Elena's POV
"Turn around. We can still leave."
James grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. His car sits at the bottom of the long driveway leading to the Morgan estate. Trees tower on both sides like prison guards.
"I can't turn back now," I say. My voice doesn't sound like mine.
Three days have passed since the mysterious text message. Three days of nightmares about my father's angry face. Three days of wondering what truth my grandmother left me.
James shifts the car into drive but his foot stays on the brake. "Elena, listen to me. That text was a warning. Someone is playing games with you."
"Or someone is trying to help me." I stare up the driveway. I can't see the mansion yet but I know it's there. Waiting.
"What if it's worse than you remember?" James asks quietly.
I close my eyes. Memories flood my brain like a dam breaking open.
"You're selfish and ungrateful!"
My father's voice echoes in my head. I was eighteen. Standing in his office. Shaking so hard I thought I might fall down.
"Mr. Blackwell is a successful businessman. He'll take care of you. You should be honored he wants to marry you."
"He's fifty years old, Father. I don't love him."
"Love?" My father laughed like I'd told a joke. "Love is for poor people. You're a Morgan. We marry for power and business. Not feelings."
I tried to explain that I wanted to go to college. I wanted to study art. I wanted to choose my own life.
He called me stupid. He said I was throwing away my future. He said I was embarrassing the family.
Then he gave me the choice that wasn't really a choice at all.
"Marry Richard Blackwell or get out of my house."
I chose to leave.
My stepmother Evelyn smiled when I packed my bags. My little sister Sophia watched from her bedroom door with cold eyes. Nobody tried to stop me except my grandmother.
Grandmother Margaret pressed money into my hands. She whispered that she was proud of me for being brave. She told me to call her whenever I needed help.
That was seven years ago. The last time I saw any of them.
"Elena." James touches my arm gently. "You're crying."
I wipe my face quickly. "I'm fine. Let's go."
"Are you sure?"
No. I'm not sure about anything.
But I nod anyway. James sighs and takes his foot off the brake.
The car moves forward slowly. The driveway winds through thick trees that block out most of the sunlight. It feels like driving into a dark tunnel. My stomach twists into knots.
Then the trees end and the mansion appears.
My breath catches in my throat.
It's exactly like I remember. Huge gray stone walls. Tall pointed towers. Windows that look like eyes watching everything. The building looks angry somehow. Like it hates everyone who comes near it.
"That's not a house," James whispers. "That's a horror movie."
He's right. The Morgan estate looks like the kind of place where bad things happen. Where secrets get buried and never found.
"My grandmother lived here for sixty years," I say softly. "How did she stand it?"
James parks the car in the circular driveway. Other expensive cars are already here. Mercedes. BMWs. Even a Rolls Royce. My family and their rich friends.
I look down at my simple jeans and sweater. I look down at James's old Honda that makes a weird rattling sound. We don't belong here.
"Last chance," James says. "We can drive away right now."
I reach for the door handle. My hand shakes. "I need that studio, James. It's all I have left of her."
"You have her love," James reminds me. "You don't need a room to prove that."
But I do need it. I need something solid and real. Something that proves my grandmother cared about me when nobody else did.
I step out of the car. The air smells like roses from my grandmother's garden behind the house. For a second, I'm a little girl again. Running through those gardens. Painting pictures of flowers. Feeling safe and happy.
Then I remember that little girl doesn't exist anymore.
James comes around the car and stands beside me. "I'll wait right here. If you need me, just text. I'll come get you immediately."
"You're not coming in?"
"The invitation said you had to come. Not me." He squeezes my hand. "But I'm not leaving this driveway until you're safely inside."
I hug him quickly. "Thank you for everything."
"Don't thank me yet. Thank me when you survive the next two weeks."
I force myself to walk toward the front door. Each step feels harder than the last. My legs feel heavy like I'm walking through deep water.
The mansion looms over me. The front door is massive. Dark wood with iron handles. I used to need both hands to open it when I was little.
I reach for the door handle but freeze.
