Chapter Six – The Father
The front door opened before we reached it. No one touched it. No servant appeared. Just the soft groan of heavy wood swinging inward on well-oiled hinges, revealing a grand, dimly lit hall that could have belonged to a cathedral or a mausoleum. Maybe both. The marble floor reflected firelight from sconces shaped like iron thorns. Above us, a chandelier shimmered faintly, its crystals dulled by time or intention. The air was warm but unmoving, like it had been sealed in and left to settle across the centuries. I hesitated for only a second. Then I stepped over the threshold. It felt like stepping into something alive.
Gabriel let out a low whistle beside me, something between admiration and sarcasm. “Home sweet home.”
Sebastian didn’t look at either of us. He just walked forward, silent, precise, as if the building itself demanded it of him. I followed. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t.
The corridor we entered stretched far enough to feel endless, lined with portraits so lifelike I almost expected their eyes to follow me. Some did. Or maybe that was my imagination. The paintings were all of pale men and women dressed in black, crimson, or bone-white. Not a smile among them. Candles flickered in long brass holders. I didn’t see any electric light switches. The estate wasn’t just old, it was ageless, built for creatures who measured time in centuries and held grudges just as long. My heels clicked across the stone in rhythm with the brothers’ steps. Gabriel moved a little faster, Sebastian slower, so that I stayed between them without ever needing to be told.
I
swallowed the rising weight in my chest and finally asked, “Where are we going?”
They didn’t answer. Instead, they stopped in front of a set of tall black doors carved with vines and roses. None were blooming, all of them closed and covered in thorns. Sebastian knocked once, an echo more than a sound, and pushed them open.
The room was all shadows and firelight. A hearth burned low on the far wall, its flames casting long golden lines across the dark rug and deep armchairs. A single figure sat in the largest of them, posture relaxed, one leg crossed neatly over the other. He held a glass of something red. Whether it was wine or blood, I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. William Ashbourne didn’t rise when we entered. He smiled. It was a politician’s smile—perfectly formed, smooth around the edges, entirely false.
“So,” he said, and his voice was as rich and deep as the room itself, “this is our new guest.”
I stopped just inside the doorway, uncertain whether to bow or curtsy or run. The silence stretched until Sebastian stepped past me, giving a slight incline of his head.
“She’s here,” he said.
Gabriel gave a quick, two-finger salute. “Still breathing, too. Which, given the day, is impressive.”
William’s eyes moved to me. They were the same pale steel as Sebastian’s but colder somehow. Emptier. Like the man behind them had long since hollowed himself out and learned to smile through the cracks.
He lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Eva Marlowe. You’ve caused quite a ripple. Welcome.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, because silence felt more dangerous than truth.
His smile deepened. “That’s often how the most interesting things begin.”
William didn’t invite me to sit. He didn’t offer refreshments. He simply gestured to a space near the fire, and I moved there like a dog shown where to lie down.
He asked questions in a way that didn’t sound like questions. Where was I from? Did I have family? How did I hear about the auction? Every word wrapped in velvet. Every glance was as sharp as glass. I answered carefully. His eyes lingered on me too long. I couldn’t decide whether he was evaluating a piece of art or prey.
“I must admit,” he said, turning his glass slowly in his hand, “your scent caught me by surprise. There’s something unplaceable. Old blood, but human. Rare.”
I said nothing, Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “She’s here now. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” William asked, gaze still on me. “Some inherit legacies without realizing what they carry. Others are born as keys to doors, and no one remembers locking them.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed still. The fire crackled. The walls didn’t breathe, but I did, and it felt too loud in my chest.
“I expect obedience,” William said finally, his voice calm, almost bored. “But more than that, I expect discretion. You belong to this house now. That means you represent it, whether you intend to or not.”
I nodded. Not because I agreed. Because I didn’t see another option.
William stood at last, placing the glass down on a side table. He walked toward me, not fast, not aggressive, just deliberate. His presence was immense, as if the weight of his years took up more space than his body ever could. When he stopped in front of me, he reached out and gently touched a loose strand of my hair, brushing it behind my ear like a father would a child.
“Take care of our new little treasure,” he said to his sons. “Some jewels are more valuable than they appear. Some are more dangerous.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked out through a side door, leaving only the flicker of firelight and the fading scent of whatever he’d been drinking.
Gabriel exhaled loudly. “Well, that went better than expected.”
Sebastian didn’t speak. He just looked at me.
They led me through another corridor, narrower this time. The rug beneath our feet muffled our steps. At the end of it was a door carved with silver filigree.
Inside was a room the size of my entire apartment. The bed had velvet pillows. The curtains were silk. A fireplace glowed beside a writing desk that looked too delicate to touch. No bars on the windows, no lock on the door, and still, it felt like a cage.
They left without speaking, and for the first time since this all began, I was alone. The silence pressed in from all sides, as heavy as the walls. I curled my legs beneath me on the edge of the bed and stared at the fire, trying to make sense of my heartbeat. For the first time, I understood the difference between being hunted… and being kept.