The estate was unusually quiet when Emily returned from the city club. The hum of servants moving through the halls, normally unnoticed, sounded louder against the stillness of her thoughts. She dropped her bag by the door with a soft thud, the sound sharp in the hush of the house. Patricia hovered near the entrance, her composed smile faltering, while Stephanie's eyes tracked Emily with barely concealed curiosity. Emily ignored them, moving through the polished hallways like a shadow, her mind already sifting through the morning's observations at the event.
Harold Smith's footsteps echoed behind her, measured, deliberate, a familiar rhythm that always carried authority. He stopped a few paces away, hands clasped behind his back, gaze steady. Emily faced him, expression neutral, revealing nothing of her calculations.
"Emily," he began, voice low but commanding, "we've received instructions from the Grant household. You are to go to their residence tomorrow."
The words landed in the room like a stone breaking glass. Emily's lips remained pressed together; her face betrayed nothing. She had anticipated this outcome, had predicted that her presence at the event would draw the attention of the Grants. Yet it was not their approval or instructions that captured her attention it was her family's reaction.
Patricia blinked rapidly, stepping forward, hands pressed together in a futile attempt to regain composure. Stephanie's mouth opened, then closed, before a brief, triumphant smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The relief there was subtle, but Emily noticed.
"To the Grant residence?" Patricia repeated, voice trembling. "But… they've… chosen her?"
Harold's gaze didn't waver. "Yes. You leave first thing tomorrow. That is final."
Stephanie's relief shifted subtly into glee, though she masked it quickly with a forced, composed expression. "Finally," she breathed, voice soft but full of satisfaction. "We'll be rid of her."
Patricia nodded vigorously, voice slightly trembling. "Yes… yes, this is… necessary. Long overdue."
Emily said nothing. She didn't need to. Their unguarded reactions told her all she needed to know.
Harold's eyes narrowed slightly, noticing the silence stretch, the tension hovering in the air. He added, "Pack your things tonight. You leave at first light. I expect you to follow the instructions precisely."
Emily inclined her head, still calm, still unreadable. Inside, her mind was already calculating the implications. The Grant household was more than a social visit; it was an opportunity, a chessboard with pieces she intended to move deliberately. Every observation from the event, every micro-expression, every shift in posture, would guide her first steps in their household.
Stephanie leaned closer to her mother, whispering so low Emily could just make out the words. "…she won't know what hit her…"
Emily's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, imperceptible, unreadable. They had no idea. No idea at all.
She moved to her room, each step measured, precise. The floor's polished surface reflected her silhouette, a shadow against the dim light of the late afternoon. She passed by family portraits, paintings of ancestors long dead, their eyes painted with permanence, oblivious to the games of the living. Emily lingered for a moment before her door, a hand brushing lightly against the polished wood, savoring the calm.
Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, letting herself breathe. The quiet of the room was a luxury after the clamor of the city and the tense glances at the club. She moved to the window and watched the sun dip below the horizon, the sky streaked with muted shades of orange and gray, a reflection of the tension in her mind.
Opening her laptop, she scanned the latest news feeds and social updates her supposed "return," the rumors about her intentions, the subtle political movements in her kingdom. Everything mattered. Every piece of information, no matter how small, was a thread she could pull to weave the web she needed.
Her father's words, the reactions of Stephanie and Patricia, all of it formed a pattern. The Grant residence tomorrow wasn't just a house to stay in; it was a stage. Observing Timothy Grant, seeing him from a calculated distance, understanding the power he wielded, and maneuvering subtly within the household this was the real game.
Emily allowed herself a small moment, a quiet smile. She was no longer the Emily who had been betrayed on the battlefield. She was someone else now, living in a different world.
The house was quiet again, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint rustle of papers from the study below. Emily leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing as she thought of Timothy Grant, and the challenges waiting for her. Tomorrow would begin a new chapter.
And as darkness fell outside her window, she allowed herself one thought: "How is my mother? "How's she coping with the news of my death"?
"I have to become stronger"
Before she closed her eyes, She replayed the scene of the battle in her mind, hoping to see if she could remember any detail that would point her to who her killer was.