As the night deepened and the world outside sank into a hush of shadows, the house stood wrapped in quiet stillness.
Yet, the light in Sally's room remained on.
Since dinner, she had been seated at her desk, studying in silence. Though already an exceptional student with a remarkably retentive memory, Sally treated her studies with unwavering seriousness. To her, diligence was not a virtue to admire but a necessity to survive.
The strained relationship between her and Dominic only sharpened her resolve. His peculiar form of "concern" often translated into watchful control, a quiet surveillance that made the house feel less like a home and more like a carefully gilded cage. She had no intention of remaining in it longer than necessary. If she could secure a scholarship and study far away, she would seize it without hesitation. From there, she would carve her own path, enter a reputable company, and build a life independent of him.
She would miss Elena, of course. That thought lingered . But even that could not outweigh her desire for freedom.
Sally had lived under Dominic's roof since Fay's death. He had never concealed his dislike for her; it flickered openly across his face whenever their paths crossed. Yet, because of Elena's affection, he had never made her life overtly difficult. In fact, she lived comfortably, almost like a young lady of privilege in a wealthy household.
At first, the rest of the family had kept their distance. But over time, their attitude shifted. As Elena remained Dominic's favored wife, and Sally her cherished daughter, they began to approach her with careful warmth, eager to win her favor in hopes of gaining Dominic's approval through her.
Sally, however, was not so naive.
Even as a child, she had understood more than they realized. When her father, Ray, passed on and her mother, Fay was struggling, none of them had come to their aid. Not one. Mable, her grandmother, had visited occasionally back then, though her disdain for Fay had never been hidden. Even so, there had been a faint, reluctant fondness in her treatment of Sally. But after Ray's death, even that tenuous connection vanished. Silence followed.
Only Elena had remained.
Elena had come, again and again, until the very end—and afterward, she had taken Sally in, despite her husband's clear dislike for her.
That alone had taught Sally everything she needed to know about the fragility of familial bonds.
So when those same people now approached her with smiles and feigned affection, how could she possibly return it with sincerity?
She smiled when required. She nodded when spoken to. But nothing more.
Elena understood. She knew that Sally did not truly accept them, and so the family's efforts at affection fell into emptiness, like seeds scattered on stone.
Sally picked up the last cookie on her plate and bit into it absently. Elena had made them earlier that evening after stopping by and finding her studying.
She rubbed her tired eyes and glanced at the wall clock.
Midnight.
Still, she felt no urge to sleep.
Rising from her chair, she stepped out of her room, intending to make herself a cup of coffee. The house was quiet as she descended the stairs, her footsteps soft against the polished floor.
As she passed Dominic's study, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. A sliver of light spilled into the hallway.
He was still awake.
Sally slowed, her gaze lingering on the door as she moved past it. Then she stopped.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then, almost against her better judgment, she turned back.
Quietly, she approached the door, her steps light, careful. She leaned closer, curiosity stirring despite herself.
Inside, Dominic sat behind his desk, dressed in a simple t-shirt that did nothing to diminish his sharp, commanding presence. An open laptop glowed before him, and several files were spread across the table.
Rowan stood opposite him, posture straight, as if receiving instructions.
Sally leaned in slightly, her ears straining.
She did not know why she was doing this. Perhaps it was because Dominic was always so guarded, so secretive about his work—as though the very people under his roof were potential traitors.
A few words drifted out.
"High school students."
"Trusted associate."
Her brows furrowed.
Was he planning to recruit students now?
She leaned a little closer—
and suddenly felt a presence behind her.
A shadow fell across her back.
Startled, she turned sharply, her eyes meeting a pair of dark ones. A small yelp escaped her lips as she jerked upright, only to hit her head against the door. The impact pushed it open further with an awkward creak.
Heat rushed to her face.
What an embarrassing situation.
Rubbing her head, she glared at the person behind her.
"Young miss," Ace greeted, his expression as stoic as ever.
At that exact moment, the study door swung open fully.
Dominic stood there.
And he was looking directly at her.
Ace inclined his head in a brief greeting toward Dominic, but Dominic's gaze did not shift. It remained fixed on Sally, steady and probing, as though silently demanding an explanation.
"Uncle," Sally greeted, her voice tinged with an awkward restraint.
"Not asleep yet?" he asked.
"I was studying for a while," she replied, composing herself. "I thought I might make some coffee. When I passed by and saw the light in your study… I assumed you were still awake. So I wondered if you might like a cup as well."
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes lingered on her, measuring, as if weighing the truth behind her words. Then, at last, a faint smile appeared on his lips, though it carried little warmth.
"Since you are being so considerate," he said, "I will accept. Bring it to my study once it is ready."
With that, he turned and returned inside. Rowan and Ace followed without a word, and the door closed behind them.
Sally remained where she stood for a brief second before exhaling softly.
"Such a commanding tone," she muttered under her breath as she turned away. "As though anyone is eager to make coffee for him."
Still, she proceeded to the kitchen.
The quiet there was almost comforting. She prepared her own cup first, the familiar rhythm steadying her thoughts. Then she began on his. Deliberately, she made it stronger than usual—thicker, darker, and unmistakably more bitter.
A small, private smile curved her lips.
Balancing the cup carefully, she made her way back toward the study. When she reached the door, she paused.
The door was now firmly shut.
She lingered there for a moment, her head tilting slightly as she strained to listen. No voices filtered through, no movement, nothing but an impenetrable silence.
At last, she lifted her hand and knocked.