Chapter 1
Morning. William exited his room, his hair impeccably styled, already clad in a suit that screamed of the latest trends. He paused to adjust the gleaming face of his Patek Philippe. As he hurried toward the front door, his sister’s sharp voice pierced the air, halting him in his tracks.
“Where are you going?” It was more accusatory than a question.
His patience, already stretched thin – as taut as a violin string about to snap – finally frayed. With a sigh, he replied,
“You know where. Stop questioning me.”
“Why did you stop having breakfast at home?” she retorted, her voice rising in volume.
“Because I’m fed up with your endless interrogations!” he finally exploded, his voice cracking with the force of his suppressed frustration, and his hand touched the knob of the front door, ready to leave. It was the first time he had ever raised his voice to his sister.
Silence landed upon the hall. He braced himself for the inevitable counterattack—the torrent of accusations and blame he had come to expect. But there was nothing. Only a suffocating quiet.
William turned back to look at her, his anger dissolving into a wave of unexpected remorse. His heart clenched, a sharp pang of guilt piercing through his defenses. Her large, doe-like brown eyes glistened with unshed tears, a single crystal drop tracing a path down her beautiful cheek.
“Rosalie, please don’t cry,” he tried to soothe her distress. It was anathema to him to witness her pain, a discordant note in the symphony of their shared life.
“You said we were family,” she choked out, her voice thick. “But you don’t even eat at home anymore. You don’t spend time with me.” Her voice escalated. “You don’t care about me!”
“That’s not true,” William countered. He gently neared her and placed his hands on her arms, conveying the sincerity of his words through touch.
“Am I wrong?” she challenged, her eyes flashing with incandescent fire. “Then prove it!”
He knew the precipice upon which they teetered, and the danger they might be venturing into.
“Okay,” he conceded. “But don’t push the boundaries, Rosalie.” His hands lingered on her bare arms as he offered, “I’ll take you to lunch.” His brown eyes searched hers for a glimmer of a smile, but instead, he caught a hidden threat in her voice.
“You better keep your word, William.” As he turned to leave, she reached out and placed her index finger on her cheek, demanding. Sighing, William leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.
William Jonathan Rutherford, at twenty-six, was already a titan in the world of business. He was the CEO of Rutherford Construction, a sprawling building empire inherited from his late father. Despite his caramel-colored hair, a face sculpted with the sharp angles of a male model, and an air of effortless charm, William was known for his relentless work ethic and impeccable reputation.
His life, until recently, had been the epitome of stability and success. However, this enviable equilibrium had been disrupted over the past year by the increasingly erratic and vexing behavior of his cousin, Rosalie. Her mother—his father’s identical twin—had died giving birth to her, leaving Rosalie to be raised as his sister within the family fold. The family, however, had kept this truth a closely guarded secret from her.
Rosalie Rutherford, a vibrant twenty-year-old college student, possessed a spirit as fiery as her cascading auburn hair. Beneath her beauty, however, simmered a tempestuous blend of stubbornness and defiance.
As she blossomed into womanhood, a disquieting obsession with her brother (or more precisely-her cousin), William, began to take root, twisting her affections into a forbidden desire. She yearned for him with a ferocity that defied logic and familial bonds, her mind refusing to acknowledge the insurmountable barrier of their shared blood.
Rosalie, blinded by an intoxicating blend of envy and longing, clung to the delusion that William was destined to be hers, and hers alone.
***
Rosalie, with her smoldering allure, slipped into one of her most provocative dresses. The purple fabric draped off her shoulders, leaving her back bare, and plunged daringly low on her leg with a slit that threatened to reveal more with every step. She applied her makeup with meticulous care, accentuating her brown eyes and full lips, and curled the ends of her fiery hair, framing her face in a cascade of seductive waves.
William arrived in his sleek car, the purr of its engine could be heard through the hall as he stepped inside. His gaze immediately drawn to Rosalie and he froze.
“Are you going to a party?”
“No,” she purred. “You are far more important than any party.”
William’s eyes darkened with fury. Beneath her seductive facade, he saw a desperation that chilled his mind. Rosalie was slipping further away each day, her obsession growing like a malignant vine, and he felt powerless to stop it.
“Listen, Rosalie,” he talked firmly to her, “we’re just going to lunch. There’s no need to dress like... this.”
Her eyes ignited with triumph.
“Are you jealous?” The undercurrent of hope flavored her words.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, “or you’ll be having your lunch at home, alone!”
"You promised!" She spat with a voice sharp as a sword.
His anger was just a thin veneer over the fear and helplessness that gnawed at him day by day.
“Change your dress then,” he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Okay, Willy!” She chirped, her voice taking on a playful lilt. She was the only one who still dared use that childhood nickname. But then, with a calculated slowness that bordered on cruelty, she unzipped her dress. The purple fabric slithered down her body, pooling at her feet, leaving her exposed in the harsh light of the hallway.
