Elena's POV
The mansion had far more rooms than she could ever count. Long hallways that echoed when she walked alone. Chandeliers that dripped like starlight from vaulted ceilings. Polished floors that clicked under her heels as she moved from one task to the next.
It had been three days since Elena arrived at Thornhill Estate, and every moment still felt unreal.
She rose before dawn and slept after midnight. If Victor needed something, she was there. If a message had to be relayed, she delivered it. Groceries? She arranged them. Appointments? She scheduled. It was quiet work—thoughtful, often invisible—but Victor always noticed.
"You have a good mind, Elena," he said once, when she reminded him about his medication. "And a good heart. That's rarer than anything."
She didn't know what to say to that. So she only nodded, offering a small smile, and continued scribbling into the leather-bound planner she kept close like a shield.
Victor never asked for much. But somehow, she sensed he appreciated the company more than the assistance. He'd grown used to being alone. She knew the feeling.
But today wasn't quiet. Today, Thornhill Mansion would be full of voices again.
Tonight, Victor was hosting a formal dinner—not one of the galas the family was known for, but an intimate gathering with longtime associates. Friends from his decades of empire-building. He wanted his sons to be there.
"They probably won't come," he told her softly that morning as she arranged the dining table's centerpiece—orchids, elegant and soft like the memory of something once cherished. "They rarely do."
Elena looked up from the tableware. "I hope they do."
Victor smiled faintly, but the sadness in his eyes lingered.
---
Luca's POV
He didn't want to go.
He had a full schedule: a television interview at six, a dinner reservation with his agent, and a photoshoot planned for the weekend. People counted on him—millions, if you asked his PR team.
But still... he canceled it all.
There was something about the way the message had come this time. Not from the estate manager. Not through his father's assistant.
It came from Victor Thornhill himself.
"Dinner at the estate. Tonight. Just a few old colleagues. Bring Damien if you can."
It wasn't a demand. Not even a request. Just a sentence.
But it hit harder than it should have.
He hadn't forgotten about her, either.
That girl. Elena.
Just thinking of her stirred something strange in his chest—something he didn't like. Something that made him feel too aware of himself.
He told himself he was going just to see his father. Not to see her again.
---
Damien's POV
His phone buzzed once. He glanced down at the screen, expression unreadable.
"Dinner. Tonight." That was all it said.
He read it twice.
Victor didn't call often anymore. Damien was the one always on calls—conferences, deals, negotiations stacked like glass towers around his daily life.
But this wasn't a call.
This was Victor Thornhill inviting them into his castle again. For what? To play pretend? To watch him fall further under the influence of that girl?
Still... Damien didn't delete the message.
He canceled his evening meeting. He stepped into a black-on-black suit. And as he sat in the car on the way to the estate, he told himself he wasn't going because of her. It had nothing to do with the stranger living in their father's house.
It was just dinner.
---
Elena's POV
The mansion shimmered with soft light as evening fell. Gold sconces lit the walls, tall candles flickered in the dining room, and soft classical music played somewhere in the background.
Elena moved through the spaces like a shadow, checking everything twice.
"Are you nervous?" Victor asked her as he adjusted the cufflinks on his charcoal suit.
"No," she lied. Her fingers were still trembling.
"You look like you belong here," he added, surprising her.
She turned to him, wide-eyed. "I don't."
But Victor only chuckled, not unkindly. "Neither did I, once."
The doorbell rang, and the butler moved to answer.
One by one, the guests arrived—six in total. Men in tailored suits, women in sleek gowns, the air thick with perfume, old money, and the sort of laughter that sounded rehearsed.
They all looked at her. Not with kindness or cruelty—just curiosity. Wondering who the unfamiliar woman near Victor's side was.
And then...
The room quieted.
Because the Thornhill sons had arrived.
---
******************
The moment Luca and Damien entered the room, it was like the temperature shifted. The air changed.
Heads turned. Voices softened.
Because the Thornhill men had presence—that sort of unnerving, commanding energy that couldn't be faked. The kind that made people both lean in and step back.
Damien in his signature dark navy suit, emotionless and carved from stone. Luca with his movie-star charm and storm-gray eyes, wearing a smirk like armor.
No one expected them to come.
And they certainly didn't expect them to come together.
Victor stood when he saw them, his face lighting up in a way Elena hadn't seen before. "Boys."
But his joy was met with guarded nods.
Elena tried not to stare, but it was impossible.
They looked even more intimidating than the first time. Even more perfect. And still, they wore that same disapproving look the moment their eyes found her.
She lowered her gaze quickly.
---
Luca's POV
She was still here.
Still standing beside their father like she belonged.
He hated how natural it looked.
Her hair was pulled back, a simple black dress hugging her frame modestly, not showy—but it still made his jaw clench. She had no idea what kind of world she'd stepped into.
And yet, she looked... calm.
Luca hated that, too.
---
Damien's POV
He scanned the room like a hunter.
Victor looked stronger tonight—more alive. And it wasn't the food or the wine. It was her.
Elena.
She stood politely at Victor's side, waiting, silent. Not a trace of defiance in her. Not a hint of mischief. Just quiet observation.
It irritated him more than it should.
She wasn't bold. She wasn't loud. She was... there.
And somehow, that made her harder to ignore.
---
Elena's POV
She wished she could vanish.
All the eyes. All the unspoken questions. The weight of the brothers' cold glances pressing against her spine.
She tried to keep moving—serving drinks, adjusting place settings, checking on the caterers. Anything to stay useful. Anything to stay invisible.
But every time she passed by one of them—especially Luca—she could feel it.
Their eyes. Their thoughts.
She was an outsider.
No matter how kind Victor was. No matter how hard she worked.
She didn't belong here.
---
Victor's POV
He noticed everything.
The stiffness in Damien's shoulders. The tightness around Luca's mouth. The way Elena kept her eyes low. The air was thick with unsaid things.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he raised a toast halfway through dinner. "To old friends," he said. "And to unexpected blessings."
His eyes lingered just a second too long on Elena.
Luca looked away. Damien's jaw flexed. And Elena? She looked like she might cry.
---
Later That Night – Elena's POV
As the guests departed and the mansion grew quiet again, Elena remained in the dining room, carefully clearing plates and rearranging chairs. Her feet ached. Her head throbbed.
She hadn't eaten. She hadn't sat once.
Still, she worked.
Victor had retired for the night. The staff had gone. She was alone.
Until—
"You don't sleep, do you?"
The voice made her spin.
Luca leaned against the archway, arms crossed.
"I—I was just finishing—"
"I see that." His tone was unreadable. "Is this what you do? Hover around him like a shadow?"
She flushed. "It's my job."
"Is that all it is?"
Elena's eyes darted away. "Yes."
He studied her a moment longer. Then he scoffed and walked off without another word.
But the way he looked at her stayed.
And upstairs, behind another door, Damien stood in silence, having watched the same exchange from the landing.
Neither of them liked her.
But neither of them could stop noticing her, either.