Chapter 5: The House of Masks

Amara's POV

The plane touched down with a soft thud after four hours in the air. The city lights beyond the window shimmered like a bed of stars laid flat across concrete. Familiar... but distant.

I moved through the airport process like a ghost.... passport check, customs, baggage. Everything blurred into soft noise and sterile lighting. When I finally stepped into the departure area, the cool night air kissed my skin, and there it was.

A sleek black car parked exactly where I expected it.

And beside it....Aston.

My grandfather's most trusted butler.

"Miss," Aston greeted me, bowing respectfully. "Welcome back."

I didn't answer. Just slipped past him and into the backseat.

He didn't mind. Aston never expected pleasantries. He started the car without another word, the soft purr of the engine barely registering in my ears.

The city rushed by in streaks of light. Buildings taller than memory, roads busier than I recalled. Some sights triggered a tug in my chest and alleyway I used to pass with my mother, a café we once sat in when I was barely twelve. Other corners were strangers. Remodeled. Repainted. Rewritten.

The ache of the past tried to surface, but I shoved it down. Hard.

Outside the window, the scenery began to change. The closer we got to the estate, the more the world seemed to shift into something... curated. Neat rows of townhouses became sprawling mansions. Security gates. Wrought iron fences. Lawns that had never seen weeds.

Then the gates of the Musk Estate appeared.

I straightened instinctively.

Tall marble pillars flanked the grand entrance, lit by gold lamps and guarded by men in tailored suits. The car rolled past them, the gates swinging open as if the house itself remembered me.

It almost looked the same.

The car stopped.

I stepped out slowly, backpack still slung over one shoulder, oversized hoodie making me look more like someone's assistant than an heiress.

And there she was.

Ayah.

Daughter of Uncle Damian.

Her smile was all teeth.

"Cousin," she said in her soft, practiced voice, "Welcome back."

Beside her stood her mother, Dina, dressed like she was heading to an award show and not just welcoming family. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, a barely hidden sneer in her polished expression.

I didn't miss the judgment. Or the fake warmth.

I tilted my head and forced a lazy grin. "Hhh... hi cousin," I said airily, like I was too dense to notice her act.

"It's cold outside, Amara. Let's go inside," Uncle Damián chimed in, all mock concern and tight smiles.

I didn't answer.

I just walked.

The foyer of the mansion hadn't changed. Gleaming floors. Crystal chandelier. The scent of imported candles and polished wood. Memories clung to the air like perfume. Some sweet. Most not.

When we reached the living room, I spotted him.

My grandfather.

Victor Musk.

Still sharp in his black suit, silver hair brushed back, cane leaning against the couch beside him. His presence alone stepped in the room.

"Grandfather..." I said softly and walked toward him, arms wrapping around his firm frame.

He hugged me back, tighter than I expected.

"How was your trip?" he asked, pulling back just enough to study my face. 

"Aunt Lena accompanied you, didn't she?"

We both knew that was a lie.

Aunt Lena had left for the countryside long before I boarded that plane. She hadn't accompanied me when I was sixteen either. But she always called. Always checked if I was alive.

"Ah, yeah. She did," I answered with a cheerful nod. "She made sure I got here safe."

Grandfather didn't call me out on it. He simply nodded with a ghost of a smile.

"Good."

Behind us, I could feel Ayah and Dina bristle. Ayah's polite expression twitched for just a second, and I caught Dina exchanging a silent look with Damian.

They hated this.

Hated my return. Hated the fact that Grandfather still saw me. Still favored me.

But they couldn't voice it not with Grandfather in the room.

Dinner followed.

We sat at the long, polished table. Silverware clinked softly as dishes were served. Roasted lamb. Glazed vegetables. Imported wine none of us really drank.

I picked at my plate while the others filled the silence with fake stories and family updates.

Ayah talked about a charity event she "organized" but clearly just attended. Dina talked about remodeling the guesthouse into a personal yoga studio. Damian laughed too loud at his own jokes.

Grandfather barely responded to any of it. His eyes kept drifting to me.

After dinner, just as I stood to head back to my old room, his voice cut across the clinking plates.

"Amara. Come to my study."

The room stilled.

Ayah stiffened.

Dina dropped her fork.

I followed him without a word.

The study was warm and dim, filled with the scent of old paper and leather. Shelves towered with books, and a single decanter of whiskey sat untouched on the desk.

He closed the door behind us.

"Sit."

I sat.

He walked to the window, then turned to face me. "You've changed."

"I hope that's a good thing," I replied, voice light but cautious.

Grandfather studied for me. "You've grown cold."

I gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Cold is safer."

