Chapter Fourteen: The calm before the storm

And now she knew they were coming for her.

Ariella’s pulse roared in her ears as she pressed her back against the cold wall. The night air crept in through the broken window, whispering like a warning. She could feel the weight of every secret suffocating her—her father’s death, Lucien’s confession, Elise’s lies. Everything she thought she knew about her life was slipping away, like sand through trembling fingers.

The mansion that once felt like a cage now felt like a hunting ground. Every creak, every distant sound made her heart leap.

Lucien had disappeared hours ago, claiming he needed to “finish what was started.” She hadn’t seen him since.

“Elise?” she called softly, her voice quivering as she crept down the hallway. No answer. Just the echo of her own footsteps.

The portraits on the wall seemed to stare at her—her father’s eyes frozen in paint, as if warning her of something she wasn’t ready to face.

Then came a faint noise from the east wing—a door closing, slowly.

Ariella froze.

Her instincts screamed at her to run, but her legs refused. She swallowed hard and took a hesitant step forward, clutching the silver cross her father once gave her.

When she reached the end of the corridor, she heard voices. Muffled. Familiar.

Lucien’s low tone. Elise’s sharp, icy whisper.

She pressed herself to the wall, her breath caught in her throat.

> “She can’t find out yet,” Elise hissed. “Not until I say so.”

> “You don’t get to decide that anymore,” Lucien’s voice cut through the air. “You’ve already crossed the line once. I won’t let you do it again.”

Ariella’s heart pounded so loudly she was afraid they’d hear it.

She peeked through the cracked door.

Elise stood there, her hair messy, her face pale but fierce. Lucien’s hand was clenched around something metallic—his father’s old lighter, flicking open and shut.

> “You think you’re protecting her?” Elise said, stepping closer. “You’re just keeping her in the dark like her father did. The truth will destroy her, Lucien. You know that.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “It already destroyed her the day her father died.”

Ariella’s stomach twisted.

Her mind was racing—what truth? What was left to destroy?

Before she could move, Elise suddenly turned toward the door.

> “Ariella,” she said quietly. “You can come out now.”

Ariella froze.

Lucien’s head snapped around, eyes dark and cold. “You knew she was there.”

Elise gave a slow smile. “Of course I did. She’s her father’s daughter. Always listening.”

The door creaked open on its own as Lucien stepped aside. Ariella walked in, trembling but defiant.

“Elise… what have you done?” she whispered.

Elise’s expression softened—almost pitying. “Everything I had to do to survive.”

Ariella shook her head. “Survive what? You’ve been lying to me since the day I walked in here.”

Elise took a slow step toward her. “Your father wasn’t the man you think he was, Ariella. He—”

“Don’t,” Lucien snapped. “Not yet.”

But it was too late. The truth was already clawing its way out.

> “He killed my husband,” Elise said, her voice breaking. “And Lucien saw it happen.”

The world seemed to collapse around Ariella.

Her breath came out in sharp, uneven bursts. “No… no, that’s not true.”

Lucien’s silence was louder than any confession.

Elise’s eyes glistened. “You wanted the truth, didn’t you? There it is.”

Ariella took a step back, her throat tight. “You’re lying. You have to be lying—”

Lucien finally met her gaze, and in that look, she saw everything she didn’t want to believe.

Pain. Guilt. And truth.

Tears filled her eyes as she whispered, “You knew… all this time?”

Lucien’s voice cracked. “I tried to tell you. But I needed you to see it yourself.”

Ariella’s chest ached, her body trembling as she stumbled back. “You let me fall in love with you—knowing this?”

Lucien’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t plan for it to happen.”

Elise let out a hollow laugh. “No one ever does.”

For a long, heavy moment, silence filled the room—thick and suffocating.

Then thunder rolled in the distance, rattling the windows.

Lucien took a slow step forward, his voice rough. “Ariella… you have to listen to me. Your father wasn’t innocent, but he wasn’t a monster either. There’s more to this—things you don’t understand yet.”

But she didn’t hear him. Not really.

All she could hear was her own heartbeat, loud and broken.

Because somewhere deep inside, she realized—this was only the beginning.

---

When the door finally closed behind Lucien, silence filled the house like smoke. Ariella stood there, trembling, staring at nothing. Her chest felt too tight for air, her hands too weak to hold herself together. The weight of everything she’d just learned pressed down like a curse she couldn’t escape.

She sank to the floor, her knees hitting the cold marble, and for the first time in years, she didn’t try to stop the tears. They fell hard and fast, soaking into her palms as she muffled her cries. Every image replayed in her head—the night her father died, the gunshot echoing, Lucien’s shadow, Elise’s calm voice. The lies, the promises, the strange tenderness Lucien showed her when she was breaking.

It all tangled together until she couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

“How did I get here?” she whispered, her voice raw. “How did I fall for you…?”

Her sob broke mid-sentence. She didn’t even know if she was crying for her father, for herself, or for the twisted love that had grown from a wound.

The house felt haunted—by ghosts she couldn’t see, by memories that refused to rest. Every wall seemed to echo with her father’s voice, warning her that trust was a dangerous thing. She dragged herself to her room, shutting the door as if it could keep the world out.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered. “I thought I could survive this… but it’s killing me.”

Lightning flashed outside, cutting through the window blinds and throwing jagged shadows across the walls. She flinched.

Then came a faint knock.

Three slow taps.

Ariella froze. Her breath hitched, her pulse stuttered.

Another knock. Softer this time.

“Ariella…”

It was Lucien’s voice. Rough. Careful. Almost pleading.

Her throat tightened. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

The handle turned slightly—but stopped.

“I’ll wait,” he said quietly, his voice breaking just a little. “Even if you hate me right now.”

She pressed her forehead against the door, tears falling again. Part of her wanted to open it, to let him in, to scream or hold him or both. But the other part—the one that remembered her father’s blood—kept her frozen.

“Don’t wait for me,” she whispered to herself. “I’m already gone.”

It was only the calm before a darker storm.