Prologue
The house was too quiet.
Ophelia noticed it the moment she opened her bedroom door.
The Voss mansion was never silent. Even late at night there were always small sounds somewhere in the enormous house. Staff moving through hallways. Doors closing softly. Footsteps on marble floors.
Tonight there was nothing.
Just silence stretching through the corridors like something waiting.
Her fingers tightened in the sleeves of her oversized sweater as she stepped into the hallway.
The soft carpet muffled her bare feet.
She moved slowly.
Carefully.
The way she had learned to move years ago.
Her good eye scanned the hallway automatically while the blind one stared uselessly into the dim light.
No one.
Her heart beat a little faster.
The quiet made her nervous.
Silence in this house often meant something bad had already happened.
Or was about to.
She reached the staircase and paused.
Voices floated faintly from downstairs.
Male voices.
Angry.
Her stomach dropped immediately.
She knew that voice.
Adrian.
Fear slid through her chest like cold water.
She should go back to her room.
Immediately.
Her body knew that.
Her mind knew that.
But her feet didn’t move.
Instead she stood frozen at the top of the stairs, listening.
“…you think you can threaten me?” Adrian’s voice said somewhere below.
Another man answered, his voice tight with anger.
“You promised protection. If this deal collapses—”
A violent crash cut him off.
Something heavy slammed against wood.
Ophelia flinched hard.
Her heart began racing.
Her fingers twisted tightly into a curl of her hair.
Don’t go down there.
The thought repeated over and over in her head.
But the fear was mixed with something else.
The same instinct she had developed years ago.
When Adrian’s voice sounded like that, someone usually ended up hurt.
Slowly, carefully, she stepped down the staircase.
Each step made her stomach twist tighter.
The voices grew louder as she reached the bottom.
The study door was slightly open.
A thin strip of light stretched across the hallway floor.
Ophelia stopped several feet away from it.
Her chest rose and fell quickly.
She could hear movement inside.
Heavy breathing.
Furniture scraping.
Then something hit the floor.
Hard.
A strangled sound followed.
Then silence.
Absolute silence.
Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
For several seconds she didn’t move.
Then the study door opened.
Ophelia jerked backward as if she’d been struck.
Adrian stepped into the hallway.
He stopped the moment he saw her.
For a long second neither of them spoke.
Her entire body went rigid.
Fear flooded through her instantly, instinctively.
The kind of fear that came from years of knowing exactly what he was capable of.
Adrian’s eyes slowly traveled over her face.
Over her pale curls.
Over the scar that cut across her blind eye.
His lips curved slightly.
“Well,” he said softly.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Ophelia couldn’t breathe.
Her back pressed against the wall behind her.
Her hands lifted instinctively in front of her chest.
“I— I didn’t mean to—”
Her voice barely worked.
She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Adrian stepped toward her.
She immediately shrank back further into the wall.
Every muscle in her body tightened.
Her mind screamed at her to run.
But her legs wouldn’t move.
They never did when he was this close.
“What are you doing out of your room?” he asked calmly.
The softness in his voice made it worse.
It always did.
“I heard voices,” she whispered.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
She had learned long ago not to meet his gaze.
Adrian tilted his head slightly.
“Did you.”
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Her breathing turned shallow.
She could feel panic beginning to claw up her chest.
Behind him she could see part of the study.
The desk.
The carpet.
And something on the floor.
Something dark.
Her stomach twisted violently.
“Please,” she said quietly.
“I’ll go back upstairs.”
Adrian didn’t move.
Instead he looked over his shoulder briefly toward the study.
Then back at her.
“Too late for that.”
Her heart dropped.
Before she could react his hand suddenly grabbed her wrist.
Pain shot through her arm.
She gasped as he yanked her forward into the study.
She stumbled, nearly falling.
Her hand slammed against the desk to catch herself.
Something cold pressed against her palm.
She looked down.
A knife.
Her breath caught.
Adrian’s grip tightened around her wrist.
He forced her fingers around the handle.
Her mind went blank with panic.
“Hold it,” he murmured.
“No—”
The word came out as a broken whisper.
Her body had started shaking.
But his grip was iron.
“Hold it.”
Her fingers closed around the knife.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
On the floor beside the desk a man lay motionless.
Blood spread slowly across the carpet.
Ophelia stared at it in horror.
“I didn’t do anything,” she whispered desperately.
“I didn’t—”
Adrian released her wrist.
The knife slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered onto the floor.
He calmly pulled his phone from his pocket.
Ophelia looked at him, confusion and terror twisting inside her chest.
“What are you doing?”
Adrian smiled.
A slow, satisfied smile.
Then he lifted the phone to his ear.
“There’s been a murder,” he said calmly.
He watched her the entire time.
Watched the color drain from her face.
Watched the panic spreading through her eyes.
“Yes,” he continued quietly.
“My sister is here.”
Ophelia felt the world collapse around her.
And for the first time she understood.
She had never had a chance.
