The air around the mansion had changed. Elara could feel it. It wasn't just the silent walls or the haunting piano notes that sometimes drifted from the east wing at midnight. It was the way Ares started watching her—as though she was becoming more than just a guest. Or maybe… a threat.
She stood on the balcony overlooking the vast, moonlit gardens, arms crossed tightly. The night was cold, but not as cold as the look Ares had given her earlier that day after dinner.
"You shouldn't have gone into the West Wing," he'd said sharply, jaw clenched, voice lower than usual.
"I didn't know it was off-limits," she'd replied, meeting his gaze with defiance.
"You knew. You just didn't care."
That was the thing—she did care. Not because she wanted to break rules, but because something in that wing called to her. It wasn't curiosity. It was instinct. Something was buried in there, and it had something to do with her past.
She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against her temples.
A flicker of memory—so fast, it almost slipped through her grasp.
Gunshots.
A scream.
Blood splattering on polished floors.
And him—his voice whispering her name like a prayer and a curse.
Elara.
She gasped, stumbling back from the railing. Her chest heaved as she gripped it for balance.
It was happening more frequently now—the memories she wasn't supposed to have. Flashes of a past she didn't remember living. But they all had one thing in common: Ares.
And he was hiding something.
"Trouble sleeping?" came a deep voice behind her.
She turned sharply to find Callum standing in the shadows, his frame relaxed but his eyes alert. "You really should keep your door locked at night."
Elara narrowed her eyes. "Why? Is there something you're afraid I'll see—or someone I should be afraid of?"
Callum smirked, stepping closer. "You already are, aren't you? Afraid."
"I'm not afraid," she lied.
He leaned against the railing beside her, gaze scanning the grounds. "I wouldn't blame you if you were. This place has ghosts, Elara. Not the kind that knock over vases or whisper in corridors. The kind that wear expensive suits and smile at you over dinner."
"You mean Ares?"
Callum didn't respond immediately. When he finally did, his voice was quiet. "I mean all of us."
Before she could ask what that meant, he handed her a sleek black envelope.
"What's this?"
"An invitation. There's a gala tomorrow night. Ares didn't tell you?"
She opened it, reading the embossed letters. The event was hosted by some private elite circle—names she didn't recognize, yet something about them felt familiar.
"He wasn't going to invite me, was he?"
Callum's silence was all the answer she needed.
Why would he hide this from me?
Elara stared at the gold crest stamped on the envelope. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"Do you think he knows who I am?" she asked suddenly.
Callum's gaze flicked to her. "I think he's always known."
She swallowed hard. The truth was inching closer. She could feel it crawling beneath her skin.
"I'm going," she said, voice firm.
Callum looked amused. "Of course you are. That's what he's counting on."
The next evening, the mansion buzzed with preparations. Elara stood before the full-length mirror in her room, wrapped in a deep sapphire gown she found neatly folded on her bed. No note. No explanation. But it fit perfectly—as if it had been tailored just for her.
Her hair was swept back into soft waves. Her makeup highlighted her eyes, the ones Ares once said held galaxies and storms.
She descended the marble staircase slowly, heart pounding. Ares waited at the bottom, dressed in a tailored black suit that matched his usual cold elegance. His eyes darkened as they swept over her.
"You look… dangerous," he murmured.
"And you look like someone hiding secrets in his pockets," she replied without missing a beat.
A flicker of a smile played on his lips. "Careful, Elara. That sharp tongue of yours might attract the wrong kind of attention tonight."
"I'll take my chances."
They entered the sleek black car in silence. The ride to the venue was quiet, thick with unspoken tension. When they arrived, the building loomed like a castle from another century—tall gates, chandeliers in every hall, laughter that didn't reach people's eyes.
The moment they stepped in, Elara felt it. The stares. The murmurs. The way people seemed to already know her, even though she didn't know herself.
One woman approached, her eyes scanning Elara with barely disguised contempt. "She's the one?"
Ares didn't answer. He simply guided Elara forward with a possessive hand on the small of her back.
What do they all know that I don't?
By the end of the night, Elara's head spun with coded conversations and cryptic glances. And then, just as they were leaving, a man brushed past her and slipped something into her hand.
A folded note.
She waited until they were back in the car before opening it.
Four words:
"You were never safe."