THE TOUR

Camille Owens sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers tracing the embroidered silk of her nightgown as she replayed Pierce's drunken accusation in her mind. "You killed her! She's dead because of you!"

She had barely slept last night. Instead, she spent her night tossing and thinking about an issue that sincerely wasn't her business. She knew this, but still— did the General really lock up his wife and kill her? The thought alone sent a shiver down her spine.

The General wasn't just anybody; he was—and still is—the leader of Ventria. But what sort of leader would he be if he killed his own wife?

I can't stay locked up in here for a year. I have to do something. I have to leave this house – I need to investigate my father's death, Camille thought, standing up from the bed.

"But how? How do I leave this place?" she pondered, pacing around the room.

Sadly, she had only thought of escaping death; she never went as far as to think of how she would escape from the General's estate.

"The General's estate is heavily guarded. If I try to escape, I will definitely be caught," she voiced, her fingers tapping on her cheek in rhythm.

First, I will need the baby's DNA to be confirmed. Once that happens, I will ask the General for a bit of freedom. He would probably allow it once he has confirmed that I'm carrying his grandchild, she thought, nodding to herself as she slowly devised a plan.

"Then I will be able to meet up with Joyce, and with her help, I will hire a private investigator. Yes, that could work," Camille Owens said to herself, sitting down on her bed with a sense of fulfilment. Then she rose abruptly.

"But just in case that doesn't work out, I should come up with a plan B!" she declared. She walked around the room, thinking deeply about a possible Plan B, but couldn't come up with one.

With slumped shoulders, she sat down on the bed once more. "Or maybe I should just escape from the mansion," Camille mumbled.

She knew escaping from the mansion wouldn't be possible, but if she was left with no choice, that might be her only way out.

"Well, escaping from the General's mansion won't be difficult if I at least know my way around here," she uttered, standing to her feet. "I might even end up finding a secret path or something."

With a made-up mind, Camille left her room and went in search of Ms Elizabeth, and a big, beautiful smile graced Camille's lips the moment she found her.

"Good morning, Ms Elizabeth," she greeted cheerfully.

"Good morning, Camille," Ms Elizabeth responded, briefly staring at Camille before returning her gaze to the workers in front of her, dishing out instructions on how they should clean the living room.

"I was wondering, Ms Elizabeth.” She started, “if you could show me around the estate," she spoke softly, praying deeply in her heart that Ms Elizabeth wouldn't say no to her.

Ms Elizabeth turned to her sharply. "I do not mean to be rude when I say this, Ms. Camille, but for now—you are only a temporary guest in this house, until at least the child's DNA in your belly is confirmed."

Camille sighed. She needed to at least get to know the main house, if not the estate. She pouted her lips. "What about just the main house? I'm a little bored, Ms Elizabeth. Please throw some bone my way."

Ms Elizabeth stared at her, then back at the workers, before returning her gaze to Camille. "I guess a little bit of a tour wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Yes, it wouldn't! Thank you so much, Ms Elizabeth," Camille giggled, jumping slightly.

Ms Elizabeth smiled broadly, chuckling at Camille's cute moment. "Come with me, child. I will show you around the main house."

Ms Elizabeth redirected her gaze to the maids working. "None of you are allowed to slack. I will inspect your work when I come back." She stared at them sternly before leading Camille away.

"This—I call it the Road of Honour," Ms Elizabeth voiced as they walked through the passageway where the past Generals' portraits hung. She covered her mouth with her hand and whispered to Camille, "Whenever I walk through this passage, it always feels like I'm being judged for my past actions, present actions, and future actions."

Camille nodded, chuckling. "I felt that way the very first time I walked through the passage. I could swear they were judging me for the sins my ancestors might have committed," she whispered back.

Ms Elizabeth laughed out loud, leading Camille out of the Road of Honour. "This is the General's study, as you already know," she said, gesturing to the room.

Camille nodded, remembering her first visit to the General's office. She shivered at the memories.

"And this over here is—well, what used to be the kitchen," Ms Elizabeth said, stopping in front of a locked door. Camille stared at the padlocked door, confused.

"It is no longer in use?" she asked curiously.

"Yes," Ms Elizabeth answered simply, in a way that shut down any further questions Camille might have had.

As Ms Elizabeth led her away from the padlocked door, Camille stared at it with much curiosity, wondering why the kitchen wasn't in use anymore.

"If that kitchen is no longer in use, then where is the main kitchen?" she asked, against her better judgement not to.

"It's next to the second living room, where you shopped for clothes," Ms Elizabeth answered, and Camille nodded slowly in understanding.

"There's nothing much down here, just rooms and more rooms. And most of the rooms, some of the workers live in," Ms Elizabeth said. "My room is also there."

"Huh? I thought there would be like a caretaker's or staff residence?"

Ms Elizabeth turned around and, as she led Camille out of the long hallway, responded, "Yes, there is a staff residence. But the General wants some of the staff to live in the main residence—not just the staff, but the soldiers too, in case of an emergency."

Camille nodded, realising that her plan to escape was slowly crumbling. There was no way she could escape with soldiers living in the house.

They walked out of the hallway, passing by Camille's bedroom, and returned to the living room, where the maids were still cleaning. Ms Elizabeth showed her the spacious kitchen, the bar room, and dining area, which Camille had never been privileged to dine in. Her meals had always been brought to her room.

