Episode 8
1339 Words
Rain began to fall in the early hours; thin, persistent sheets whispering against the tall windows of the west wing. Diane stood in the dim light of her room, watching as the storm washed the gardens in gray. A strange peace settled over the estate in the rain, like nature herself had paused to listen. Even the house, usually a beast of creaking floors and sighing walls, was still.
But peace, Diane knew, was always temporary in a house built on lies.
She closed the curtain slowly and turned just as Amelia stirred in her sleep, mumbling something about butterflies and castles. Ethan kicked off his blanket in protest against a dream only he could see. Diane smiled faintly and tucked them both back in.
They were her compass, her reason, her edge.
And today, she’d need them more than ever.
Because today, Diana would make her next move.
At breakfast, the air was sharper than usual, as if the very molecules sensed the storm churning just beneath the surface. Diana arrived dressed in black from collar to cuff. Her outfit less a wardrobe choice and more a declaration. Her makeup was minimal, but the cold around her eyes could’ve frozen a fire.
She sat without speaking, her gaze flicking briefly to the empty chair. The space was untouched, deliberately unoccupied. A message. A warning.
Lord Hart was absent. Lady Hart sipped her tea with the detached elegance of someone trying not to watch a train wreck she couldn’t stop. Richwell sat at the head of the table, his fork untouched, eyes unreadable as he studied Diane.
The twins sat beside their mother, quietly eating strawberries and toast. Their presence, as always, added a strange purity to the table. But innocence couldn’t silence tension.
Then Diana spoke, her voice sweet and sharp like poisoned honey.
“The weather’s dreary. Just like our guest’s mood lately.”
Diane didn’t look up. “I find the rain soothing.”
“Of course,” Diana replied with a smirk. “Some people are used to cold showers.”
The twins looked up in confusion.
“What does that mean?” Amelia asked innocently.
“Nothing, sweetheart,” Diane said gently, placing a hand over her daughter’s. “Just a sad attempt at humor.”
Diana’s smile dropped.
Richwell’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not at the insult, but at the restraint. Diane didn’t rise to bait. She absorbed it, redirected it, and left Diana floundering.
He wasn’t sure if that made her dangerous or admirable. Maybe both.
Later that morning, Diane found herself in the estate’s medical wing, ostensibly reviewing the inventory. It was a part of her role, yes, but also an opportunity. This wing was a treasure trove of forgotten details and old truths. The walls here whispered more than most.
She moved toward the storage closet at the far end, the one with the faulty lock she had noted on her first day. Slipping inside, she shut the door gently behind her.
It was dark, musty, lined with files and record boxes. Her fingers skimmed across dusty labels until one caught her eye: Hart, Diane. Age 23. Private.
She opened it slowly.
A soft click behind her froze her in place.
“Looking for something?” Richwell’s voice was smooth, but carried an undertow.
Diane didn’t turn. “Just auditing old records. Some are out of place.”
“I’m sure the ghost of teenage heartbreak is grateful for your thoroughness,” he said as he stepped further inside.
She finally turned, the file still open in her hand. “You’re following me.”
“Should I be?” he asked. “You seem to know this place like an old lover. Quiet corners.”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “I research where I work.”
He stepped closer. “And do you always research the private files in your employer’s closet?”
Diane calmly closed the file and returned it to the shelf. “Only when I suspect those records may explain the sickness that still lingers in this house.”
Richwell’s jaw clenched. “Be careful, Dr. Elaine. You’re not just playing chess here. You’re walking through a minefield.”
“I’m aware,” she replied softly. “But I’ve stepped on worse.”
They stared at each other, a thin veil of politeness barely masking something far more primal: mutual recognition.
Then Diane turned to go.
Diana stood before her mother’s portrait in the gallery inside her wing, arms crossed over her chest, jaw tight. The Cruz matriarch looked down from her gilded frame with that same ageless judgment, the same scorn Diana remembered from childhood.
“She’s pushing,” Diana whispered. “Too bold. Too fast.”
“She’s winning,” came a female voice from the doorway.
She turned sharply to see her mother, Mrs.Cruz . She had visited Diana and didn't inform her she was coming.
“She’s winning,” she repeated, “because you’re reacting instead of controlling.”
Diana’s voice was tight. “She’s here to destroy everything I built.”
“Nothing’s been destroyed yet. But you’re fraying at the edges. She hasn’t even touched you, and you’re already unraveling.”
Diana clenched her fists. “She brought a fake husband, a ready-made family, and enough venom to choke a viper.”
“Then outvenom her,” she said coldly. “Expose her. Set the trap. But don’t you dare let her control the tempo of this war.”
Something shifted in Diana’s eyes then. A new flame, calculated fury.
“Yes, Mother,” she said softly. “I think it’s time to pull the strings.”
That evening, Diane returned to her suite to find an unmarked envelope on the desk. No handwriting. No seal. Just a plain white card inside with a single line:
Meet me in the east greenhouse. Midnight. Come alone.
She read it three times. A trap? Probably.
But curiosity had always been her second nature, right after survival.
She tucked the card away, kissed her children goodnight, and by 11:58, she slipped quietly into the hall.
The east greenhouse was soaked in moonlight and the breath of wet soil. Jasmine vines coiled around cracked glass panes, and soft petals lined the cobblestone path inside. It was haunting, like a memory preserved in silver light.
Diane stepped in slowly.
Richwell stood near the far bench, hands clasped behind his back.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.
“I wasn’t sure it was you,” she replied.
He gave a small nod. “I prefer honesty in private.”
She remained by the entrance. “What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“That’s a tall order.”
He took a careful step forward. “You. Diana. why are you here?”
Diane took a breath. “And you think I’ll unwrap a decade of hell for your entertainment?”
“No,” he said. “I think you’re running out of time to keep playing invisible.”
She tilted her head. “What makes you think I’m not the threat?”
He smiled faintly. “Oh, you are. That’s why I want to see you clearly.”
They stood in silence.
“I saw the hospital files,” Richwell added. “You were connected to this estate long before your job offer. So why lie?”
“I didn’t lie,” she said. “I just didn’t explain. You wouldn’t have understood.”
“Try me,” he challenged.
Diane’s eyes glinted. “Maybe one day. But not tonight.”
She turned to go.
“You’re not the only one who knows how to dig,” Richwell said quietly.”
She didn't give a reply.
Back in her room, she leaned against the door after locking it, her breath trembling in her chest.
The past was creeping back faster than she’d planned.
But fear wasn’t what she felt. It was readiness. She knew war was coming and this time, she wouldn’t lose.
- Writer
