Chapter 7
The black car that arrived for Andrea was less a vehicle than a statement of power – sleek, silent, with windows tinted dark enough to swallow light. The driver, a man whose suit bulged subtly at the shoulder in a way that suggested concealed weapons, opened the door without a word.
Seven Oaks Manor emerged from the twilight like a gothic dream. Three stories of gray stone and gleaming windows sprawled across manicured grounds, its circular drive centered on a fountain where stone angels poured endless streams of water from upturned urns.
Inside, the grandeur took on a darker edge. Old money whispered from every corner – from the portraits of stern-faced ancestors to the antique weapons displayed with loving care on the walls. Andrea’s heels clicked against marble floors as a butler led her to the dining room, each echo seeming to ask if she really belonged in this world of wealth and secrets.
The Sinclair brothers were already seated when Andrea stepped into the grand dining room. Unlike the carefully measured personas they maintained at school, here in their family’s mansion, they seemed unrestrained—more dangerous, more real. The dim lighting cast long shadows over the elegant furnishings, the table a masterpiece of polished wood and gleaming silver.
Nathaniel rose smoothly as she entered, a polite but calculated smile on his face. “Andrea,” he said, his voice effortlessly commanding. He gestured to the chair placed conspicuously at the center of the table. “Welcome to our home.”
Andrea hesitated, but the weight of his gaze—and the silent stares of his brothers—left her no choice. She crossed the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor, and took her seat.
Dinner was an elaborate affair. Each course was a work of art, served with military precision by a fleet of silent staff. The food was decadent, the wine flowing freely despite their age. The brothers spoke with an ease that bordered on rehearsing, their conversation weaving seamlessly between topics of school, society, and ambition.
But Andrea wasn’t fooled. Beneath the surface of polite exchanges and practiced charm, she could feel it: tension, unspoken truths simmering just below the surface. Every word seemed to carry double meanings, every glance a silent battle.
Liam, seated to her right, kept the mood light with his usual playful banter.
“You must be impressed,” he said, leaning in as though sharing a secret. “Not everyone gets the Sinclair family red carpet treatment. Well, not unless you’re an ambassador or royalty.”
Andrea offered a faint smile but didn’t respond, her attention drifting to Gabriel, who sat across from her. He hadn’t said much, but his gray eyes tracked every interaction, missing nothing.
The first crack in the façade came when a sharp trill broke the room’s fragile balance. A phone rang, its sound jarring against the elegant backdrop.
A butler appeared, holding a cordless handset on a silver tray. He presented it to Nathaniel with a deferential bow.
Nathaniel’s expression darkened as he answered. “Yes? No, that shipment needs to arrive tonight. I don’t care about port authority inspection protocols—make it happen.” His voice was calm but edged with steel.
As he spoke, his eyes locked on Andrea, unblinking, as though gauging her reaction.
Her chest tightened. The implications of his words were impossible to ignore, but before she could process them fully, Nathaniel hung up and set the phone down with a decisive click.
He stood, his polished demeanor returning instantly.
“Andrea,” he said smoothly, “would you join me in my father’s study? There’s something I’d like to show you.”
The room went still. All eyes turned to her, and Andrea felt the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on her. She nodded, her voice steady despite the unease curling in her stomach.
“Of course.”
Nathaniel extended his hand, and Andrea followed him out of the dining room, leaving the table—and its unspoken tensions—behind.
The study exuded power, the kind that whispered of old money and unshakable influence. The walls were lined with leather-bound books whose spines gleamed gold under the soft glow of an ornate chandelier.
A massive desk dominated the room, its surface polished to a mirror finish and adorned with carefully arranged documents. Behind it hung a sprawling map marked with colored pins that Andrea instinctively knew she shouldn’t examine too closely. The air smelled faintly of leather and aged wood, rich and intoxicating.
“This,” Nathaniel said, gesturing toward the room with an open hand, “could all be at your disposal.”
Andrea turned toward him, her heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest. He stood near the desk, his posture immaculate, his expression calm yet calculating.
“My grandfather built an empire from nothing,” he continued, his voice smooth and steady. “My father expanded it, turning it into something that commands respect—or fear, depending on who you ask. In the near future, I’ll manage the family business, ensuring its legacy endures.”
Nathaniel’s dark eyes met hers, the weight of his gaze almost unbearable. “The right alliance could open doors you’ve never even imagined, Andrea. Doors that lead to true power.”
Andrea’s mind raced, the implications of his words swirling in a chaotic storm. Before she could muster a response, another voice interrupted.
“Brother,” Damien said, appearing in the doorway like a shadow, his voice cool and measured. “You’re monopolizing our guest. Andrea, I believe you mentioned an interest in rare books?”
Nathaniel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he stepped aside, his smile razor-sharp. “Of course. Enjoy, Andrea.”
Damien inclined his head and gestured for her to follow. His footsteps were soundless as he led her through the mansion’s labyrinthine halls until they stopped in front of an unassuming section of wall. With a flick of his wrist, he pressed a concealed mechanism, and the wall slid open to reveal a hidden library.
Andrea stepped inside, her breath catching. The air was cooler here, and the room was dimly lit, casting the shelves of books in dramatic shadows. The titles on the spines were unlike anything she’d ever seen—ancient, cryptic, forbidden.
“Knowledge is its own kind of power,” Damien said, his voice low and thoughtful as he watched her reaction. “These books contain truths that men have killed to protect. Histories rewritten, secrets buried.” He stepped closer, his presence unnerving but magnetic. “Choose me as your sponsor, Andrea, and all of this becomes yours.”
