Belle paced around the room, her hands quivering as she looked at the light screen in front of her. Alistair stood next to her, his attitude calm, calculating. Now in his command centre, surrounded by a web of high-tech devices, they felt far from the safety Belle had once known. The stakes were higher than ever before. Belle responded, her voice calm but laced with genuine anger, "I don't trust you, Alistair." "But I'll do anything to bring him back", Though her gaze stayed glued to the television, she sensed the burden of her words drop between them. Alistair remained unflinching. As the data came in, indicating their son's last known whereabouts, his eyes stayed glued to the screen. Belle, we're in this together, he replied gently. More than anything, Theodore's life counts. Though his voice was chilly, there was unmistakable tenacity in it. Though she wanted to despise him in that time, she could not refute the veracity of his statements. He was correct; they had to cooperate.
Theodore sat on the soft grass of the mansion's lawn, his small hands gripping a ball as he casually tossed it in the air. Golden light from the sun covered the vast estate, and birds chirping made for a perfect setting. But something seemed wrong. A peculiar chill hung in the air, causing him to look anxiously over his shoulder. The front gate opened with a creak; the noise rather acute in the quiet. Stepping through the gate, two men in dark suits created an imposing, deliberate presence. Though it was Theodore's naive interest that drew their notice first, they moved in perfect unison, their eyes searching the area. He grimaced, a quick anxiety filling his chest. Standing up, he let the ball fall and his tiny hands shook a little. One of the guys saw him right away; their gazes met for a brief minute before the man smiled tightly and uncomfortably. The man murmured, his voice icy yet gently sweet with an eerie serenity, "Come with us, Theo." Theodore stepped back, his heart rac
Belle's breath stopped in her throat as she and Gabrielle raced to conceal the documents in Alistair's study. With every second stretching like an eternity and the sound of footsteps growing louder, closer, her heart raced in her chest. Gabrielle looked towards the door and froze, her hand resting above the drawer. In the stillness, the familiar creak of the study door reverberated. Overwhelming in presence, Alistair entered and his keen eyes swept the room. His eyes danced between them, pausing for a minute too long. You two are doing what in here? Belle's spine tingled at his low, menacing voice. Belle automatically sat up, her heart racing. Avoiding his gaze, her thoughts raced to create a justification that would not arouse doubt. She knew how observant Alistair was; he noticed every detail and saw everything. Gabrielle responded hurriedly, her tone strained as she moved in front of Belle, obstructing Alistair's view of the desk, "We were just, just talking." There is nothing
The mansion was too quiet for Belle's comfort of mind. Her mind a maelstrom of uncertainty and dread, she had been in Alistair's study for what seemed like hours. The richness of the home only appeared to increase her mounting anxiety. The files she had discovered burdened her greatly; the secrets they exposed about Alistair's father, Alexander, and the shady transactions endangering everything seemed to crash down. Belle's fingers trembled slightly as she touched the borders of the papers she'd left behind, her anxiety returning. A gentle knock on the door broke her thoughts. Is Belle there? Startled, she turned as Gabrielle entered. Her eyes were large, full of a strange combination of shame and anxiety. Though tonight it seemed as though the walls were closing in, the air between them had always been electric. Gabrielle Belle enquired, attempting to control her breathing. What is happening? What brings you here? Gabrielle hesitated, her eyes darting anxiously to the door as th
The phone buzzed loudly in the quiet office. Alistair's attention was only on the papers in front of him; he did not look up. Impatient with the gradual advancement of his plans, he fingers drummed the desk. The phone's abrupt vibration, however, broke his thoughts. He snatched it up to find an unknown number flashing across the screen. "Alistair Kensington," he replied, his voice professional, used to the gravity of every word he uttered. Familiar but urgent, the voice on the other end. Rook here. We have to speak. Right now. Rook A former acquaintance of Alistair's who was aware of the most sinister aspects of his father's activities as well as the most sinister aspects of his own life. He felt a pang of anxiety. "Alistair, he's back," Rook said, his voice clearly weighted. The old foe of your father. The one who vanished years ago. He has come back. And he's targeting your empire. A frigid shiver went down Alistair's back. "Who?" I can't yet name you, but you must prepare. Al
Theodore's eyes adapted to the dim light; he saw files that appeared to draw him closer, boxes coated in cobwebs, and shelves brimming with old volumes. Walking toward the far corner of the room, he found a wooden cabinet half-hidden beneath piles of papers. Theodore cautiously unlocked the cabinet as his fingers glided across its surface. Though their contents were far from usual, inside were dozens of file folders, each carefully labeled. Pulling one off the shelf, its label worn but readable: Kensington Family History, his heart raced. Though the final folder at the bottom drew his attention, the files were packed with information, birth records, bank paperwork, old photographs. His fingers quivering with expectation, he opened it carefully. There, in a tattered paper, was his father's birth record. The tidy writing covered the fundamentals: date, place, surname. Theodore hesitated, though, at the way the paper crinkled and felt more weighty than the rest. He looked down at the
"Your mother loves you very much, Theodore," Lucy replied, her voice soft. But she doesn't always know what's best for you. She's... you know, emotional. Occasionally, her choices are focused on emotions rather than what is best for your future. Theodore looked up from his play to see his grandmother. Though he didn't quite get them, he felt their words sink into his chest. His mother had always been nice and protective; how could anything she did be incorrect? Lucy's tone became more personal as she leaned forward a bit. Haven't you heard your father talk about all the great things he can give you? The journeys, the knowledge, the life he has guaranteed you. Still, your mother prevents you from experiencing any of it. Theodore, why? Doesn't that make you question whether she actually knows what is best? Theodore stared at the goodies before him, his head spinning with uncertainty. He had never considered his mother in such a manner. Lucy’s comments put something fresh, something a
Belle stood in front of the mirror, her reflection looking back at her with a mix of surprise and determination. Alistair's courtroom fight had finished in his favor, and she felt as though the walls were closing in on her. The man meant to safeguard her and their children was suddenly the one actually endangering their family disintegration. Every day spent with him served as a reminder that he controlled everything: her, Theodore, and all else. But not any more. She had decided. Belle walked across the room, ignoring the papers strewn over the desk. Running through the processes in her head, her heart raced and her thoughts raced. She could not remain here. Not in this home, not with him. The idea of Theodore maturing under Alistair's control made one cringe. The orders, the control, the cruel comments she could already hear. Her gaze remained fixed on the little suitcase by the bed. She had packed it before, just in case, but now it was more than just a precaution. It was all th
"Should I open it?" he whispered to himself, nearly as if seeking permission. Staring back at him from the tablet's screen, his reflection showed eyes wide with the burden of his own choices. He tapped the first file without allowing himself another opportunity to reconsider. A screen for passwords showed up. Theodore looked over his shoulder and leaned back in his chair to make sure no one was around. He had to be cautious as he had no idea what sort of havoc he was about to cause. Typing in a few possibilities, names, dates, the keys on the screen felt alien under his touch. Then, on a hunch, he attempted his mother's birthday. The file opened and the screen flickered. Cold, clinical, a thorough study of the Kensington family's financial activities, a list of assets and holdings, the paper's contents were One aspect, however, drew his notice: his own birth. The day. The frigid, distant tongue. "Theodore Kensington," the paper started, "born under dubious conditions. Unfortunate