The first few days at Adrian’s mansion passed like quiet whispers in the wind — gentle, almost unreal.Each morning, I would wake to the sound of birds nesting on the window ledge, the faint rustle of leaves outside, and the warmth of sunlight pouring into the room. For the first time in what felt like years, there were no guards, no harsh voices, no one calling my name in accusation.Only silence.And peace.The kind I never thought I’d taste again.The first morning after my release, Adrian insisted I stay indoors and rest. “You’ve carried too much weight for too long,” he’d said in that calm, grounding voice of his. “Let your body remember what safety feels like.”He didn’t hover or fuss. He just made sure I had everything I needed.Breakfasts were light — freshly baked bread, warm soup, and tea sweetened just enough to calm my nerves. The maids were kind but careful not to. They seemed to know not to ask questions, to simply let me exist quietly.Sometimes, I would find Adrian in
I sat in Adrian's car, feeling the quiet hum of the city against my skin, unsure whether to breathe or cry. The faint buzz of streetlights flickered overhead, and my reflection in the window beside me looked nothing like the woman I used to be.My hands trembled slightly as I clutched the small bag that held my belongings — a phone, a few documents, and the scarf Adrian had given me when he last visited.“Alice,” he called quietly, as though saying my name might shatter something fragile.For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The sound of his voice — calm, deep, and achingly familiar — felt like a rope pulling me back from the edge of something dark.He moved closer, placing one of his palms on mine. “You’re free,” he murmured, almost as if reassuring himself. “It’s over now.”My lips parted, but the words stuck in my throat. I managed only a faint nod.He reached out again, hesitated, then gently brushed his fingers against my wrist — a silent invitation. I let him take my hand. His warmth
It had been a week since I was locked up in that suffocating cell, and the walls had already begun to feel like they were breathing with me — stale air, cold cement, the constant buzz of fluorescent light flickering over my head.Each passing day had been nothing short of torture.Not the kind that comes from bruises or chains — but from silence, from the way time stretched painfully when you had nothing left but thoughts that refused to stop whispering why and how.Vincent had been coming to visit lately — though I didn’t know why.Sometimes he’d stand outside the cell without saying a word, his tall frame casting a long shadow through the small bars. Sometimes he’d ask short questions — “Are you eating?” “Do you need anything?” — in that same cold, distant tone that made my chest tighten.And sometimes, he just watched me — his eyes unreadable, like he was trying to see through me, searching for something I couldn’t give him anymore.I didn’t know whether to hate him or to pity him.
The Markston Mansion had never been this tense. Servants walked quietly through the hallways, whispering to one another as if a single word could ignite another storm.Ever since Alice’s arrest, the entire household had fallen into chaos.The old patriarch was still unconscious in the hospital. The old Matriarch had refused to eat, her grief sharp as a blade. And Vincent — the one everyone looked to for direction — had grown colder, his expression blank as he sat at the head of the family meeting room.The long mahogany table stretched endlessly. Around it sat uncles, cousins, and distant relatives — men and women whose faces bore opportunistic smiles even in tragedy.Whispers turned into voices, voices into demands.> “Vincent, this is affecting the family’s reputation!”>> “The company’s stocks are dipping. We can’t let this continue.”>> “You should publicly distance yourself from that woman. Divorce her before it’s too late!”>At least Alice won't face any problem,since the publ
That night, after the long interrogation that left me drained and trembling, I finally leaned against the cold wall of my room., the faint echo of whispers outside, and the dull ache in my chest made it hard to breathe.My mind kept replaying the moment—the gasps, the shouting, the look on Vincent’s face when everyone turned against me. He didn’t even say my name.I thought it was finally over for the day, but a few hours later, the sound of shoes and keys echoed from the hallway. I heard a I ok sounds on my room door and quickly opened it . Two police officers entered, their expressions grave.“Mrs. Markston,” one of them said curtly. “You’re coming with us.”I blinked, confused. “What… what’s happening? I already answered all your questions.”The other officer stepped closer, his tone sharp. “New evidence has surfaced. You’re being placed under formal arrest for the attempted murder of Old Patriarch Markston.”Before I could process it, cold metal snapped around my wrists.The shock
The sirens wailed outside the mansion as paramedics rushed through the gates. The air was thick with panic and disbelief. The golden light of celebration had vanished, replaced by flashing red and blue that painted the marble floors in chaos.I stood frozen by the staircase, my entire body trembling. The image of the old patriarch lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs burned itself into my mind. Servants were crying, relatives whispering, and the matriarch clutched her chest in horror as Vincent guided her to a chair.My throat felt dry, my lips shaking as I tried to explain, but no one wanted to listen. Every eye in that room was fixed on me — judgmental, accusing, hateful.“Did anyone see her near the stairs?” one of the uncles demanded.“I did!” someone shouted. “She was right there when Father fell!”“That’s nonsense!” I burst out. “I was coming down from the hallway when I saw someone push him! There was someone else there—”“Enough!” another voice barked, and when I turne