Aria Voss dreamed of roots.
They threaded through darkness, splitting stone and soil with patient insistence. She felt them wrap around her wrists and ankles not restraining, not painful simply present. When she tried to pull away, the earth sighed, and a thousand unseen leaves rustled in quiet disapproval.
Listen, something murmured.
She woke with a sharp inhale, heart pounding, dawn light barely touching the edges of the room. For a moment she lay still, the dream clinging to her like dew, her senses heightened. The house was silent, but not empty. Aldergrove had a way of holding sound, of keeping secrets in its walls.
Aria sat up.
The key was warm.
She frowned, lifting it from the nightstand. The metal pulsed faintly against her palm, as if it carried a heartbeat of its own. She hadn't brought it to bed last night she was certain of that.
"Okay," she said softly. "That's new."
Downstairs, the estate staff moved quietly through their routines, but Aria barely noticed. Her mind replayed the gala, Damien's careful words, the anonymous messages that had followed her home like a shadow. Watch your board. Trust breaks quietly.
She poured coffee she didn't taste and stared out the back windows at the garden wall. The morning air shimmered faintly above it, heat rising though the day was still cool.
The hum reached her then.
Not loud. Not constant. A gentle vibration beneath thought, like a memory pressing to be recalled. It tugged at her chest, coaxing rather than commanding.
"You want me back," she murmured.
The hum deepened, approving.
Aria didn't bother with a coat. She crossed the lawn with long, decisive strides, the grass whispering underfoot. As she neared the gate, the vines along the wall stirred, leaves shifting though there was no wind.
She slid the key into the lock.
This time, the gate opened before she turned it.
The garden greeted her with warmth and scent green and alive, brighter than it had been before. Colors rippled across petals as she stepped inside, blues warming to golds, reds softening into rose. The hum swelled, wrapping around her like a held breath finally released.
"All right," she said. "I'm here."
The path curved, guiding her inward. She didn't resist. The garden seemed to know where she needed to be, drawing her toward a narrow corridor of trellised vines. They arched overhead, leaves weaving together into a living ceiling. Light filtered through in dappled patterns that shifted as she walked.
The whispers began there.
At first, they were indistinct soft syllables carried on the rustle of leaves. Not voices exactly, more like impressions. Emotions pressed into sound. Regret. Fear. Longing.
Aria slowed, pulse quickening. "Who are you?" she asked.
The vines trembled.
A word brushed her mind, clearer than the others.
Truth.
She swallowed. "That's not an answer."
The garden responded by tightening its focus. The hum sharpened, becoming directional, guiding her to a small alcove where the air felt heavier, denser. At its center grew a cluster of pale flowers with translucent petals veined in silver. They swayed though the air was still.
Aria approached cautiously. "What are you?"
As she spoke, the petals shifted from pale white to a soft green calm, receptive.
She reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed a petal, the whispers surged.
Images flashed behind her eyes quick, disjointed. A man signing papers with shaking hands. A woman turning away from a mirror, guilt etched into her posture. A boardroom table, familiar faces blurred by motion.
Aria yanked her hand back, breath catching. "You show… memories."
The flowers dimmed slightly, as if correcting her.
"Not memories," she said slowly. "Intentions."
The garden hummed, satisfied.
Her heart raced. If this was true if the garden could sense the weight of truth, the direction of choices then Damien's warning took on a terrifying clarity. Lies weren't just spoken here. They were visible.
A sharper whisper cut through the rest.
Closer.
Aria hesitated, then followed the sound to the fountain at the garden's center. The water shimmered more brightly now, its surface rippling without disturbance. As she leaned over it, the reflection didn't show her face.
It showed a conference room.
Her company's logo gleamed on the wall. Voices overlapped urgent, hushed. She recognized them instantly. Members of her executive team. Her board.
"…she's distracted," someone said.
"…CrossTech is offering stability," said another.
"…we need to protect our investments."
Aria straightened abruptly, the image shattering into light.
Her hands shook. "You're spying."
The garden's hum deepened, not defensive but resolute.
"You're showing me truths," she corrected. "The ones people don't want seen."
The leaves overhead rustled, a sound like quiet applause.
A wave of anger surged through her hot, sharp, undeniable. The flowers nearest the fountain flared crimson, petals darkening as her pulse spiked.
"Stop," she said through clenched teeth.
The color stilled, fading back to neutral tones.
Aria forced herself to breathe. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Control had always been her armor. She couldn't afford to lose it now not here.
"So this is what you do," she said. "You listen. You reveal."
The garden responded with a new sensation a gentle pressure at the center of her chest, not painful but insistent. A question without words.
"Why me?" she asked quietly.
The air cooled, the light dimming just a fraction. The answer came not as sound, but as certainty.
Because you returned.
Her grandmother's face rose in her mind Isolde Voss, stern and watchful, eyes sharp with secrets. There is much you do not know.
Aria closed her eyes. "She knew this would happen."
The garden hummed.
"She chose me."
A pause. Then approval.
Footsteps crunched on gravel beyond the gate.
Aria's eyes snapped open. "Someone's here."
The garden reacted instantly. Vines along the path tightened, leaves darkening to a muted purple. The air grew taut, expectant.
"Easy," Aria whispered. "Not a threat. Just… hide."
The colors softened. The hum quieted.
She moved toward the gate just as a voice called from the lawn.
"Ms. Voss?"
It was Caleb. Her CFO.
Relief and suspicion tangled in her chest.
"Yes?" she called back, stepping out as the gate sealed behind her with a whisper of iron.
Caleb stood a few yards away, phone in hand, expression concerned. "I tried calling. You didn't answer."
"I was busy," she said evenly.
He glanced at the wall. "Out here?"
"Thinking," Aria replied. "What do you need?"
Caleb hesitated. "There's… tension. After the gala. Some board members are asking questions. They're worried about focus."
"And you?" she asked.
His smile was practiced. "I'm worried about you."
Behind her, unseen, the garden stirred.
Aria watched Caleb carefully his posture, his eyes, the rhythm of his breath. She felt it then: a subtle discord, like a note just out of tune. Not a lie spoken, but a truth withheld.
The garden hummed softly, a warning.
"I appreciate your concern," Aria said. "I'll be in the office tomorrow."
Caleb nodded, relief flickering too quickly across his face. "Good. That's good."
He turned to leave.
As he walked away, a single vine crept up the inside of the wall, unseen by him. Its leaves darkened to a dull, accusing gray.
Aria's stomach sank.
The whispers returned as soon as she reentered the garden, louder now, more insistent. Names brushed her mind. Choices forming like storms on the horizon.
She stood in the clearing, the weight of it settling onto her shoulders.
The garden wasn't just showing her lies.
It was asking her to act.
And with every truth revealed, the cost would rise.
Aria clenched the key in her hand, resolve hardening.
"Fine," she said softly. "We'll listen. Together."
The garden bloomed brighter in response.
Somewhere beyond the wall, plans were already in motion.
And the vines were listening.