What if they slam the door in my face? What if my father sees me and orders me to leave immediately? What if this whole thing is a cruel joke?
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out with shaking hands.
Another text from the unknown number.
Don't be afraid. Martha knows you're coming. She's waiting. The real enemy isn't who you think it is.
My heart pounds faster. Who is texting me? How do they know about Martha?
Before I can respond, the door swings open.
I jump back. My phone almost slips from my hand.
A woman stands in the doorway. She's older now with gray hair and more wrinkles around her eyes. But I'd know her anywhere.
"Miss Elena?"
Martha the maid stares at me like she's seeing a ghost. Her hand covers her mouth. Tears fill her eyes.
"Is that really you?"
All the fear drains out of my body. Martha was kind to me when I was little. She snuck me cookies when I was sad. She told me stories about her own children. She was more like family than my real family ever was.
"Hi, Martha," I whisper.
She pulls me into a tight hug before I can say anything else. She smells like vanilla and clean laundry. Like safety. Like home.
"Oh, dear child," she says into my hair. "I've missed you so much. I prayed you'd come back someday."
Tears burn my eyes but I blink them away. I won't cry. Not here. Not yet.
Martha pulls back and holds my face in her hands. "Let me look at you. You're so grown up now. So beautiful."
"I'm not beautiful," I say automatically.
"Hush. You are." She wipes her own tears away. "Your grandmother talked about you every day. She never stopped loving you, Elena. Never."
Pain shoots through my chest. "I should have visited her. Before she died. I should have—"
"She understood why you stayed away," Martha interrupts gently. "She didn't want you to come back until you were strong enough. And now you are."
Strong enough for what?
Martha glances over her shoulder nervously. Then she leans close and whispers so quietly I almost can't hear.
"Be careful, Elena. Things have changed since you left. Your family isn't what it seems. And there's someone here who—"
"Martha!" A sharp voice cuts through the air like a knife. "Who are you talking to?"
Martha's face goes pale. She steps back from me quickly.
A girl appears in the doorway behind Martha. No, not a girl. A woman now. But I'd recognize her anywhere.
My sister Sophia.
She's stunning. Long blonde hair. Perfect makeup. Designer clothes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. She looks like she walked out of a fashion magazine.
Her eyes land on me and something dark flashes across her face. Anger? Hatred? I can't tell.
"Well, well," Sophia says slowly. Her voice drips with fake sweetness. "Look who crawled back."
My hands curl into fists. "Hello, Sophia."
She looks me up and down like I'm dirt on her expensive shoes. "Seven years and you still dress like a homeless person. How disappointing."
Martha touches my arm gently. "Miss Sophia, please. Elena just arrived—"
"I wasn't talking to you, Martha." Sophia's voice turns ice cold. "Go back to the kitchen where you belong."
Martha flinches but doesn't move. She stays beside me like a shield.
Sophia steps fully into the doorway. Behind her, I see more people gathering in the entrance hall. Shadows moving. Whispers starting.
"Everyone's waiting for you," Sophia says with a cruel smile. "Father. Evelyn. Uncle Philip. The whole family's here to witness your grand return."
My stomach drops. This is it. The moment I've been dreading.
"And someone else is here too," Sophia continues. Her smile grows wider. "Someone you don't remember. Someone who's very interested in meeting you."
Before I can ask what she means, a man steps out of the shadows behind her.
He's tall. Much taller than I expected. Dark hair. Gray eyes that seem to see right through me.
He looks at me and the world stops spinning.
Time freezes. My breath catches. Something electric shoots through my entire body like lightning.
I don't know him. I'm sure I don't know him.
So why does looking at him feel like coming home and running away at the exact same time?
"Adrian?" I whisper. The name comes from somewhere deep in my memory.
He smiles. It's not a happy smile. It's complicated and sad and something else I can't name.
"Welcome home, Elena," he says.
His voice wraps around me like warm water. And suddenly I know with absolute certainty that my grandmother didn't just leave me an art studio.
She left me him.