Chapter 6: Masks of Politeness and Night Shadows

I stood frozen in the dim light of the attic, the ancient parchment still clutched in my trembling hands and Gabriel’s suffocating presence looming right behind me. Before I could even force a breath into my lungs, the heavy clatter of iron wheels and the rhythmic beating of hooves echoed loudly from the cobbled street outside our gates.

"Saved by the arrival of beloved guests, a little bird," Gabriel murmured softly into my ear, his cold breath brushing against my neck before his shadow vanished silently into the rafters above. Heart pounding, I shoved the parchment back into the rusted iron chest, closed the lid, and rushed down the rickety wooden ladder.

Downstairs, the entire house was already bursting into motion. My mother, Sofia, was hurriedly wiping her hands on her apron, while my father, Roberto, smoothed the front of his dark military coat. My older brother, Alvaro, had finally returned home from his university studies. I stood near the bottom of the staircase, pulling my shawl tight around my shoulders as the heavy oak front door swung open.

Alvaro stepped inside, his broad face lighting up with a wide, exhausted grin. He carried a leather travel trunk in one hand, but before my mother could even wrap her arms around him, he stepped aside to introduce the man standing right behind him. "Mom, Dad, Sarah—meet Victor," Alvaro announced proudly, gesturing to his companion. "He’s my closest friend at the university. Honestly, if it weren't for Victor's generous influence and his family’s carriage, I would have been stuck in the northern province for another week!"

Victor stepped into the warm glow of our entryway lamps. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal coat, crisp white linen, and polished leather boots.

His golden-brown hair was neatly combed, and his posture radiated quiet wealth and refined noble manners. He bowed his head politely toward my parents with a smile that looked utterly warm and sincere. "Mr. and Mrs. Vance, it is an absolute honor to finally meet you," Victor said, his voice smooth, clear, and reassuringly polite. "Alvaro speaks of his family constantly. I hope my unexpected presence isn't an inconvenience."

"Not at all, young man!" my father replied heartily, shaking Victor’s hand with a firm, military grip. "Any friend who takes care of my son is welcome under my roof." Victor smiled, turning his head slightly until his eyes landed directly on me.

For a fraction of a second, the polite warmth vanished from his gaze. A sharp, freezing glint of calculation flashed behind his dark eyes—a look so cold and analytical it made my blood turn to ice. But as quickly as it appeared, it melted back into a charming, friendly expression. "And you must be Sarah," Victor murmured smoothly, taking my cold hand and bowing lightly over it. "Alvaro mentioned how bright his younger sister is. It is a pleasure." I pulled my hand back a little too quickly, my pulse thumping wildly. "Welcome to Oakhaven, Victor." By evening, the dining room was filled with the rich aroma of roasted meat, fresh baked bread, and dark wine.

The dining table was set with our finest porcelain, and Victor sat at the center of attention, captivating the entire family with his effortless charm. He was a master of conversation. He knew exactly what to say to win over everyone in the room. "I took the liberty of bringing a small token of my appreciation for your hospitality," Victor said smoothly, reaching down to a small leather satchel beside his chair.He handed a heavy, leather-bound volume of ancient military tactics to my father. Roberto’s eyes lit up as he ran his fingers over the gold-leaf lettering on the spine.

"This is a first-edition manifest from the Northern Campaigns!" my father exclaimed, thoroughly impressed.

"Where on earth did you manage to secure this, Victor?"

"My family maintains a rather extensive private library," Victor replied modestly with a soft wave of his hand. "I knew a man of your distinguished military service would appreciate its historical value."

Next, he produced an exquisite, hand-drawn map of historical trade routes for my mother, who beamed with delight. Even young Leo was completely won over when Victor handed him a finely carved wooden pocket compass.

Alvaro laughed, leaning back in his chair. "See? I told you guys he’s incredible. Victor practically manages half the university's charity funds." I sat quietly at the end of the table, pushing the food around my plate with a brass fork. I couldn't eat. Every time Victor spoke, I watched his hands, his posture, and the subtle shifts in his eyes.

While my father discussed garrison logistics and town borders, I noticed how Victor’s polite smile never quite reached his eyes. Whenever my father mentioned military patrol schedules or archive documents, Victor listened with an intensity that was far too focused for a mere university student. He wasn't just making polite conversation—he was gathering intelligence. He was a predator wearing the skin of a gentleman.

"Are you feeling alright, Sarah?"

Victor’s smooth voice cut through my thoughts. I looked up to find the entire table staring at me. Victor was watching me with a look of polite concern, though his dark eyes held a subtle, mocking challenge. "I'm fine," I said quietly, my voice tight. "Just tired from the storm last night."

"Ah, the storm was quite severe," Victor noted calmly, taking a slow sip from his crystal glass. "Dangerous things tend to move around under the cover of rain and darkness. One can never be too careful with who they let into their home."

My stomach twisted into a hard knot. The threat was so subtle, so buried beneath layers of polite dinner etiquette, that my parents simply nodded in agreement while I sat there suffocating on the truth.

