The mansion felt cavernous after Dominic left.
Not empty…. echoing.
Sound travelled too far here. Every footstep, every breath lingered longer than it should have, swallowed by marble corridors and towering ceilings that had been designed to impress, not to comfort.
Emma stood at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the manicured gardens, her reflection faint against the glass. Beyond the wrought-iron gates, the city existed…. alive, chaotic, real. Inside, everything was too still.
Her phone rested in her palm.
Ask him about Singapore.
She locked the screen and set it down on the polished console table, careful not to disturb the arrangement of fresh orchids the staff replaced daily. Nothing in this house was ever allowed to decay. Not flowers. Not appearances.
The doorbell rang.
The sound carried through the mansion like a warning.
Emma stiffened.
Visitors were announced. Scheduled. Screened.
A second chime followed…. calm, assured.
She knew who it could be before anyone reached the door.
Margaret Sterling stepped inside as though the mansion belonged to her.
In a way, it always had.
She wore a tailored charcoal coat that skimmed her figure without effort, silk blouse beneath, pearl earrings understated yet unmistakably valuable. Her heels were quiet against the marble, her presence precise and controlled. Wealth clung to her like a second skin…. old, unshakeable, inherited and defended.
Her hair was swept back into a flawless chignon, silver threading naturally through dark strands. Her face was composed, sharp, sculpted by discipline rather than softness. Dominic gets his hazel eyes from her. She is the kind of woman who didn't raise her voice because she never needed to.
Her gaze moved over Emma in one smooth assessment.
"You look unwell," Margaret said.
Not concern. A verdict.
"I didn't know you were coming," Emma replied.
Margaret stepped past her without invitation.
"I was nearby," she said coolly. "I thought I'd see my son."
She paused, glancing toward the grand staircase.
"He isn't here."
"No," Emma said. "He left early. Business trip."
Margaret stopped walking.
"Business?" she echoed.
"Yes. Singapore."
For a moment, something flickered behind Margaret's eyes—calculation sharpened into focus.
"He didn't mention it to me."
The words were light. The implication was not.
"It was last minute," Emma said. "Urgent."
Margaret hummed thoughtfully, then resumed her slow inspection of the mansion—gleaming chandeliers, curated artwork, the vast space that screamed success while offering no warmth.
"This house suits you," Margaret said at last. "It requires very little personality."
Emma flinched.
"I prefer things simple."
"Yes," Margaret replied. "You always have."
She stopped near the sitting room, turning fully now.
"You look pale," she continued. "And thinner."
"I've just been tired."
Margaret's lips curved faintly.
"Tiredness doesn't usually hollow people out."
Emma folded her arms unconsciously, the vastness of the room pressing in on her.
"When a woman marries into a family like ours," Margaret said, seating herself gracefully on the velvet sofa, "she carries responsibility. Visibility. Expectation."
She folded her gloved hands in her lap.
"The Sterlings cannot afford instability."
Emma remained standing.
"I'm not unstable."
"Of course not," Margaret said smoothly. "But perception is everything. Withdrawals. Emotional sensitivity. Overthinking."
Her eyes sharpened.
"These things get noticed."
Emma felt exposed.
"I assume Dominic's frequent absences haven't been too… taxing," Margaret continued. "His work requires focus. Clarity. Discretion."
"Yes," Emma said. "I know…. I understand."
"Good." Margaret nodded once. "Because stress, if unmanaged, can lead to unfortunate misunderstandings. Imagined betrayals. Paranoia."
The word landed softly…. and cut deep.
Emma's pulse spiked.
"I would hate for anyone to think you're struggling," Margaret added, rising smoothly. "It wouldn't reflect well. On you. Or on us."
On us.
She slipped her coat back on, immaculate as ever.
"Do take care of yourself," Margaret said lightly. "Rest. Routine. Structure." A pause. "Professional support, if necessary."
Emma's breath caught.
"I don't need…. "
"Of course not," Margaret interrupted gently. "I'm merely being responsible."
She moved toward the door, then paused.
"Oh….. do let Dominic know I stopped by. He dislikes disorder."
The door closed with a soft, final click.
The mansion swallowed the sound.
Emma stood alone in the vast space, heart pounding, the chandeliers above glittering coldly.
Fragile.
Paranoia.
Support.
Her phone vibrated.
She nearly dropped it.
Unknown number.
"Be careful, Do not trust the Sterlings."
Emma sank onto the sofa, the velvet cool beneath her fingers.
This mansion... this beautiful, suffocating monument to wealth….was not her refuge.
It was her cage.
And suddenly, the most terrifying realization settled in her chest:
They weren't trying to hurt her.
They were trying to make her disappear...quietly, legally, and without ever raising their voices.
And Dominic…
Dominic had chosen this house very carefully
End of Chapter 4
******