~Vincent~
I make my way down the hallway, footsteps soft against the polished wood, every sense stretched thin to pick up the faintest sound from the dining room below. The first door I push open is empty—just a guest room, neatly made, nothing worth a second glance.
The next door is locked. I pause, pulling the small ring of stolen keys from my pocket. Her father hadn't even noticed when I stole them from him. I shuffle through each one, listening to the faint clicks until the right one slides home. The lock gives, and I step inside. Again, nothing—boxes stacked in corners, linens folded, shelves of books collecting dust. Useless.
I slip back into the hall, heading for the stairs. Voices drift up faintly from the dining room, muffled by laughter and clinking glasses. Good. They're still distracted. I ascend, quick but cautious, until I reach the master bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I move fast, pulling drawers open, sweeping through cabinets, shifting aside frames and papers. Nothing. Nothing of value.
Bending to check under the desk, I straighten too quickly and my head knocks against the wall. A dull thud. Only—it doesn't sound like solid wall. I freeze, palm pressing against the mural I'd collided with. When I push, it tilts forward slightly on loose hinges. Behind it, a small safe.
I crouch, fingers brushing over the keypad. A passcode. I try several combinations, but each ends in the sharp buzz of rejection. Irritating. Then I notice the secondary slot below. A card reader.
I pull out the keys again, and this time, three cards slide into my hand. I test the first—red light. The second—nothing. The third—green. A soft click sounds as the safe unlocks.
The safe holds mostly documents—ledgers, contracts, reports about the company. Useless to me for now. But then my fingers brush across two plain white envelopes tucked between the stacks. One heavier, one thin. I open the heavier one first—photographs. Not of anyone I recognize, but the fact that they're hidden here makes them important. The thinner envelope I don't bother checking. Time is short.
I slip both into my jacket, shut the safe, and reposition the mural before stepping out. The murmur of laughter drifts faintly downstairs, guiding me back toward the dining hall.
When I descend, I spot Ella across the room, animated in conversation with an older woman. She's smiling—until her eyes catch mine. Just like that, her expression falters. The older woman, however, beams even brighter.
"Vincent," she says warmly, "we were just speaking of you. It's so reassuring to know that Ella has found happiness by your side."
"Anything for my woman," I reply easily, my tone dripping with delight as if to reassure them both. I let my hand rest at the small of Ella's back. "It was a pleasure, Mrs. Hayes. But darling," I tilt my head toward Ella, "why don't we say our final goodbyes to your parents? I have someone I must meet."
Ella's smile is thin, fragile, but she nods. I guide her away, the crowd parting for us, her steps perfectly in sync with mine no matter how much she resents it.
We approach her parents just as the man they were speaking with excuses himself politely. Her mother's face lights up the moment she sees us, and she reaches for Ella first, pulling her into a soft embrace before turning to me.
"I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight," she says warmly, her eyes crinkling with pride.
"Immensely," I reply, leaning in to return her hug. "And I must say, your cooking was remarkable." My compliment earns me a pleased laugh and a faint blush from her.
When I turn to her father, the old man greets me with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. I meet it with my own polished grin, the picture of a grateful son-in-law.
"I'm delighted to have been here," I tell him smoothly, stepping closer. "It's always a privilege to spend time with family."
He clasps my shoulder, and in that brief, cordial hug, I slip the keys back into his pocket as easily as I'd taken them. My touch lingers just long enough to make it seem natural.
As I pull away, our eyes meet, his filled with guarded fondness, mine masking the darker urge simmering beneath—how simple it would be to end him here. But not yet. I still need him alive, for now.
~~~
We are making our way towards my car when a call from someone stops us." Mr. Russel." I turn my head.
It is the very same man who has been endlessly and unashamedly gawking at Ella all night. It was so annoying, I felt like gouging his eyes out.
Ella is a beauty, and even I know it, because at times my mind spirals when she is near me. But the idea of another man desiring her makes me angry—an anger I can't control.
I actually don't know him, never met him before. He reaches us, offering his hand first for the woman beside me, but before he can touch her, I take the handshake myself, sliding between them. My grip is firm, deliberately so.
"Do I know you?" I ask, my eyes narrowed. It's clear he expected me to know him.
"I am Mark Danvers," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm working with James."
When I notice his gaze darting to Ella again, I tilt my head sharply. "Ella, go wait for me in the car."
She doesn't hesitate, clearly uncomfortable under the man's stare. She gives me a look before heading off. My attention immediately shifts back to Danvers.
"I am Mark Danvers. I'm one of the people working closely with James," he says, his voice carrying the eagerness of a man who thinks his name should mean something to me.
I listen, though my gaze lingers on Ella as she slides into the car, her figure framed by the dim light of the streetlamp. Only when she disappears inside do I turn back to the short, round-bellied man.
I don't know much about who James hires or doesn't hire. I'm only here to make sure the campaign is funded, and I am certain of his win.
Even with his introduction, I still don't recognize this man.
"And what did you want to say to me?" I ask.
He hesitates, then clears his throat. "Well, Mr. Russel… I was hoping—given your support for James—that perhaps you could extend that support to me. I'm aiming for mayor in the next term. With the right financial assistance, the right visibility… I could secure the seat. And once James becomes senator, I believe I could—well, I could be useful in his circle. To you as well."
What is wrong with humans? I wonder inwardly. Even if I wanted to help him, I wouldn't. First, I don't like him. Second, I don't fund politicians for charity. I funded James because he will become an asset in my dealings—not because of any shining political qualities.
I let a silence hang, watching him sweat under my stare. Then, with a smile sharp enough to cut, I answer:
"No."
He blinks, startled. "I—I beg your pardon?"
"Don't mistake my support of James as an open invitation for leeches."
His face flushes, his mouth opening as if to protest, but I take a step closer, lowering my voice.
"Have a good night Mr.._ Danvers."
I pat his arm lightly, and then walk away without another glance.