breast like a shield. Mrs. Davies replaced the prior staff, who, according to Mrs. Gable, considered the arrangement excessively demanding.
Gabriella didn't move. Her eyes, the color of deep-sea glass, were focused on the world beyond them.
"Gabriella?" Mrs. Davies tried again, her voice shaking with agony. "We have an hour-long lesson. We're talking about the Renaissance today. "It's quite fascinating."
Gabriella moved her head lightly and delicately. Her face was expressionless, but her stare looked heavy and yearning. Mrs. Davies felt nervous beneath the calm weight.
"I prefer to read about it myself," Gabriella replied gently, almost ethereality, but with total conviction.
"But… we need to discuss the primary sources, the different interpretations…" Mrs. Davies trailed off in despair. She was acquainted with the drill. Gabriella would sit through the lesson, speaking in monosyllables when asked, but her mind would be elsewhere, imprisoned in a world she lived alone.
"I understand perfectly," Gabriella answered, her voice tinted with wrath. "More perfectly, perhaps, than you do."
Mrs Davies' cheeks flushed. "That is enough, Gabriella. "Your father wants you to connect."
Gabriella's countenance swung between rage and grief before reverting to a veiled indifference. "My father has enormous hopes. None of them seem to mirror my actual thoughts."
The words remained in the air, harsh and ugly. Mrs. Davies was taken away by the abrupt openness and stuttered, "I'll notify your father that you're indisposed." She hurriedly fled, leaving Gabriella to continue her melancholy watch.
Later that afternoon, the dining room, which is frequently a magnificent but lonely area, was set up for two. Kinneth made a conscious effort, prompted by Mrs. Gable's past remarks. He sat at the head of the polished mahogany table, a lone flickering light creating shimmering shadows across his sad features. Gabriella sat opposite him, appearing impossibly small on her chair.
"The chef prepared your favourite," Kinneth replied, pointing to the magnificent display of fish and asparagus. "Freshly caught this morning."
Gabriella took up her dinner and used a fork to move the fish around the dish. She took a tiny spoonful, chewed slowly, and pushed the plate aside.
"Not hungry?" Kinneth questioned in a tense tone. He sought to mask his pessimism, but it was a losing effort. Each rejected dish was a gut hit, a reminder of his ineptitude.
Gabriella shakes her head. "It's fine." "I am just not hungry."
"You should eat, Gabriella." "You're growing." He adopted a different approach, speaking with a more fatherly and authoritative tone. It generally ended tragically.
"I'm fine, Father." Her voice was as flat as a barred door.
Kinneth sighed. "I recognize that things have been hard between the two of us. But we must try. "To get past this." Even he understood that the claims made no sense. What are you moving past? The public scorn? What about the fractured family? What about the tremendous discrepancy in their lives?
Gabriella finally gazed at him, her eyes possessing a depth that had always made him uneasy. "Move beyond what, Father?" The fact is that you are always constrained in your studies. Or the fact that everyone thinks I'm broken?
His meticulously kept stance was gone. "Nobody treats you as if you're broken. I study because I work. "Gabriella, for us.""To ensure our future."
"What future?" she replied, her voice lifting slightly in an unexpected show of emotion. "A future in which we live in a gilded cage?" Where can we uncover only staff personnel speaking behind their hands?
Kinneth softly slammed his palm on the table, sending echoes throughout the enormous room. "That is enough, Gabriella! We do not speak about such things. And the personnel are loyal."
"Loyal to your money, perhaps," she mumbled as she walked away.
"Gabriella!" His tone was rough, full of fury and mounting remorse. He was losing her irrevocably. Every attempt to connect seemed like a step backward, deepening the space between them. He awoke instantly. "If you're not going to eat, you may be excused."
Gabriella moved out of her chair without saying anything, leaving a small, defiant figure in the enormous area. She slipped silently away, leaving Kinneth alone with the untouched meal and the unsettling quietness. He frowned as he ran his fingers through his hair. Failure. That rang powerfully in his thoughts.
Later that evening, a distant lament disturbed the mansion's serene ambiance. Kinneth grumbled as he read the especially difficult financial report. It wasn't the ordinary sound of the wind or the ancient house settling. It sounded like a child sobbing.
