Carrington Estate. Evening, 6:42 P.M.
Thea pressed her palms to the glass, arms folded tight. One black sedan after another stopped at the drive. The front doors opened slow and ceremonial.
She didn't need to see him to know.
Raymond Carrington was home.
He moved through the foyer without a word. His long coat swept behind him. His suit was flawless. His eyes—cold and sharp—cut through the room like a blade.
"Welcome back, sir," Mr. Alfred said, steady as always. "Your room is ready, the east wing..."
"Where is she?" Raymond asked, flat.
"She was in the garden with Miss Thea earlier, but now..." Mr. Alfred began.
"Send them both to me." Raymond didn't wait. He passed the staff, the portraits, the chandeliers and shut himself into his study. The doors snapped closed.
Mr. Alfred's heart pounded. Seraphina didn't know what she was walking into.
THE STUDY, MINUTES LATER.
Thea arrived first. She lingered in the doorway, fingers twisting her sleeve, wishing she could vanish. She hated how she still wanted his approval, even now.
"Good evening, Dad." She said.
Raymond stood behind his desk, back to her, staring out the windows. He didn't answer.
"You wanted to see me?" she tried again.
The door opened. Seraphina.
The sight of her cracked something in Raymond. "You went live," he thundered. "You humiliated this family, cost me millions, and you walk in here like nothing happened?"
Thea took a step back.
"I should cut you off completely. No money. No lawyers. No name. You've never earned a dime and yet you throw it away for attention. Go live with the people you perform for."
Seraphina didn't even flinch. "Do that, and you lose more than me."
Thea's fingers trembled at her sides. For years, she'd learned to navigate her father's moods like walking on cracked glass. But this... this was different. Was she bluffing? Because for a brief second, Thea saw it—hesitation. A crack in Raymond Carrington's armor.
He closed the distance between them, hands clenched. "Is that a threat?"
Seraphina's voice was cold. "Twenty-four years ago. Remember?"
Raymond froze.
So did Thea.
Her voice cracked the silence. "What does that mean?"
Seraphina ignored her. Her eyes stayed locked on their father.
The pause stretched until it hurt. Thea tried to claw at her own memory, but all she found was nothing, just gaps where answers should be.
Seraphina's voice softened, almost casual.
"You think I'd risk everything for drama?" She tilted her head, smiling faintly. "No. I only moved a piece across the board."
Raymond's face shifted, suspicion edging past rage.
"You're not the only one with enemies, Father. Some of them will come for me and that's what I want," she said. "Someone will try to use me to get to you. Maybe Arkos..." she glanced at Thea, "the firm where Thea works. Or the other one you pretend doesn't exist."
Thea's ears pricked. "What other firm?"
Raymond's eyes narrowed but he said nothing.
"They'll see me as weak," Seraphina continued. "They'll use me. We don't just defend the Carrington name from the outside—we take them down from the inside."
She gave her father a slow smile.
"I learned from the best."
Thea looked from Seraphina to their father and felt the ground tilt. Control had shifted. She didn't know who to fear more, her father or her sister.
In the hall, she whispered, "Phyna… twenty-four years ago—what did you mean?"
Seraphina didn't answer. She walked on, cold and composed, like someone who'd just declared war under the same roof.
Thea stayed behind, a knot of questions burning in her chest.
RAYMOND. ALONE
Raymond stood by the window, hands braced against the sill. The sunset painted the glass a violent red.
"If she remembers," he muttered into the quiet, "it's over."
Carrington Estate. Thea's Room, past midnight.
Thea couldn't sleep. She curled on the window seat, knees to her chest, robe pulled tight. Her tea had gone cold. Outside, the garden lay silent beneath the moon. Inside, her head hummed.
Twenty-four years ago.
The words kept coming back. What had Seraphina meant? What could make Father stop mid-sentence like that?
She searched for memories, anything and found only gaps: flickers, a woman singing, a voice with no name. Frustration burned behind her eyes.
A soft knock broke the thread.
Mr. Alfred entered with a tray, his smile steady, the toast and tea his usual, comforting kindness. "You didn't eat," he said, setting it down.
She didn't reach for it.
"Mr. Alfred." Her voice was low and controlled.
He turned, hands clasped in front of him, like always. "Yes, Miss Thea?"
She looked straight at him. "What happened twenty-four years ago?"
He paused. A tiny shift, almost invisible. Then, carefully, "I don't follow."
"Yes, you do." She spoke with quiet certainty.
"Seraphina said something. Father froze. You've been here. You know."
He sat and the tray stayed between them like a small, guilty island.
"Miss Thea—" he began.
"No." She cut him off. "Don't lie to me anymore. I know you've cleaned up after him before."
He went very still. A muscle moved at his jaw as his fingers tightened on the chair.
She leaned forward, whispering but fierce.
"You helped him erase someone, didn't you?"
The tea trembled when he rose too quickly. "You don't know what you're saying," he said, voice shaken.
"But I'm beginning to." She stood, the room suddenly too small. "Was someone erased? Back then?"
Silence. Mr. Alfred's face cracked for a second—enough. Then he straightened and turned toward the door.
"No more questions tonight," he said, quietly. He opened the door. "Goodnight, Miss Thea."
The door clicked shut. For Thea it sounded like a wall.
She stayed frozen, the unanswered words pounding in her skull. Somewhere low and steady, a new fear took root: what if the life she knew had been placed on her, not lived by her?