"This passage leads to the guest house. And now it's time I show you what's up there," Ms Elizabeth pointed up at the stairway, and Camille nodded in fake enthusiasm. She no longer felt like touring the house, seeing that she had no way to escape.

Camille went up the stairs with Ms Elizabeth. "This is more like the family residence," Ms Elizabeth whispered. "We have to be quick because I wouldn't want us to wake up the General."

Ms Elizabeth halted, then sighed wearily, staring at a locked-up room with longing. "This room used to be the late General's wife's tearoom. Oh, all the tea parties she hosted with her friends. So bubbly and lovely."

Camille stared at the room inquisitively. She understood that the General's wife was dead, but she couldn't understand why the dead wife was being mourned in such a way.

Ms Elizabeth continued on her tour like nothing had happened. "This over here is the family's living room," she said, opening the door to the living room and standing right at the door, staring at the space before her. "Sadly, after the death of the General's wife, the family has never once gathered here."

Probably because both the General and his son would rather die than sit in the same space… Camille thought.

Sighing heavily, Ms Elizabeth closed the living room door. She glanced at Camille's stomach with much longing in her eyes.

"I really hope the child you're carrying is the grandchild of this household. Then maybe—maybe this house would come alive again," she spoke softly.

Camille's right hand unconsciously travelled to her stomach, and she stroked it, her heart sympathising with the Landons. But she knew she had no time to worry about someone else's family; hers had a murder mystery she was yet to solve.

A loud crash from the west wing got Ms Elizabeth's attention.

"This would be the end of our tour. I'm afraid I have to go back to supervising. You can find your way back to your room, right?" Ms Elizabeth asked, her eyes staring in the direction of where the crash had come from.

Camille nodded. "Yes, I can."

Ms Elizabeth rushed off immediately, and Camille stood there, her legs unable to move. She stared at the countless doors before her with much curiosity, and against the warning bells in her head, Camille set off to explore.

"This is locked too," she muttered to herself as she passed by a locked room. And even though Ms Elizabeth wasn't there to comment and tell her why, she already knew why.

As she walked down the long corridor, her curiosity peaked, her eyes darting through the never-ending locked-up mysterious doors.

Why was her death celebrated in this way? She wondered.

To her, she believed that instead of erasing or locking up the memories of the dead, those left behind should live it.

Even on the walls, she could see pictures of the General and Pierce, and a mysterious little girl—but none of the late General's wife. Camille stared at the family picture, her interest piqued.

"Who is this little girl, and why does it look like the General's wife has been erased from the picture?" she muttered to herself, staring at the little girl holding onto Pierce Landon's hand.

The picture looked old, like it was taken when Pierce Landon was a kid. Camille steered her eyes away from the picture and continued on her self-guided tour.

"This must be the General's bedroom," she muttered, standing before an intimidating giant oak door. There was nothing really on the door that showed it belonged to the General, but with the hairs standing on her body—she could tell it was indeed the General's bedroom.

Moving along briskly, while trying to calm down her beating heart, Camille pondered the possibility of ending her tour and returning to her room.

Before she could decide on what to do, she found her legs halting before a certain slightly opened door, her eyes gazing inside the room.

Pierce stood with his back to her, peeling off his sweat-damp shirt. Muscles rippled beneath ink-black tattoos—a serpent coiled around his ribs, its fangs bared at his heart. Camille's breath caught.

She gulped, her fingers sweaty, and down there—between her thighs—she felt a tingle.

It's the hormones.

As she stared at him, unable to move her legs, Pierce Landon turned.

Their eyes met and for a heartbeat, neither moved.

Run.

Her legs refused.

Pierce crossed the room in three strides, wrenching the door open. Before she could process what was happening, she was being dragged into his bedroom. The lock clicked.

"Spying now, are we?" he whispered to her, his breath reeking of bourbon and bitterness.

Camille shoved against his chest. "Let me go!"

He didn't. Instead, he backed her against the wall. The heat of him seared through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

"I've ransacked my brain," he murmured, dragging his nose along her jaw. "Wondering why I didn't remember fucking you." His knee slid between her thighs. "Now I know."

Camille stared at him defiantly, her breathing ragged. Even though she felt fear—fear and something else—an emotion she refused to name or show in her eyes.

Pierce laughed, lowly. "You're just like the rest." His grip tightened. "A cheap slut."

She felt it—his harsh words. She had liked to lie through her emotions, ignore the pain. But his words pierced her heart more painfully than she liked to admit.

"And I'm sure if I wanted to have you right now—you'd spread your legs apart willingly, because that is what you are." And just so he could prove his point, to the detriment of Camille, he ripped off her nightwear, leaving her bare before his eyes.

Camille stared down at her naked self, and her slightly protruding stomach stared back at her. She unconsciously covered her breasts with her hand, but Pierce Landon had other things coming for her. He took hold of both her hands and pinned them above her head.

His free hand—his middle finger—slid into her cunt. Camille stifled a moan.

But just as fast as his finger had invaded her, Pierce took it out. He rubbed his wet finger on her cheek, staring at her in disgust.

"Nothing but a cheap slut."

He let go of her hands, walked to the door of his room, unlocked it and opened it. "Get out," he growled slightly.

Camille pulled off the bed sheet covering his bed, wrapped it around her body in shame, picked up her ripped nightwear and ran out of his room while praying that she didn't run into anyone.

Sadly, Camille's luck had run out—she ran past the General, and as he watched her flee, he redirected his gaze to his son's room. And in that moment, an idea clicked.

He smirked. "This is interesting."