Elora barely slept.
The soft rustling of the wind outside did little to lull her to sleep—instead, it sounded like whispers in the dark. Every creak in the mansion, every faint noise felt amplified. Her thoughts wouldn't slow down. She kept hearing that voice in her head.
"You don't belong in his world. Walk away, or I will make you."
And now… Lucian. Cold. Distant. Watching her with eyes that once held admiration, now clouded with silent questions.
By morning, her nerves were frayed. She threw a thick shawl over her shoulders and headed toward the library—the only place in the estate where she felt somewhat safe, surrounded by old books and heavy silence.
But she wasn't alone.
Avale was already there, arranging books on the upper shelves with sharp precision. He turned slightly when he noticed her.
"You're up early," he said politely.
"I couldn't sleep." Her voice was low, tired.
"Perhaps a book might help," he offered, stepping down from the ladder and brushing his hands against his trousers.
"I don't think even a thousand pages could calm my mind right now," she replied with a strained smile.
Avale studied her face. "You've received a threat."
Her eyes widened.
"How—?"
"I recognized the kind of fear in your eyes. You've been watching every corner since yesterday."
There was a long pause before she asked in a whisper, "Do you think… someone in this house is watching me?"
"I think," he said quietly, "someone outside this house is pulling strings inside it."
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
Before she could say more, a loud knock echoed from the hallway. A maid appeared, nervously wringing her hands.
"Madam Elora, you're being requested in the courtyard. The Master wishes to speak with you privately."
Elora's pulse quickened.
Lucian never summoned her outdoors—not unless something was truly urgent.
She followed the maid through the corridor and into the cold morning air. The courtyard was quiet, with only Lucian standing beside the fountain, arms folded, jaw tight. He didn't turn as she approached.
"You asked to see me?" she said, voice soft.
He turned finally, expression unreadable.
"Where were you yesterday afternoon?"
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"When I was out for my meeting—where were you?"
"Lucian, why are you asking me that?"
"Just answer me."
"I was in the garden… then in my room. I didn't go anywhere."
His eyes narrowed. "Did anyone visit you?"
"No. Why are you—?"
He pulled something from his coat and handed it to her.
A photo.
Her. Accepting the black envelope from Avale.
She stared at it, horrified.
"That's not what it looks like," she whispered.
"I want to believe you, Elora. I do. But someone is trying to make me see otherwise."
"I didn't ask for that envelope. I didn't know what it was. Lucian—someone is threatening me."
His eyes flickered with something. Pain? Anger? Distrust?
"I need to know the truth, Elora. No more secrets."
Before she could speak, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Well, well. What a surprise."
A woman in a tailored cream suit strolled into the courtyard, heels tapping with purpose. Her sunglasses masked her eyes, but her smirk was unmistakable.
Elora's eyes narrowed. "Who…?"
Lucian's expression froze. "Alyssa."
"Hello, darling," she said, removing her sunglasses. "Miss me?"
Elora's blood ran cold. So this was her. The infamous ex.
Alyssa stepped forward, gaze trailing Elora from head to toe. "Is this her? The one who replaced me?"
Lucian's voice was sharp. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm back, Lucian," Alyssa replied sweetly, "and I thought it polite to greet the woman who now shares your bed."
Elora's chest tightened, her hands clenching at her sides.
Lucian stepped slightly forward, as though shielding Elora. "You have no business here."
"Don't I?" Alyssa's smile faltered slightly. "It seems someone in your house thinks I do."
Elora's gaze flicked to Lucian's face. Confusion. Frustration. And something else.
Someone inside the mansion had brought Alyssa back into their lives.
Elora realized with horror: she wasn't just being threatened. She was being replaced.
Alyssa turned to her, tilting her head. "You're in over your head, sweetheart. You have no idea what kind of war you've stepped into."
"I'm not afraid of you," Elora said steadily, though her knees felt weak.
Alyssa's smirk widened. "Good. Because you should be."
