Marked
1141 Words
The cellar door slammed open.
Light tore through the darkness.
Eleanor flinched, her body instinctively shrinking back. The brightness burned—too harsh after days trapped in the dark. Her vision blurred, eyes watering as she tried to focus.
A figure stepped in.
He closed the door slowly behind him.
Darkness swallowed the room again—except for him.
Eleanor forced her eyes open, blinking through the sting.
When her vision finally cleared, she realized—it wasn’t the man she had expected. Not the familiar one.
This man was different.
There was no restraint in him. No hesitation. No trace of conflict.
He looked like he belonged to her father’s world—polished, sharp, and devoid of any warmth.
Dangerous in a cleaner way.
He stopped in front of her.
For a second—just one—hope betrayed her.
She thought her father might have sent him—perhaps for negotiation. Perhaps to take her out of here.
“Did my father send you?” Her voice came out drier than she expected.
The man laughed softly and began walking toward her.
With every step, his face came into clearer view—cold, calculating, almost amused.
A faint smirk lingered on his lips.
“Sweet girl,” he said, voice smooth as glass, “I’m sorry to tell you this… but your father has already abandoned you."
He leaned slightly, just enough for her to see his face clearly now. "I don’t think he wants you back.”
The words didn’t hit loudly.
They sank—quiet, heavy, final.
Eleanor’s gaze dropped—but only for a second.
When she looked up again, something inside her had steadied. Not strength. Not yet.
But refusal to break in front of him.
He watched her closely. Interested now.
Then he added, almost casually, “Now tell me… you’re not Edith. You’re his twin sister. Am I right?”
Eleanor didn’t hesitate this time.
“Yes.”
The smirk deepened.
“Oh,” he breathed, almost delighted. “That’s unfortunate.”
A step closer.
“Because that means…” he tilted his head, studying her like an object, “you’re worthless to us too.”
The word hung there.
Worthless.
Eleanor swallowed, her throat tight but her voice steady enough.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked. “Kill me?”
The man tilted his head, as if considering it.
"Hmm..”
A faint hum escaped him.
"We might."
“Or…” his voice dropped, quieter, more dangerous, “we might find a better use for you.”
His gaze locked onto hers—cold, precise, stripping.
“Something… profitable.”
Eleanor held his stare.
Her pulse pounded.
But she didn’t look away.
⸻
Vernon was in a casino owned by Lucien—noise, lights, and polished lies layered over something far dirtier.
He wasn’t there to gamble.
He stood near the back, eyes on the flow of money—watching, calculating—making sure a portion was quietly taken off the top before it ever reached the official books. Before taxes. Before anything could be traced clean.
Everything was controlled.
Precise.
Until his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen—one of his trusted men from the warehouse.
Vernon answered.
Then—
“Sir… Theodore is here.”
For a moment—
he froze.
Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But inside, something locked.
Then—
he moved.
Fast.
He didn’t say a word to anyone. Didn’t finish what he came for. He walked out of the casino floor with sharp, clipped strides, tension building with every step.
By the time he reached his car, control was already slipping.
He got in, slammed the door, and the engine roared to life.
The drive was brutal.
No patience. No restraint.
Just speed.
To the warehouse.
He didn’t slow down.
The warehouse door slammed open so hard it echoed through the entire space.
Theodore turned at the sound, almost amused.
“You’re here.”
Vernon didn’t step fully inside.
“Come out.”
No greeting. No pretense.
Just an order.
Theodore studied him for a second—then smiled, slow and knowing.
“Sure,” he said lightly. “We need to talk.”
He turned, just slightly, his gaze shifted to Eleanor.
That smirk returned.
“I hope you don’t see me again.”
The words lingered longer than they should have.
Then he walked out.
And Vernon followed.
Eleanor stared at them as they walked out—her gaze fixed, unblinking, as the silence closed in behind them.
⸻
Vernon stepped out of the warehouse, the night air hitting sharp and cold against his skin.
Theodore followed him.
Then—he stopped
Slowly, he turned to face Theodore.
“Why are you here?” his voice was flat, edged.
Theodore didn’t hesitate. “I’m here to evaluate the situation.”
Vernon’s jaw tightened. “This is my job. You don’t have the right to interfere.”
A faint smile tugged at Theodore’s lips. “Oh, I do. When someone fails to do their job properly—when they can’t even identify the fault—it becomes mine.”
His gaze sharpened, cutting straight through.
“And here,” he added quietly, “I found one. A grave one.”
“I’m handling it,” Vernon shot back, voice controlled but coiled. “The boss gave me twenty-four hours. It hasn’t even been twelve. So I’ll ask again—why are you here?”
Theodore let out a low chuckle. “Twelve hours?” He tilted his head slightly. “I’ve been here less than one… and I already see it.”
His eyes narrowed, voice dropping.
“So tell me, Vernon… do you really not know?” he said slowly, each word deliberate, “or are you just pretending not to know?”
A heavy silence pressed between them.
Vernon’s voice came out colder. “Whatever it is—you do not interfere in my work before the time limit.” A step forward. Controlled. Dangerous. “And after that, I will talk to the boss myself.”
His gaze turned dismissive, cutting him off.
“You are useless here.”
Theodore didn’t react immediately. He just looked at Vernon—long, quiet, unsettling.
Then—
“The situation here…” he said, almost thoughtfully, “is very rare for a man like you.”
A faint tilt of his head. “I wonder what’s making you behave like this.”
Vernon’s patience snapped thin. “I don’t need your philosophical view.”
“Just leave.”
For a moment, Theodore didn’t move.
Then, taking one last glance at Vernon—slow, deliberate, as if Vernon had just revealed more than he intended—he turned and walked off toward his car.
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