Chapter 3: The Calm Before the Storm
Outside the mansion, the murderers lounged in comfort, sipping wine in a sunlit study, unaware that the world they had built on greed and cruelty was about to crumble. The couple who had stolen her parents' fortune, who had sent men to ruin her life, laughed and whispered secrets of their ill-gotten wealth. Every smile, every careless gesture, was a mark of their hubris.
Back inside the mansion, she and Dexton moved silently through the shadows. The envelopes were clutched tightly in her hands, their weight both literal and symbolic—a promise of the secrets, evidence, and vengeance she had come to claim.
Dexton's eyes flicked to her, scanning for traps. "We're close," he whispered. "One wrong move, and they'll know we're here."
She nodded, her jaw tight. Her silver hair brushed against her shoulders as she crouched low, every sense sharpened. She had trained herself for this moment, for every moment that had led her here. But even she couldn't predict the surprises this mansion still held.
As they approached the grand hallway leading to the heart of the estate, she allowed herself a brief glance toward Dexton. His gaze was steady, unshakable, and, for a moment, the tension between them shifted—a flicker of trust, maybe something more.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly above. Someone was approaching the study. She froze, glancing toward Dexton.
"They're unaware," he whispered, voice low, almost amused. "But not for long."
Her pulse quickened—not from fear, but from anticipation. Tonight, the murderers would taste the consequences of their cruelty. Shadows stretched across the walls like silent sentinels, watching, waiting.
Carefully and precisely, she pressed herself against the wall, the envelope clutched to her chest. The distant sound of their laughter reached her ears. Her parents' killers were indulging in their arrogance, oblivious to the storm approaching—the storm she carried within herself.
Dexton's hand brushed hers and lingered a little before he gestured forward. "Ready?"
She stared at him for the briefest moment, a spark that neither of them could ignore. "Always," she whispered, voice steady, but her heart betrayed her. It beated wildly in her chest that she thinks it might burst out.
They stepped into the hallway. Every movement, every heartbeat, every breath, was synchronized in silent agreement: vengeance was coming, and nothing would stand in their way. The quiet before the storm was over..