Age is Just a Number

3.

Chapter 3: Secrets in the Shadows

The note in my hand feels like a live wire, its scrawled words burning into my brain: “You can’t hide forever, Sophia.” My pulse is a drumbeat, loud and unsteady, as I scan the rose garden’s shadows. The moonlight cuts through the blooms, casting jagged patterns on the gravel path, but whoever left this is gone. My eyes dart to the hedge where I saw the figure vanish, but it’s just darkness now, silent and mocking. I shove the note into my pocket, my mind racing. Who’s after Sophia? And why does it feel like she’s running from more than just my father’s wrath?

I need to find her. Now.

I head back toward the mansion, the reception’s music spilling out like a cruel contrast to the storm in my chest. The ballroom is a blur of sequins and laughter, but Sophia’s not here. Her emerald dress would stand out like a flare, but there’s no sign of her. My gut twists—she bolted after our showdown in the study, and that note makes me think she’s in deeper trouble than I realized.

“Mark!” Lily’s voice cuts through the noise. She’s weaving through the crowd, her curly hair bouncing, her eyes wide with worry. “Where’d you go? You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“Maybe I am,” I mutter, my hand closing around the note in my pocket. “Have you seen Sophia?”

Lily frowns, crossing her arms. “Not since she stormed out of the study. Why? What’s going on?”

I hesitate. Lily’s my sister, my ally, but her comment about Sophia’s “past” is still nagging at me. Can I trust her with this? The note feels like a secret I’m not ready to share, not until I know what it means. “Just need to talk to her,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “She seemed upset.”

“Upset?” Lily scoffs, but there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “She’s the one who kissed you at Elena’s wedding. She’s not exactly innocent.”

“Neither am I,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. Lily flinches, and I soften my tone. “Look, I just need to make sure she’s okay. You didn’t see anyone weird out there, did you? In the garden?”

Her brow furrows. “Weird how? Like, a drunk guest or something?”

“No,” I say, my voice low. “Someone watching. Someone who didn’t belong.”

Lily’s eyes narrow, and for a second, I think she’s going to push, but then she shakes her head. “You’re freaking me out, Mark. This isn’t one of your conspiracy theories, is it?”

I force a laugh, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, maybe I’m just paranoid.” I’m not. That note is real, and so was the figure in the shadows. But I can’t drag Lily into this—not yet.

“Go back to the party,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll find you later.”

She hesitates, then nods, but her eyes linger on me, like she knows I’m hiding something. As she disappears into the crowd, I slip out a side door, heading for the estate’s east wing. Sophia mentioned her art studio is here, a converted guest room Elena set up for her. If she’s hiding, that’s where she’ll be.

The hallway is quiet, the party’s noise fading to a dull hum. My shoes echo on the polished wood floor, and every creak makes me jump. I’m not usually this on edge, but that note has me wired, like I’m waiting for a punch I can’t see coming. I reach the studio door, a heavy oak thing with a brass handle. It’s ajar, a sliver of light spilling out. I push it open, my heart in my throat.

“Sophia?” I call, my voice low.

The room smells like paint and turpentine, a chaotic mix of canvases and brushes scattered across tables. Half-finished paintings line the walls—bold, messy strokes of color that feel like Sophia herself: vibrant, untamed, hiding something beneath the surface. She’s not here, but the easel in the corner holds a canvas covered with a cloth. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I lift it.

The painting underneath stops me cold. It’s a portrait of a man—dark hair, sharp features, eyes like a predator’s. There’s something familiar about him, something that makes my skin crawl. The brushstrokes are angry, almost violent, like Sophia was working through something when she painted it. I’m still staring when I hear a gasp behind me.

“Mark, what the hell are you doing?” Sophia’s voice is sharp, but there’s a tremor in it. She’s in the doorway, her emerald dress swapped for jeans and a paint-splattered shirt, her hair pulled back. Her eyes are wide, flickering between me and the painting.

“I was looking for you,” I say, stepping back from the canvas. “Found this instead. Who is he?”

Her face pales, and she crosses the room in three quick strides, yanking the cloth back over the painting. “It’s just a sketch,” she says, too fast. “Old work. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Bullshit,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You’re shaking, Sophia. And that note I found in the garden? It’s got your name on it.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and for a second, I see raw panic. “What note?” she asks, but her voice cracks, giving her away.

I pull it from my pocket, holding it up. “This. ‘You can’t hide forever, Sophia.’ Care to explain?”

She stares at the paper like it’s a snake, her hands clenching at her sides. “Where did you get that?”

“Garden,” I say, stepping closer. “Right after I saw someone watching us. Same guy as in your painting?”

She flinches, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Mark, you need to drop this,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

“Not a chance,” I say, my frustration boiling over. “You’re scared, and I’m not an i***t. I saw your face out there. You know who’s after you.”

She turns away, running a hand through her hair. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice breaking. “This isn’t your fight.”

“Then make it mine,” I say, grabbing her arm gently, turning her to face me. Her eyes are wet, and it hits me like a punch—she’s not just scared, she’s terrified. “Sophia, I’m in this. Whatever this is, I’m not walking away.”

She looks at me, her gaze searching, like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth the risk. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” she says finally. “There are things… things I’ve done. Things I can’t undo.”

“Then tell me,” I say, my voice softer now. “Let me in.”

She shakes her head, pulling her arm free. “I can’t. Not yet.”

I want to push, to demand answers, but the vulnerability in her eyes stops me. She’s not just hiding from me—she’s hiding from herself. I take a step back, giving her space. “Okay,” I say. “But I’m not letting you face this alone.”

She gives me a small, shaky smile, but it’s interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. We both freeze. The knock comes again, harder, and then Elena’s voice, tight with worry. “Sophia? Are you in there?”

Sophia’s eyes widen, and she motions for me to stay quiet. “Yeah, I’m here,” she calls, her voice steadier than I expect. “Just… cleaning up.”

The door opens, and Elena steps in, her elegant dress looking out of place in the messy studio. Her eyes flick to me, and her face hardens. “Mark, what are you doing here?”

“Talking,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Is that a crime now?”

Elena ignores me, turning to Sophia. “We need to talk. Alone.”

Sophia glances at me, a silent plea in her eyes. I nod, but my gut’s screaming that something’s wrong. “I’ll be outside,” I say, stepping toward the door. “Yell if you need me.”

As I leave, I catch a glimpse of Elena’s face—hurt, angry, but also scared. What the hell is going on with this family? I linger in the hallway, the note still burning a hole in my pocket. I’m about to head back to the party when I hear footsteps behind me—soft, deliberate, like someone trying not to be heard.

I spin around, my heart kicking into overdrive. The hallway’s empty, but the air feels wrong, heavy. I take a step toward the shadows at the far end, my hand clenched into a fist. “Who’s there?” I call, my voice echoing.

No answer, but I hear it—a faint rustle, like fabric brushing against the wall. I move faster, my eyes scanning the darkness. There’s a door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar, leading to the service stairs. I push it open, and that’s when I see it: a phone, abandoned on the floor, its screen glowing with a single text message.

I pick it up, my blood turning to ice as I read the words: “Tell him, Sophia, or I will.”