CHAPTER TWO:RETURN HOME
761 Words
The rain came heavier that morning.
Aurelia stood outside the train station, her suitcase at her side, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of a threadbare coat. The train ride had been six hours of silence and gray countryside. Her hometown hadn’t changed—it was still as cold and washed-out as the memories she left behind.
A black car idled by the curb. Sleek. Expensive. The kind of car that screamed Monroe money. A man in a dark suit stood beside it, holding a sign with her name on it in sharp, neat letters.
She didn’t offer a greeting. He didn’t expect one.
They drove without speaking. Aurelia stared out the window, the trees blurring past like ghosts. It wasn’t until they turned down the long, gated road that she finally felt her stomach twist.
The Monroe Estate loomed ahead—an endless stretch of gothic architecture carved in shadow and stone. The manor sat like a fortress at the heart of it all, framed by ancient oaks that looked like twisted sentinels. High walls, black iron gates, and watchful gargoyles completed the illusion.
No one had lived here happily in decades.
The car stopped at the front steps. Two servants waited with umbrellas. The moment she stepped out, the sky cracked with thunder.
Welcome home.
---
The inside was exactly how she remembered it—frozen in time, cold in spite of the roaring fireplace. Marble floors, velvet drapes, oil paintings of ancestors who watched like judges.
The butler bowed stiffly. “Miss Monroe. Your father awaits you in the drawing room.”
Aurelia didn’t respond. She dropped her suitcase by the stairs and followed the scent of cigars and mahogany.
Gregory Monroe hadn’t aged so much as hardened. His silver hair was combed back with surgical precision. His suit was black, the tie blood red. He stood by the fire like a king in exile, his expression unreadable.
“Aurelia,” he said, like reading a report.
She stood by the doorway. “You sent a car. I came. Say what you need to say.”
“Still rude,” he said, pouring himself a glass of scotch. “Still ungrateful.”
She stepped into the room, careful to avoid the worn rug—the same one she’d tripped over at seven and bled all over. No one had cleaned it.
“I’m not here for sentiment,” she said. “What do you want?”
“A contract.”
“Of course you do.”
He sipped. “There are things you don’t understand, Aurelia. Responsibilities. Deals older than you.”
“Then why do you need me?”
“Because you’re my daughter. That means something to them.”
She narrowed her eyes. “To who?”
He smiled without warmth. “Come. I’ll show you.”
---
They walked through the halls in silence.
The house whispered beneath their feet. Every creak in the wood, every shadow along the wall—it all felt too alive.
He led her to a private study, one she had never been allowed in as a child. It was lined with books in languages she didn’t recognize and symbols carved into the wood.
On the desk was a folder with a red wax seal.
Her father opened it. “You will attend a dinner tomorrow. You will wear what I’ve chosen. You will smile. You will not ask questions.”
Aurelia’s throat tightened. “You’re selling me off.”
“I’m securing your future.”
She turned to leave.
“Aurelia,” he said sharply, “don’t forget who you are. You carry the Monroe name. That makes you valuable. It’s time you paid your debt.”
She didn’t answer.
---
Her childhood bedroom was just as she’d left it—cold, untouched, like a museum piece. Stuffed animals lined the bed. The same cracked music box rested on the windowsill.
She closed the door and locked it behind her.
Night fell with a strange kind of pressure.
Something wasn’t right.
There were locked doors in the mansion she didn’t remember. Servants who didn’t speak and moved too quietly. Rooms she passed where the air felt heavy—like the walls were watching.
And outside… the woods behind the estate were no longer silent. Every so often, she swore she saw movement between the trees. Shadows that didn’t match the branches. Eyes that vanished when she looked.
She stayed by the window, heart pounding.
Something was wrong with this place.
And she wasn’t sure she would leave it alive.
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- Writer