He nodded, as if approving. "I knew the moment your mother left you in my care that you'd need to learn how to survive this house. And now, you're back. Not by choice, I assume?"

"No," I admitted. "But I'm here. That's what matters, right?"

He smiled faintly. "Indeed. You were always the clever one. Don't let them get to you, Amara. Damian, Dina, Ayah... they've been circling this house like vultures for years. But I haven't changed my will. Not yet."

My brows lifted slightly. "Are you warning me?"

"I'm telling you to be ready," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "You'll have to play the game again, granddaughter. And this time, it's not just inheritance at stake."

There was a pause. Weighs between us.

He stepped closer. "There's something I need you to do for me. But not tonight. Rest. Tomorrow, we will talk."

I stood. "Alright."

"And Amara," he added, just as I reached the door. "Don't let them turn you into something you're not."

I looked back. "I won't."

But in this house, I wasn't sure what I was anymore.

The echo of footsteps faded behind her as Amara walked silently through the grand hallway. The soft rustle of her oversized hoodie trailed faintly behind her, the dim golden light catching the edges of her silver pendant, still tucked close to her chest.

She had just stepped out of her grandfather's study after dinner. The warmth of his hug still lingered on her shoulders, but the rest of the house... it was cold.

Not just cold from the weather.

Cold like whispers behind locked doors.

As she rounded the corner of the hallway toward the guest wing, she paused. A faint voice slipped through a half-closed door. Familiar. Sharp. Furious.

It was Ayah.

"I don't care if she's blood!" Ayah hissed, her voice harsh and high-pitched. "Why does she get to come back like nothing happened? She's just some random girl who disappeared for years and suddenly gets welcomed like a princess?"

"Keep your voice down," Dina snapped softly, but firmly. "Victor is still awake. Do you want him to hear you?"

Ayah's voice lowered but not her rage.

"She's quiet. Pretends to be clueless. I don't buy it. She's probably hiding something. I swear, if she even touches what's supposed to be ours....."

"She won't," Dina said coldly. "Just smile. Pretend. For now. I'm already planning how to drive her away again."

Amara's fingers curled around the edge of her sweater. She didn't flinch. Didn't cry. Just backed away slowly, like a shadow fading into another.

Her room was quiet when she returned.

Too quiet.

She tossed her backpack gently onto the chair, took off her hoodie, and stared at the ceiling while lying on the bed. The cold moonlight spilled across the silk sheets, painting silver lines along her skin.

She wasn't surprised.

She had always known her return wouldn't be welcome.

Before.... It hurts. But now She don't feel anything. The way it always did when people pretended to care, only to sharpen their knives when you turned your back.

The next morning came with the scent of fresh bread, coffee, and heavy silence.

Amara sat at the long, polished dining table, dressed in loose pants and a neutral beige knit sweater. Her headphones were looped around her neck, silent for once. She sipped lemon juice calmly as Ayah sat stiffly across from her, fake smile barely in place. Dina glanced at her now and then but said little.

Only her grandfather, Victor Musk, kept things warm. He asked her about her flight. About the countryside. About how she'd been sleeping. But Amara kept her answers short. Soft. Sweet. Enough to seem harmless.

After breakfast, the butler approached quietly.

"Miss Amara, the Master would like to see you again. In the study."

The study door clicked softly behind her.

Victor was already standing by the tall window, the curtains pulled open to reveal the estate gardens blooming despite the season.

"You've grown," he said without turning around.

"I was gone for four years," Amara answered, stepping further into the room. "It would've been weirder if I didn't."

He chuckled, then finally turned. His eyes, though old, still held sharpness. Thought. Weight.

"I didn't call you here just to talk about your return," he said, moving to sit behind his large oak desk. "There's something else."

Amara stayed standing.

"I need you to marry."

The silence that followed was instant. Her eyes blinked once. Slowly.

"...What?"

"Marriage," he repeated, folding his hands. "I'm not forcing you to live here. You know me better than that. But I want to secure your future, and the Musk inheritance must be tied to a solid name. A family. A legacy."

She stared at him, unblinking. "So, I need a man to keep what's already supposed to be mine?"

Victor didn't flinch. "It's not about the man. It's about protection. Position. Without marriage, the board won't back your leadership. But if you agree, everything becomes yours."

Amara looked away for a moment, her fingers brushing the pendant hanging just beneath her sweater.

Then she looked back, calm but clear.

"I'll do it," she said.

Victor blinked once, surprised.

"But," she added. "I choose the man."

Silence.

Victor studied her for a long beat then leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly.

"...Fair enough," he said. "Choose wisely."

She nodded once. Not out of gratitude, but out of control.

This time, the game would be hers.