He checked his wristwatch after Gabriella went to bed. He hesitated. Mrs. Gable could handle it. She always did. She was far better equipped to deal with Gabriella's emotional outbursts than he was. However, the howl resurfaced, louder and more vulnerable, hitting a deep chord within him.
He walked away from his workstation, forgetting about the financial reports. He followed the sound, his heart thumping with a familiar mix of terror and worry. The cries pulled him into Gabriella's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, giving a sliver of light into the dark corridor.
He slowly pushed it open more. Gabriella was kneeling on the floor by her bed, her petite body shaking with sobs. Her face was buried between her knees, her gorgeous hair knotted. An abandoned doll lay nearby, with its plastic arm twisted at an awkward angle.
"Gabriella?" he whispered, his tone stern.
She trembled and pushed back even farther as if his whole presence was a horrific violation. "Go away!" she shouted, her voice muffled by tears. "Just go away!"
He knelt beside her, seeking to calm her. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, but he knew she'd back away. His uncomfortable attempts at affection were frequently received with rejection. What's wrong, sweetheart? "Are you hurt?"
"No!" she shouted, slowly lifting her head. Her cheeks were drenched with tears, and her eyes were red and swollen. "it's him!" "He was there."
Kinneth frowned. "Who was there?" Darling, it is just us and the team here.
"No! "In the window!" she replied, pointing shakily to the big bay window overlooking the grounds. "He gazed within! "The man from the newspaper!"
Kinneth 's blood grew frigid. The person from the newspaper. The awful images, the allegations, and the face of the monster who shattered their lives. He instantly rejected it. It was a nightmare induced by a child's powerful imagination and trauma. The estate was protected and guarded. Nobody could get in.
"It was just a dream, Gabriella," he answered, attempting to keep cool despite his beating heart. "It was a horrific nightmare. There is no one out there.
"He had the same eyes, Father!" she added, her voice rising to an anxious tone. "The one who hurt you! "He was watching me!"
Kinneth stood and approached the window. He glanced out into the pitch-black night, seeking shadows beneath the ancient trees. Nothing. Only the huge, arid expanse of their surroundings was lighted by a faint ray of moonlight. He pulled the heavy velvet curtains, obscuring the darkness and the phantom Gabriella had seen.
"See?" he replied, turning back to her and trying to sound soothing despite a shudder going up his spine. "There is no one." "Only darkness."
Gabriella had curled back into herself, her weeping turning to trembling breaths. She didn't appear convinced.
Kinneth faced the customary sorrow of failure. He could not even soothe his daughter. He couldn't make her feel protected inside her own home. He sat there for a long time, staring at her petite, vulnerable body, a knot of fear rising in his belly. Was it simply a nightmare? Was there anything else, undetectable, lurking in the shadows of their well-kept surroundings? He reached the bedside table and recovered the toy that had been flung.
Its arm was twisted, and its dead eyes looked up at him. He laid it back down, a cold flowing through his veins.
As he locked Gabriella's bedroom door and left her in her restless sleep, the horrifying vision of her shaking finger pointing toward the window echoed in his mind. The guy who has hurt you. He knew precisely who she was referring to. If that man or someone affiliated with him tried to hack the Cook estate's security.
Kinneth returned to his study without turning on the lights. The moon cast long, eerie shadows on the windows, making familiar items appear strange and menacing. He returned to the file holding Morran Oscar's photo. In the low light, he got a glimpse of her gorgeous yet powerful face. He had been seeking a solution for Gabriella. But suddenly, a cold, brutal truth struck him. He was hunting for protection. For the two of them. He needed someone, anyone, to break through the gloom that was slowly engulfing his daughter and maybe himself. If that individual could also function as a bodyguard against the ghosts of his past...
He grabbed up his phone, his finger lingering over the contact number for his head of security. He advocated for expanding patrols and installing additional cameras.
Then, with a long, apprehensive breath, he dialed the number for the agency that had provided him with Morran Oscar's data. He was no longer worried about rules or professionalism. He needed her.
"Arrange the interview immediately," he added, his voice hoarse. "First thing tomorrow morning," notify her that the situation is dire.
He hung up, leaving the room quieter than before, with the disconcerting impression of unseen eyes watching and waiting.