Chapter 31

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