Anderson sat up in bed, staring blankly into the shadows that stretched across the room. The Blackwell Estate, usually a sanctuary, felt like a suffocating cage tonight. No matter how he tried, sleep evaded him. His mind was heavy with thoughts—his mother's past, His other mother's death, Victor's endless schemes, and the newfound weight of his identity as Anderson Blackwell. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, and decided to take a walk, hoping the cold halls of the estate would clear his head. The estate was eerily quiet at this hour. The chandeliers hung like ghosts above his head, casting long, pale shadows on the walls. He wandered aimlessly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the marble floors. Somehow, he ended up in the library, the one place that always drew him in when he felt lost. As he walked past the towering shelves, something caught his eye—an old, ornate bookshelf that seemed slightly out of place. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and

43 hours had passed, and an eerie silence enveloped Anderson’s hideout. Shadows filled the room, with only faint moonlight breaking through the cracks in the old walls. Two spirits hovered above a single body lying on the floor. The atmosphere was thick with unspeakable tension. One spirit tormented the other, while the other sulked in guilt.Anderson’s spirit circled around Jacob’s fading ghost, grinning maliciously. He seemed to feed off Jacob’s misery, his voice dripping with cruelty as he sneered, “You’re no different from the man who killed you, are you? A thief.”Jacob’s spirit recoiled, his pale form flickering slightly. The accusation stung, but it wasn’t the first time Anderson had spat those words at him. The guilt weighed heavily on him, but he couldn’t find the strength to speak. Not yet.Anderson's spirit floated closer, his cold, lifeless eyes locking onto Jacob’s. “What makes you think you’re better than Victor, huh? You framed someone else for a death that wasn’t even

Victor sat quietly in the dimly lit room of the Montgomery estate, the heavy silence occasionally interrupted by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the armrest of his leather chair. His face remained stoic, a mask of cold composure, but beneath the surface, a storm was brewing. The weight of recent events pressed down on him, though his calculating edge never wavered.A soft knock echoed from the door, breaking the tension, before Raul, his trusted confidant, stepped inside with an air of unease. Victor’s gaze shifted, cold and curious."I’ve traced Edward, Victor," Raul began, his voice low. "He’s from a farm in California. As instructed, I handed over the letter a relative of his."Victor’s lips curled into a faint, approving smile. "And did you put it where I specified?"Raul nodded. "Yes, sir. Exactly where you asked."Victor leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. "And the man I killed?"Raul’s face hardened. "The man is no longer recognizable. I made sure of it."A

"Amelia, wait!" Edward's voice broke through the quiet evening air. His footsteps quickened as he closed the gap between them, his chest tightening with every step.Amelia stopped, her back stiff, her hand trembling as she gripped the side of the car door. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of what she was about to do. "I love you, Edward," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she turned halfway, "but I’m sorry. This... this wasn’t meant to be."Edward’s breath hitched as he reached out, grabbing her arm lightly. "Why can’t you stand up to him? He’s forcing you into this marriage!" His voice cracked with desperation. "You don’t love Montgomery, you have said it yourself. Why are you letting him control your life?""You know my father too well, Edward." Amelia’s voice wavered as she pulled her hand away, though her body seemed to yearn for the warmth of his touch. "We were never meant to be. My father... he always has the final say." She swallowed, fighting the sob threatening

Victor threw a dart, watching it thud into the board with precision. The dull thump echoed in the dimly lit room, mingling with the distant hum of traffic from the street below. He didn’t look at Raul, but the question in his voice hung heavy in the air.“What do you think, Raul? Could it be a staff member?” His tone was sharp, testing the waters like someone ready to strike at any hint of confirmation.Raul shifted slightly, the leather of the armchair creaking under his weight. He stared at the dartboard, his fingers tapping softly against his knee as if considering the options. “That, I do not know,” he replied, his voice low but thoughtful.Victor leaned back, the chair groaning as his fingers drummed rhythmically on the armrest. The soft click of each tap punctuated the growing tension in the room. “And that’s the estate Anderson’s holed up in?” His voice was colder now, carrying an edge.“No doubt in it,” Raul said, crossing his arms. The fireplace crackled faintly in the backgr