Ivy's POV
The house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet people imagine when they think about wealth and luxury.
This kind of silence felt… wrong.
Like a cathedral after the congregation had disappeared.
I stood in the middle of the living room, barefoot on the cold marble floor, staring at the places where things used to be.
Empty spaces.
Open drawers.
Jewelry boxes lying on their sides like small abandoned coffins.
The thieves had been here only hours ago.
And yet the house already felt exactly the same as it had before they came.
Hollow.
I slowly walked toward the glass wall overlooking the city.
Morning light poured into the mansion, turning the marble floors into sheets of pale gold. Down below, the streets were already alive—cars moving like veins carrying blood through the city.
People going to work.
Living their lives.
From this height, the world looked energetic. Purposeful.
But inside the mansion…
It felt like time had stopped.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The antique clock on the wall continued its lonely rhythm.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
The thieves had taken a lot last night.
Watches.
Cash.
Jewelry.
Expensive things Philip once insisted we buy.
At the time he had called them investments.
But standing here now…
The missing items barely registered.
I stepped toward a glass cabinet where a collection of designer watches used to sit.
Half the shelves were empty now.
Oddly enough, one watch still remained in the center.
A heavy silver Patek Philippe.
Worth more than most people's yearly salaries.
My eyes lingered on it far more than I wanted to.
They must have seen it.
It had been impossible to miss.
Yet they left it behind.
Why?
The question floated in my mind longer than I expected.
Then I pushed the thought away.
It didn't matter.
Nothing really did anymore.
A faint sound echoed from upstairs.
Soft footsteps.
Small ones.
I turned just as Anderson appeared at the top of the staircase.
My six-year-old son stood there clutching the railing with sleepy fingers. His dinosaur pajamas were twisted from sleep and his dark hair stuck up in several directions.
He blinked down at me.
"Mom?"
My chest tightened slightly.
"Yes, baby."
He slowly walked down the staircase, each step careful and quiet.
"Why are you awake so early?"
I forced a small smile.
"I couldn't sleep."
That answer seemed to make sense to him.
Kids accept things adults question.
When he reached the bottom step, Anderson looked around the room.
His eyes moved from the open drawers… to the empty shelves… to the scattered boxes.
His eyebrows knitted together.
"Why is the house messy?"
The word messy almost made me laugh.
If only he knew.
I crouched down in front of him.
"Some people visited last night."
His eyes widened immediately.
"Friends?"
I hesitated.
For a moment I remembered the masked figures standing in my bedroom.
The taller one who stayed quiet.
The younger one who sounded excited about stealing everything.
And the way the quiet one had looked at me.
Not like a thief.
Like someone trying to understand a puzzle.
Something about that look had stayed with me all night.
I blinked the memory away.
"Something like that," I said softly.
Anderson considered this answer.
Then he nodded.
Satisfied.
Children are strange like that.
They sense when something is wrong—but they rarely push too hard.
He walked past me and climbed onto one of the tall kitchen chairs.
"Are you making breakfast?"
I paused.
The question shouldn't have been difficult.
But it was.
For a long time, cooking had been the chef's job.
Then after Philip left, it became takeout.
Eventually…
Some mornings Anderson simply ate cereal.
"I can make something," I said quietly.
His face brightened instantly.
"Pancakes!"
Of course.
Kids always want pancakes.
I opened the cabinet and pulled out a mixing bowl.
Flour.
Milk.
Eggs.
The simple rhythm of cooking felt unfamiliar in my hands.
As I cracked the eggs into the bowl, I felt Anderson watching me.
Not just looking.
Watching.
Kids notice more than we realize.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Did the visitors scare you?"
My hands paused over the bowl.
For a moment the kitchen went completely silent.
The memory returned again.
Two masked men standing in my bedroom.
Searching through my belongings.
And me sitting there calmly telling them to take everything.
I finished mixing the batter.
"No," I said.
He tilted his head.
"Why not?"
Because fear requires something to lose.
But I didn't say that.
Instead I forced another small smile.
"Because they didn't hurt us."
That answer seemed acceptable.
Anderson began swinging his legs happily under the chair.
Soon the smell of pancakes filled the kitchen.
For a brief moment the house almost felt… normal.
Anderson devoured the food like a tiny tornado.
Syrup ended up on his cheeks, his pajamas, and somehow the floor.
I wiped his face with a napkin.
"You eat like a monster."
He grinned proudly.
"I'm a dinosaur."
"Of course you are."
When he finished, he jumped off the chair.
"I'm going to watch cartoons!"
"Not too loud," I said.
"Okay!"
A moment later the television turned on in the living room.
Bright music filled the house.
The sound echoed strangely against the high ceilings.
I stayed in the kitchen for a while.
Just listening.
Trying to convince myself this was a normal morning.
That life inside this house still made sense.
Eventually I walked upstairs.
The hallway felt longer than usual.
Doors lined both sides.
Guest rooms.
A library.
Philip's old office.
Rooms that once hosted parties and business meetings.
Now they remained closed most of the time.
Dust gathered on the handles.
I stepped into the bedroom.
The curtains glowed softly in the morning light.
The bed was still unmade from the night before.
My eyes drifted to the large dresser near the wall.
One drawer remained half open.
The thieves had searched there.
I walked closer and pulled it fully open.
Empty jewelry boxes.
Loose velvet cases.
Small spaces where expensive things used to rest.
They had taken most of it.
But not all.
My fingers brushed over the empty compartments.
Odd.
They had been thorough.
Yet several obvious items remained untouched.
Why?
The quiet thief's face flickered in my memory again.
Or at least the shadow of it behind the mask.
His eyes.
They hadn't looked greedy.
They had looked… disturbed.
Like my reaction to the robbery had frightened him more than the crime itself.
I closed the drawer.
Then opened the second one.
Photographs.
Old memories trapped behind glossy paper.
Philip smiling at a charity gala.
Philip shaking hands with investors.
Philip holding Anderson as a newborn.
My fingers hovered over the pictures.
The man in those images felt like a stranger now.
Someone I used to know.
Someone who vanished without explanation.
Someone who left behind a mansion that felt more like a museum than a home.
I closed the drawer slowly.
Only one remained.
The bottom one.
My hand hesitated.
Then I pulled it open.
Rows of white bottles stared back at me.
Prescription labels.
Sleeping pills.
Anti-anxiety medication.
Painkillers.
The quiet escape from long nights.
The secret that kept the darkness manageable.
Downstairs, Anderson laughed at something on the television.
The sound drifted faintly through the house.
A small reminder that life still existed somewhere inside these walls.
But standing here…
All I could see was the drawer.
And the pills waiting inside it.
My fingers slowly picked up one of the bottles.
The plastic rattled softly in my hand.
For a long moment I just stared at it.
Because deep down…
I already knew why the thieves didn't scare me last night.
Because part of me had hoped they might take something else.
Something far more valuable than jewelry.
My fear.
My pain.
My memories.
Anything that could make the silence disappear.
I twisted the cap slowly.
The pills spilled gently into my palm.
And for a moment…
I wondered what would happen if I took them all.
Then something strange happened.
A faint sound echoed from downstairs.
A noise that shouldn't have been there.
Not the television.
Not Anderson.
Something else.
Something soft.
Like a floorboard creaking under someone's weight.
My heart stopped.
Because for the first time since the robbery…
The house no longer felt empty.
Someone was inside.