Episode3:
1052 Words
The World That Should Not Exist
The car didn’t just drive; it glided, as if leaving the physical world behind. Inside, the roar of Lagos traffic was reduced to a dull, distant hum behind tinted glass. Rain blurred the city lights into streaks, creating a cocoon of moving shadows.
Ariana sat frozen, hands clenched tightly in her lap.
She should have been afraid. In fact, she was terrified. Yet, beneath the panic, a sharper, more dangerous feeling took root: raw curiosity.
The man beside her hadn't spoken since she stepped into the car. He sat in agonizing stillness, one hand resting on the armrest, radiating a calm that seemed almost unnatural.
Finally, she couldn't take it. “Where are you taking me?”
He didn't look away from the road. “To where you belong.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you need right now.”
Ariana exhaled, a harsh sound in the quiet. “I don’t even know your name.”
A pause. “Lucien Vale.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Vale? As in… Derrick Vale?”
For the first time, a flicker of something crossed his face. Not emotion, exactly. Awareness. “Different branch,” he said simply.
Ariana let out a dry, shaky laugh. “Of course. There’s always a bigger, scarier version of everything I don’t understand.”
Lucien didn't respond.
The road beneath them changed, turning from asphalt to a smooth, private path surrounded by dense, towering trees. Tall, black iron gates loomed, swinging open automatically as they approached.
Security cameras followed them, silent and watchful. There were no guards in sight, yet she felt the weight of unseen eyes.
“Where are the people?” she asked, her voice tight.
“There are no people,” Lucien replied.
She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will.”
The car slowed as the trees parted.
Ariana forgot to breathe.
It wasn't just an estate. It was a palace, a violent collision of nature and brutalist modern design. Glass towers caught the storm-light, and white marble paths snaked through the darkness. It was a place designed to bend nature to its will.
It didn't scream wealth; it screamed power.
The car stopped before a black gate that seemed to scrape the sky. Two men appeared not security guards in a uniform, but professional soldiers in dark tactical gear.
The gates opened without a sound.
Ariana leaned forward, stunned. “This is… insane.”
Lucien finally turned to look at her, a hint of steel in his eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
As they drove through, the grounds opened into a breathtaking, cold oasis geometric gardens and lakes that glowed a soft blue beneath the rain.
Then, she saw them. People.
Dozens of them, dressed in sharp, black-and-white uniforms, moving with calculated, silent purpose. No laughter, no conversation.
Perfect. Cold.
Ariana pressed her hand against the cold glass. “What is this place?”
“Albrecht Estate.”
The name hit her differently this time. It felt heavy, loaded with a history she didn’t know.
The car stopped at the main entrance. Massive doors parted before they even came to a complete halt.
Ariana hesitated. For the first time, she felt the urge to turn back.
Lucien noticed, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You can still walk away.”
She turned to him. “Can I?”
“No.”
That brutal honesty was more terrifying than the silence.
Ariana stepped out. The air here was different thicker, charging the skin on her arms. When the doors closed behind them, the sound echoed like a tomb.
The hall was a cathedral of marble and glass. Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling lost in shadows. Paintings lined the walls strangers who felt painfully familiar.
At the center, a staircase curved upward, fit for royalty.
“This… this is not real,” she whispered.
“It is,” Lucien replied.
A group of people approached from the side, moving as one. They stopped and bowed. All of them. To her.
Ariana took a step back, her breath catching. “What are you doing?”
A woman in the front spoke, her voice smooth. “Welcome home, Miss Albrecht.”
Her heart hammered against her ribs. “You have the wrong person.”
“No,” the woman replied gently. “We have been waiting for you.”
Ariana turned to Lucien. “Tell them this is a mistake.”
He didn’t. Instead, he said, “This is your household staff.”
“I don’t have a household staff!”
Lucien held her gaze. “You do now.”
A man in a sharp suit appeared, holding a sealed black envelope. He walked straight to Ariana and held it out.
Her fingers trembled as she took it, the seal breaking at her touch. Inside was a single document. A birth record. Stamped. Verified. Signed.
The bold letters seemed to scream at her.
“No…” she whispered.
She flipped the page, her hands shaking. It was a record of inheritance. Global assets. Bank accounts with numbers that made no sense. Shares. Companies.
Her life, erased and replaced in a single sheet of paper.
“This is fake,” she said, her voice cracking. “I grew up in a tiny apartment in Lagos. I struggled for everything. This doesn't just... appear.”
Lucien stepped closer. “It is legally, completely yours.”
“Why?”
He studied her, and his next words silenced the storm in her head.
“You were hidden so you would survive.”
A long pause.
“Because people are still willing to kill to erase your existence.”
A sharp, faint alarm chimed somewhere deep in the house.
Lucien’s expression shifted instantly.
“What is that?” she asked.
“They found out you resurfaced faster than expected.”
Her stomach plummeted. “Who?”
Lucien looked at her, and for the first time, his voice was cold. “The people who wanted your family dead.”
The lights in the estate flickered and then stabilized, but the welcoming atmosphere was gone.
Ariana tightened her grip on the papers. She hadn't entered a new life.
She had just entered a war.
- Writer
