All that was left : what remains after darkness?

CHAPTER 3

Weeks slipped by in a haze of empty rooms and unopened mail. The lawyers' words still rang in my ears, inheritance, empire, responsibility, but I wasn't ready to carry any of it. My aunty tried to shield me from the weight, but when she received a call about a work emergency in Chicago, she had no choice but to leave.

I told her I'd be fine. I lied.

That evening, as the shadows stretched long across the walls, I heard it, three knocks at the door. Not hurried, not nervous. Slow. Deliberate.

I opened it, and there he was.

My brother.

"Hello, darling," he said, his lips curling into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It gave me chills.

A backpack was slung over his shoulders, worn and heavy, as though it carried more than clothes. He looked different, stranger, harder. Tattoos inked his skin, creeping out from under the sleeves of his shirt. An eyebrow piercing caught the fading sunlight, glinting like something sharp.

But it was his face that rooted me to the spot. Brown hair just like mine, ocean-blue eyes identical to mine, only his were clouded, restless, hungry. His body was thin, almost frail, his skin stretched too tightly over bones.

"Aren't you gonna let me in, Zara?" he asked, voice smooth, casual, as though three years of silence had been nothing but a pause in conversation.

Zarana. That was my name. Stream. A name my mother whispered when she rocked me to sleep, a name that had once meant peace. But right then, hearing it from his lips, it felt like a threat.

I didn't answer. My hand tightened on the doorframe, and for the first time since losing my parents, I felt something sharper than grief.

Fear.

I let him in. Against my better judgment, against the sharp tug of fear in my chest, I stepped aside and watched as Theo walked into the house like he had never left.

His eyes swept over everything, the couch, the dining table, the paintings on the wall. He stopped in front of the family portrait, where his face was missing. Only one tiny photograph of him remained, a picture taken when he was seven. The only one my mother had saved after my father burned the rest and swore he no longer had a son.

"Hasn't changed much from what I see," Theo muttered, his voice low, almost amused.

He drifted toward the mini bar, pulling out a bottle of whiskey without hesitation. Pouring himself a shot, he downed it in one gulp, slamming the glass onto the counter so hard it nearly shattered. Then he turned, eyes locking onto mine with unsettling intensity.

"Got a call from the lawyers," he said, his gaze crawling over me, head to toe, his lips curving into a smirk. "Since Rebecca's gone, I'll be the one looking after you."

His tongue brushed over his lips as if the words left a taste behind. "You've grown."

A shiver traced my spine. I crossed my arms over my chest, as if the gesture could shield me. "Your room is just as you left it," I told him. "Mom refused to let Dad touch a single thing. She said you'd come back someday."

Theo chuckled, stepping past me, heading for the staircase. "That woman was useful in the end, after all."

"Why would you say something like that?" My voice broke, tears threatening to spill. "Both our parents are dead, Theo!"

He froze mid-step and turned. His blue eyes, identical to mine, burned with rage. He closed the distance between us in just a few strides, and before I could react, his hand was at my throat.

"Don't ever in your f*****g miserable life raise your voice at me again," he growled. "They lost the right to be called my parents the day they threw me out like garbage. And if I'm being honest?" His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "I'm glad they finally got what was coming to them."

He shoved me back, pulling a cigar from his pocket. The flame lit up his face in the dimness as he took the first drag, exhaling smoke into the air like poison.

"While I'm in this house," Theo said, voice calm again, too calm, "I'm in charge. Don't do anything to piss me off, and we won't have a problem. Cooperate, and we'll stay out of each other's necks."

He smirked, flicking ash onto the floor. "Goodnight, darling sister."

And just like that, he walked upstairs, leaving me trembling in the silence of the home that no longer felt like mine.