After dinner, the suffocating atmosphere of the house became too much to bear. I slipped out through the back kitchen door, seeking the quiet solitude of the wooden stables behind our home. The stable smelled of dry hay, leather saddlery, and cedar wood. The family’s old bay horse, Barnaby, shifted in his wooden stall, his hooves making soft thumping sounds against the dirt floor. I stepped up to the stall, reaching out to stroke his velvety nose, finding comfort in his familiar, calm presence. "He seems jumpy tonight." I gasped, spinning around.

Victor was leaning against the wooden doorframe of the stable, his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. The moonlight cast half of his face in deep shadow, erasing every trace of the charming guest who had just sat at our dinner table. "You shouldn't sneak up on people," I snapped, stepping back toward the horse stall. "My apologies," Victor said softly, stepping into the stable. His leather boots made almost no sound on the packed dirt. "I merely wanted to offer my assistance. I noticed you left the table rather abruptly."

"I don't need your assistance, Victor. Or your gifts." Victor let out a low, quiet chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine. "You are far more observant than your brother, Sarah. Alvaro is a fool. He sees a wealthy benefactor, while you... you see the shadow behind the curtain." Before I could answer, Barnaby suddenly reared back in his stall, letting out a loud, panicked whinny. The horse slammed his heavy flank against the wooden planks, his eyes rolling back in sheer terror as if sensing a monster in the room.

"Easy!"

I shouted, reaching for the halter to calm him down. In a flash of blinding speed, Victor moved.

He didn't flinch or step back. He lunged forward, his gloved hand shooting out like a iron vice. He grabbed the heavy leather reins right near the horse's bit, yanking down with a sudden, terrifying display of raw brute force.

The horse was forced down instantly, trembling under Victor's crushing grip. Victor leaned close to the animal's ear, his jaw set in a hard, merciless line, his eyes dark with absolute coldness. "Quiet," Victor commanded in an icy whisper that carried an undeniable authority. The horse went completely still, terrified into submission.

Victor slowly released his grip, smoothing out his dark coat as if nothing had happened. He turned back to face me, his warm, polite smile instantly snapping back onto his face like a terrifying mask. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The sheer physical strength and cold cruelty he had just displayed proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was no ordinary student. He was one of Gabriel's elite enforcers. "You see, Sarah," Victor said softly, taking a step toward me as I backed against the wooden stall door. "Animals understand authority. They know when a debt must be paid, and they know better than to bite the hand that holds the leash."

"What do you want from my family?"

I rasped, my hands shaking behind my back. Victor leaned in close, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "I am here to ensure that your father honors his agreement. Gabriel is a very patient man, but his patience has limits. Do not interfere, little girl. Enjoy your simple school books, because very soon, your world is going to belong to The Crimson Crest." Night settled over the house like a heavy wool blanket. The hallways were dark and silent, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the downstairs parlor. I lay awake in my bed, staring up at the dark wooden rafters.

My mind raced with images of Mateo’s cowardice, the ancient marriage contract in the attic, and Victor’s terrifying presence down the hall in our guest room. I couldn't sleep knowing a wolf was sleeping under the same roof as my family. Driven by a desperate, reckless need to find proof, I slipped out of bed at midnight. I didn't light a candle. I crept barefoot across the cold floorboards, keeping my back pressed against the hallway wall as I made my way toward the guest room at the end of the corridor. The door to the guest room was slightly ajar, a sliver of faint moonlight spilling out onto the floor. I held my breath, peering through the narrow crack.

Victor was sitting at the small wooden writing desk near the window. He had unbuttoned his coat, and his crisp white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. He was holding a heavy silver ring up to the moonlight, turning it slowly between his fingers. Carved deeply into the heavy silver face of the ring was the unmistakable emblem—a stylized crown of thorns. The Crimson Crest. Beside his elbow lay a thick stack of folded parchment letters—copies of my father’s official military patrol routes that Victor had somehow managed to extract from my father’s private study during dinner. My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp. Panic seized my chest, and I instinctively took a step backward.

CREAK.

The ancient wooden floorboard beneath my bare foot gave off a sharp, loud groan. Horror crashed over me. I turned on my heel, scrambling to run back toward my room in the pitch-black darkness of the hallway. Before I could take even three steps, a cold, powerful hand shot out of the shadows, grabbing my wrist with a grip like an iron shackle and slamming me back against the hallway wall. I opened my mouth to scream, but a gloved hand instantly clamped down over my lower face, smothering the sound completely.

Victor stepped out of the darkness right in front of me. He was completely silent, his breath steady, his dark eyes glittering with cold amusement in the dim moonlight. He leaned down until his lips were just inches from my ear.

He slowly brought his free hand up, pressing his silver-ringed index finger against his own lips in a slow, chilling gesture of silence. "Some secrets are killed for, Sarah..." Victor whispered, his voice an icy, terrifying breath against my skin. "...and some families disappear overnight for asking too many questions."