The rain hadn't stopped all day.
It hit the car window in steady waves, blurring the world outside. Liora kept her eyes on her lap, her fingers tight around the silver watch resting in her palm. Her father's watch. The only piece of him she still had.
Her chest ached. The funeral was over, but the hollow feeling hadn't left.
Now there was only silence. Silence and the sound of tires on wet gravel as the car pulled into the gates of the Blackwood mansion.
The gates loomed tall, black iron curling upward like bars of a cage. Beyond them, the house stood cold and sharp against the storm, its windows glowing faintly, like eyes watching her.
Her throat tightened. This wasn't home. It would never be home.
The car stopped.
The door opened, and rain splashed against her shoes as she stepped out. Her stepmother was waiting at the door, dressed in black silk, every line of her face perfectly composed. Not a single tear marked her cheeks.
"You're late," she said coldly.
Liora flinched. "The driver—"
"Excuses," her stepmother cut her off. "Come inside. From now on, you'll live here."
Live here.
The words felt heavy. Permanent. A sentence, not a choice.
She followed, her footsteps echoing as she crossed the marble floors. Chandeliers glittered above her head. Every polished surface reflected her small, broken figure back at her.
And then she saw him.
Adrian Blackwood.
He stood leaning against the staircase railing, dressed in black like everyone else, but somehow he looked different. Sharper. Stronger. Untouchable.
His dark hair fell carelessly into his eyes. His hands rested in his pockets, his posture casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at her.
His lips curved. Not into a smile. Into something crueler.
"Well," he drawled, his voice smooth, mocking. "The little stray finally returned."
Liora's grip tightened on her bag. "Adrian."
He tilted his head. "Liora." He said her name like it was a joke. "Didn't think you'd have the guts to come back."
Her stepmother's heels clicked against the marble. "Adrian. Show some respect."
But Adrian didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on Liora's, unblinking, steady.
A shiver ran down her spine, but she lifted her chin. She wouldn't look away.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and sharp.
Finally, Adrian pushed off the railing, his smirk still in place. "Welcome home, sister," he said. The word dripped with sarcasm.
Then he walked past her, brushing so close that his shoulder nearly grazed hers. She could smell his cologne, dark and clean, before he disappeared down the hall.
Her stepmother's voice snapped her back. "Your room is upstairs. Second door on the right. Don't make a mess."
Liora nodded faintly, but inside, her chest was a storm.
This house wasn't hers. Her stepmother didn't want her here. And Adrian—he hated her already.
Clutching her father's watch, Liora whispered to herself: You'll survive this. You have to.
But deep down, she knew survival wouldn't be so easy. Not with Adrian Blackwood watching her every move.