Her head spun as she stared at the shelves, each book a tantalizing promise of knowledge and danger.
Andrea was still reeling from the library’s secrets when Liam appeared, his golden hair catching the faint light of the corridor. He offered her a dazzling grin, his usual charm seeming amplified in the mansion’s dim, shadowed grandeur.
“You look like you could use some fresh air,” he said lightly, extending his arm. “The garden maze is breathtaking in the moonlight. Let me show you.”
Andrea hesitated, but Liam’s disarming smile made it hard to refuse. She slipped her arm through his, allowing him to guide her outside.
The garden maze was like something out of a dream. The high hedges gleamed silver under the light of the moon, their labyrinthine paths winding in every direction. Flowers perfumed the air, their sweet scent mingling with the crisp night breeze.
“This place is special, isn’t it?” Liam said, his voice soft, almost wistful. “It’s the perfect escape.”
“It’s beautiful here,” Andrea nodded, but her mind was racing. Every step she took deeper into the maze felt like crossing an invisible boundary, one that tethered her closer to the Sinclairs’ world.
When they reached a clearing, Liam stopped. The stars above seemed impossibly bright, their light casting his face in sharp relief. He stepped closer, his golden charm suddenly electric, and before she could process what was happening, he leaned in and kissed her.
For a moment, it felt like falling into a fairy tale, the kind filled with moonlit gardens and whispered promises. But as the kiss ended and reality settled over her, Andrea remembered something important about fairy tales—most had darker versions, ones where the princess didn’t survive.
Liam stepped back, his smile easy but his eyes searching hers. “You belong here, Andrea,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “With us. Don’t fight it.”
She said nothing, her thoughts too tangled to form words, as they slowly made their way out of the maze. The night’s chill settled in her bones, a reminder that nothing in this world came without a price.
Andrea’s fingers brushed her lips absently, the warmth of Liam’s kiss lingering like an unanswered question. Confusion and conflict swirled in her chest as she wandered aimlessly through the sprawling Sinclair mansion, her thoughts too tangled to focus.
When she stumbled into Gabriel’s sanctuary, the shift in atmosphere was almost jarring. The space was an old conservatory, its walls and ceiling made of glass. Moonlight streamed through, casting silver streaks across dozens of canvases propped against every available surface.
Her breath caught as she realized what they depicted.
Her.
Each painting captured a moment she hadn’t even realized was significant—reading in the library, the determined set of her jaw as she ran track, the fire in her eyes as she faced down Victoria. The portraits weren’t just images; they were studies of her soul, haunting in their accuracy.
Gabriel’s quiet voice broke the silence.
“I’ve been trying to get you right,” he said, stepping into the light, his expression unreadable. “To understand what makes you… different.”
Andrea turned to face him, her pulse quickening. “Why? What does it matter to you?”
Gabriel hesitated, as though weighing his words.
“Because you don’t fit here. Not the way we do. You’re… real. And that terrifies people.” His eyes flicked back to the paintings. “Including me.”
The weight of his confession hung between them, but before Andrea could respond, he turned back to his easel and began sketching, his silence urging her to leave.
Trying to find her way back to familiar territory, Andrea moved through the maze of corridors, the mansion’s grandeur growing suffocating. Her wandering ended abruptly when Aiden stepped from the shadows, his expression a thundercloud.
“So now you’re just accepting all of this,” he said, his voice sharp and accusing as he gestured at their surroundings. “The game, the hierarchy, the way they buy people’s loyalty. I really thought you were different.”
Andrea squared her shoulders, his words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.
“I am fighting it,” she said, her voice firm. “Just… from the inside.”
Aiden’s laugh was bitter, his rebellion hardening into something darker.
“That’s how they get you,” he snapped. “That’s how they got me. Born into it, raised in it, until you can’t see any other way.”
He turned and stalked away before she could answer, his retreat echoing with the weight of something unsaid.
Lost in the labyrinthine halls after Aiden’s departure, Andrea found herself in a part of the house that felt strangely out of place—less polished, more utilitarian. The rich finishes and elegant decor gave way to plain walls and muted lighting.
Rounding a corner, she stopped short, pressing herself against the wall. Voices drifted toward her, low and serious.
Risking a glance, she saw two men in security uniforms standing by a door. Their clipped conversation was inaudible, but their posture spoke volumes. This wasn’t the relaxed stance of house staff—it was vigilance, a sharp edge of tension in the air.
Andrea’s pulse quickened as she slipped back into the shadows, her unease growing. Whatever lay behind that door wasn’t meant for her to see—and now, she couldn’t stop wondering why.
“The youngest Sinclair heir seems way too interested in that scholarship girl.” The first voice was gruff, concerned.
“Yeah, the boss won’t like it. Bad enough that all five of them are fixated on her. Even brought her here for dinner.” The second guard sighed. “Old man Sinclair didn’t build the largest criminal empire in the country by letting his sons get distracted by outsiders.”
“Heard that he once had an eldest’s girlfriend disappear just for knowing too much about the family business.” A dark chuckle. “Guess that’s one way to handle security breaches.”
Andrea’s blood turned to ice. The rumors were true. The Sinclairs weren’t just wealthy – they were dangerous.
Criminal. Lethal.
A hand grabbed her arm from behind.
Her scream never made it past her lips.
