Emma stood in the center of the bedroom long after Margaret Sterling left.
The mansion had returned to its immaculate silence, but something inside her had fractured. Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Cracks didn't always announce themselves.
They spread quietly, beneath the surface, until the structure no longer held.
Margaret's words replayed in her mind with surgical precision.
Unstable.
Perception.
Professional support.
They hadn't sounded cruel. That was the worst part.
They had sounded… prepared.
Emma pressed her palms against the cold marble vanity and stared at her reflection. The woman looking back at her seemed unfamiliar…eyes too large for her face, skin pale against the dark silk robe, lips pressed together as if holding something in.
Or holding herself in.
She reached for her phone.
Her thumb hovered over Dominic's name.
She didn't want to accuse. Not yet. She just needed to hear his voice. Needed reassurance that she wasn't losing her grip on reality.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
Her chest tightened.
She tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
Her phone vibrated almost immediately.
Dominic:
In a meeting. Can't talk. Later.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just finality.
Emma stared at the message, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Later.
That word felt deliberate. A boundary. A dismissal.
Her thoughts spiraled faster now, unchecked.
Singapore.
The unknown number.
Margaret's visit.
The calculated concern.
The way Dominic had looked at her that morning—measuring, evaluating.
Nothing lined up.
Everything felt staged.
Emma sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the silk sheets.
She needed help.
Real help.
Her first instinct….her family…..was dismissed just as quickly.
The Laurents were not a refuge.
They never had been.
Her mother Lily died when she was only 5years old . Emma was raised by nannies, and the staff . Her father, Edward Laurent, existed in Emma's life like a distant figure in a painting...present, powerful, and entirely detached as if she reminds him of a mistake, his past…. His world revolved around boardrooms, legacy dinners, and the children from his second marriage. They were his everything.
The real family.
Emma's stepmother, Isabelle Laurent, had been the only person in the family who ever chose her.
Isabelle entered Emma's life gently, offering affection without conditions, defending her in quiet ways Edward never noticed. For a time, Emma believed she finally belonged somewhere.
Then Adrian was born.
The Laurent household shifted instantly. Edward found purpose again, and everything began to orbit around the new heir. Adrian was praised, groomed, protected…. carrying the Laurent name like a crown placed on his head before he could speak. Emma, though still the eldest, faded into the background.
Isabelle tried to hold the balance, but illness stole her strength slowly. As her health declined, Emma became her constant….reading to her, sitting through endless nights, learning early how to love someone who was already slipping away.
When Isabelle died after years of suffering, whatever protection Emma had vanished with her.
Edward retreated fully into business. Adrian stepped forward as the unquestioned golden heir. Camille remained their father's adored princess.
Emma was left behind... remembered only when blame was needed.
Even Adrian, once friendly with Dominic, grew wary the moment Dominic proposed to Emma. He had seen something then that Emma hadn't.
And no one had warned her in time.
Since then, Adrian had watched Dominic Sterling with narrowed eyes and quiet distrust.
Something's wrong with him, he had said once.
Emma hadn't listened.
Her stepsister, Camille, was Edward's pride…. beautiful, bold, creative. Everything Emma was told she wasn't. Camille lived loudly, loved recklessly, and dismissed Emma as dull, manipulative, jealous.
The family narrative was clear.
Emma was the problem.
Always had been.
And now... if she went to them, fragile and doubting…. they would see only confirmation.
No.
She couldn't go to the Laurents.
Her hands trembled as she set the phone down.
Then…. memory stirred.
A different time.
A different version of herself.
College libraries. Late nights. Laughter over cold coffee and glowing screens.
A boy who had never looked at her like she was inconvenient.
A boy who answered his phone. A boy who treated her like family…
Her breath hitched.
She reached for the phone again.
Scrolled.
Stopped.
Ethan Duffy..…
Her finger hovered.
Ethan had been her constant once…. brilliant, infuriatingly calm, the kind of tech genius who solved problems quietly and remembered details no one else noticed. He had always picked up. Always shown up. And he never asked for anything in return.
Dominic had never liked any of Emma's friends.... Ethan least of all.
He had called him unnecessary, intrusive, someone who filled Emma's head with ideas she didn't need.
The call connected on the second ring.
"Emma?" His voice was warm, surprised. "It's been… years. Is everything alright? "
Her throat tightened.
"I need help," she said.
No explanation.
No apology.
Just truth.
There was a pause.
Then, steady and certain: "Okay. Tell me everything."
Something inside her gave way.
She spoke quietly at first….. about the messages, the secrecy, Singapore, Margaret's visit. About the way reality itself seemed to be slipping sideways.
Ethan listened without interrupting.
When she finished, there was silence on the line.
Not doubt.
Calculation.
"This isn't paranoia," he said finally. "This is a pattern."
Her breath shook.
"I need to know," Emma whispered. "I need proof. Or I won't survive this."
"I can look into call records. Travel logs. Burner numbers. Metadata, Anything that might help you ," Ethan replied. "But Emma….. if I do this, you need to be ready for what we might find."
"I am," she said.
She wasn't sure if that was true.
"I'll start tonight," he said. "Send me everything you have. Screenshots. Dates. Times."
"Thank you," she breathed.
After the call ended, Emma sat in the quiet room, heart pounding…. not with fear this time, but something sharper.
Resolve.
She wasn't alone anymore.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
Her fingers stiffened as she opened it.
Remember…Dominic always plans three moves ahead.
Emma's blood ran cold.
How did they know?
Her screen dimmed.
And in the silence of the mansion, one terrifying realization settled into her bones...
Someone wasn't just watching Dominic.
They were watching her.
And the game had already begun.
End of Chapter 5
******