William recoiled, his eyes snapping shut, his teeth grinding together with such force it sent a sharp ache through his jaw. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles bone-white, as he spun away, unable to bear the sight of her deliberate provocation. When he finally forced his eyes open, his heart hammered painfully in his chest. His composure splintered into a thousand jagged pieces.
He whirled toward his car. With a savage yank, he wrenched the door open and threw himself into the driver’s seat, slamming it shut with a resounding thud. Gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles bone-white, he scowled ahead, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.
“Do you like it?” Rosalie’s voice cut through his turbulent thoughts. Standing beside the car, she twirled, showcasing her new attire—an indigo dress, mercifully modest, yet still accentuating her youthful curves.
“Get in,” he commanded, his voice blank.
He sulked and brooded throughout the entire journey. When they arrived at the restaurant, she latched onto his arm. Treating her with icy aloofness and emotional distance, William longed for her to learn to be more rational and level-headed.
However, when a waitress greeted William with a warm smile, Rosalie’s eyes blazed with jealous fury. She lashed out, viciously kicking the waitress’s leg.
“How dare you attempt to seduce my man, you shameless bitch!” she hissed venomously.
That was the final straw, the breaking point of William’s strained forbearance. After a tense exchange with the restaurant manager, punctuated by Rosalie’s defiant pronouncements and his own exasperated explanations, William, with grim resolve, seized her arm and dragged her back to his car. Rosalie, her face flushed with indignation, continued her litany of complaints. Reaching the car, William shoved her unceremoniously into the backseat.
“If you don’t cease this now,” he growled with menacing voice, “you’ll find yourself in the trunk!”
In the neighboring country, where twilight hastened the embrace of night, a young man with a mane of raven hair stood amidst the gleaming expanse of his state-of-the-art ocular laboratory. Alessandro Arden, the son of genetic brilliance, possessed an intellect as sharp as his father’s scalpel, addressed his colleague, a bio-engineer whose decades of experience were etched upon his weathered face.
“Dr. Albright,” Alessandro inquired, “I trust our groundbreaking bio-project is progressing according to schedule?”
Dr. Albright, his brow furrowed in concentration, adjusted his spectacles and replied,
“Indeed, Mr. Arden. We stand on the precipice of a monumental breakthrough. However,” he paused, a hint of hesitation in his tone, “we find ourselves in need of a suitable experimental subject to usher this endeavor to its glorious fruition.”
“Ugh,” Mr. Arden exhaled. “We’ve invested an inordinate amount of time and resources into this endeavor...” He paced away from Dr. Albright, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
“Perhaps we should consider alternative test subjects to begin with? Animal models, for instance?” A young woman, who worked there as a laboratory assistant, hesitantly asked the senior scientist.
“With all due respect,” Dr. Albright countered, his voice a low rumble, “the intricate structures of the human eye and that of an animal are vastly dissimilar. The potential ramifications of such a drastic divergence remain shrouded in uncertainty. It would be an imprudent risk.”
“That's right,” Mr. Arden conceded. “Very well, Dr. Albright. We shall reconvene on the morrow.”
Alessandro traversed the short distance to his adjoining apartment, a haven of sophisticated comfort that provided respite from the sterile austerity of the laboratory. “Father’s vision shall be realized,” he murmured as he poured himself a generous measure of aged brandy.
“Sir, if you please!” The agitated voice of Mrs. Norton, his elderly housekeeper, shattered the tranquility. Her wrinkled hand, gnarled with age, reached for the crystal glass, her lips pursed in disapproval.
“Mrs. Norton!” Alessandro exclaimed, annoyance creeping into his tone. “Upon my word, you appear like a phantom! Must you perpetually haunt my every step?”
Before he could protest further, she relieved him of the brandy with a deft maneuver.
“Unlike you, sir,” she retorted with a tart voice, “I have much work to do, Mr. Arden!”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Alessandro quipped, amusement playing in his tone. “Just don’t lament your pecuniary inadequacies, Mrs. Norton.”
“The matter at hand is not about compensation, Mr. Arden,” she continued her nagging reproof.
“Is that so?” Alessandro replied slyly, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Do tell me, Mrs. Norton, what has occasioned this concern?”
“Attending to the needs of an overgrown child is a rather taxing endeavor, sir,” she declared before walking away with a paddle-like gait.
“Now, now, Mrs. Norton!” Alessandro called after her. “Surely you don’t doubt my capacity for self-sufficiency?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mr. Arden, when will you finally take a wife and let this old woman retire?” Though she was unseen, her griping lingered in the air behind her.
This time, a rare silence enveloped usually cheerful Alessandro. He harbored a peculiar fondness for the woman who had served his family long before his birth. Mrs. Norton, with her unwavering dedication, had been more than just a housekeeper; she had nurtured him, guided him, and even dared to chastise him with a mother’s loving authority.
As Alessandro moved to pour himself a new glass of brandy, Mrs. Norton’s parting words lingered in his mind. He recalled his most recent encounter with a woman whose affections seemed inextricably tied to his financial status. Her blatant request for a luxury automobile had left him with a lingering distaste for such superficial pursuits.