She turned and walked away as if she owned the place.
Lucian stood silently.
Elora looked at him, her heart pounding.
"Are you going to let her do this?"
He didn't answer.
And the silence said everything.
Certainly! Here's Chapter 13 — a continuation of your story, deepening the suspense, emotional tension, and introducing more layers of intrigue.
The morning sun filtered in weakly through the tall glass windows, casting a pale golden hue over the room. Elora hadn't slept a wink. She lay curled up on the edge of the bed, wide awake, her mind racing through a thousand thoughts. Lucian hadn't come to bed the night before. Not a word, not a text, not even the soft sound of his shoes down the hallway. Nothing.
The silence was heavier than any insult. And it terrified her.
She sat up slowly, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. The note, the call, the strange envelope, Lucian's sudden distance—it was all closing in on her, like a noose tightening around her neck.
Someone was playing a dangerous game. And she was the target.
"Elora," she whispered to herself, gripping the edge of the bed, "you have to stay sharp. You have to survive this."
The door creaked open.
She tensed.
It was a maid, one of the newer ones, bowing slightly. "Madam, breakfast is ready in the East Garden. Mr. Lucian requests your presence."
Requests.
The word felt like an unfamiliar cold. He had never "requested" before. He simply asked. Or smiled and waited. But now… now it felt like everything had changed overnight.
Elora dressed with quiet urgency, wrapping a dark green shawl around her shoulders and pulling her long hair back into a modest braid. She looked at herself in the mirror. Tired eyes. Pale cheeks. Determined lips.
She was ready to face whatever storm was brewing.
—
Lucian sat at the wrought-iron table under the pergola covered in ivy, a newspaper in front of him and a cup of untouched black coffee by his side. The moment Elora approached, he didn't look up.
Her heart twisted.
"Good morning," she said softly, standing before him.
Only then did he glance up, eyes guarded. "Morning."
She sat across from him, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Lucian, have I done something wrong?"
The question seemed to shatter something in the air. He exhaled, pushed the newspaper aside, and finally looked her in the eye.
"Elora," he said, voice low and controlled, "is there anything you need to tell me?"
Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream the truth. About the threats. The mysterious calls. The envelope. But something inside her paused. If she told him now—without proof—would he believe her? Or would it sound like the perfect cover-up?
"Lucian…" she began, carefully, "why are you asking me that?"
"Because someone sent me something." His voice was sharp, like a blade held just behind his tongue. "Something that suggests you've been… dishonest."
"Dishonest?" Her voice cracked. "With you?"
"I want to believe it's a lie," he said. "I really do. But the timing. The details. It was too perfectly laid out."
She stood abruptly, hurt flashing in her eyes. "So you doubt me?"
"I don't want to," he admitted, finally standing too. "But I need to know if you're hiding anything."
"I'm not!" she snapped, voice trembling. "I haven't done anything. I don't know what's going on, but someone is trying to ruin us."
Lucian looked at her with a mix of pain and uncertainty. Then, he nodded.
"I hope you're right. For your sake—and mine."
—
Later that afternoon, in a dim room near the west wing, Avale stood alone, watching the interaction through a small surveillance feed. His eyes narrowed. His face unreadable.
He turned as another figure entered the room—cloaked, unseen by most in the household.
"She's growing more restless," Avale said quietly. "It won't be long before she starts investigating on her own."
"And when she does?" the figure asked, voice laced with amusement.
Avale's lips twitched into a half-smile. "Then the game begins."
—
Meanwhile, Alyssa leaned against the bar at an exclusive lounge downtown, swirling her wine glass slowly.
"She's starting to break," she told the woman beside her—Lucian's stepmother, who was dressed in pearls and menace.
"Good," the older woman said with a smirk. "But not fast enough. Let's push harder."
They clinked glasses, and the deal between them silently solidified—Elora was in the crosshairs. And the next strike would be brutal.