(Calista's POV)
The silence in the car thickened as we rolled deeper into the estate. My reflection in the tinted window looked like a stranger — the wig hiding the strands of my true hair, the lenses disguising the glint in my eyes. Layers upon layers, just to survive. I pressed my palm against the cool glass and whispered in my head, half a vow, half a warning: Don't get attached. Don't get fooled. Yet something in my chest betrayed me. A strange weight, like a chain dragging me forward, like fate itself was pulling me toward the house that waited at the end of the drive.
The gates closed behind us with a deep metallic clang, sealing me inside this fortress of shadows and wealth. The car purred up the long drive, tires whispering over smooth black stone, while lanterns glowed in the gardens like watchful eyes.
Every second, I fought the urge to laugh. This was my new home? A place that looked like it had been plucked straight out of some gothic painting and given an overdose of mafia aesthetic?
The orphanage smelled of dust and boiled cabbage. This smelled of polished marble, gun oil, and secrets.
When the car stopped, the front doors opened before Damian even stepped out. A line of staff — men and women in tailored black uniforms — bowed their heads low. Not polite dips, not casual greetings. Bows. Like he was royalty.
And apparently… I was, too.
The thought made me want to choke.
I slid out of the car, my boots crunching softly against the stone. The air felt heavier here, charged, like lightning waiting to strike. My eyes swept over the massive double doors, carved with patterns I couldn't decipher — sharp edges, intertwining symbols. They pulsed faintly under the lantern glow.
Not normal. Definitely not normal.
Damian offered his hand again. I ignored it and stalked forward myself, chin high, like I wasn't secretly cataloguing every guard, every camera, every shadow.
Inside was worse.
The foyer alone could've fit the entire orphanage twice over. Chandeliers dripped with crystals like frozen rain, the marble floor gleamed so perfectly I almost saw my reflection, and the sweeping staircase rose like a spine of ivory into the upper halls.
And there — waiting at the base of the stairs — were four figures.
Brothers.
The word echoed in my skull, sharp and unwelcome.
The first stepped forward, tall, dark-haired, his expression cool but his gaze calculating. He was handsome in that effortless, dangerous way that screamed leader. This had to be Adrian, the eldest. The way the staff's eyes flicked to him confirmed it — he carried weight almost equal to our father.
Beside him leaned a boy with messy chestnut hair, hands in his pockets, smirk lazy but eyes sharp. Lucien, without a doubt. Trouble wrapped in charm.
The third was harder to pin. Sebastian. Golden hair, sharp suit, and a smile that looked like it belonged to a prince but didn't reach his eyes. His type was always the worst — pretty packaging, poison inside.
And then there was Kael. The youngest. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, his black hair falling over his eyes as if he wanted to disappear into himself. He didn't look at me directly. Just flickered, glanced, then looked away.
Family.
I swallowed the word down like acid.
"Your sister," Damian announced, his voice low but commanding. "Calista Aurelia D'Arcanis. She's home."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut glass.
Adrian stepped closer, his eyes scanning me like I was a weapon he needed to appraise. "So the rumors were true." His tone was unreadable, somewhere between disbelief and calculation.
"Rumors?" I shot back, raising a brow. "What am I, Bigfoot?"
Lucien snorted. Sebastian's lips twitched. Kael stayed silent.
Damian ignored my barb, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder. "She's been hidden long enough. From today onward, she will take her rightful place."
I twisted out of his grip smoothly, flashing a smile that was all teeth. "Cute speech. But here's the thing — I don't remember asking for a rightful place. I was doing just fine without all this."
That earned me a sharp intake of breath from one of the servants. Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly. Damian only looked… amused.
"Sharp tongue," Sebastian said at last, his voice warm but edged. "She'll fit right in."
"Oh, don't worry," I purred, folding my arms. "My tongue's the least sharp thing about me."
Lucien barked a laugh. Adrian didn't smile. Kael finally looked at me, just for a second — his gaze unreadable, something haunted flickering there — before he turned away again.
I hated that it intrigued me.
But then something shifted.
Lucien was the first to move, swagger fading as he stepped closer and slung an arm around my shoulders like we'd known each other for years. "Well, if you're really our sister, then that makes you mine to tease. Don't worry, princess, I'll make sure you survive this madhouse."
"Princess?" I echoed, raising a brow.
"Don't fight it." He winked, clearly enjoying himself.
Sebastian's smile softened into something warmer, almost protective. "Ignore him. He calls everyone nicknames. But you—" He gave a small, courtly bow. "—you do look like you belong here. More than any of us, perhaps."
I rolled my eyes. "Flattery already? You must want something."
"Maybe I just don't want our little sister biting my head off." His grin widened, and for a moment he almost looked genuine.
Even Adrian, the coldest of them, sighed faintly and gave a single nod. "You're blood. That means you're ours to protect."
I blinked. That was… unexpected.
And Kael — the one who hadn't said a word — finally looked at me. His dark eyes locked on mine, intense, unblinking. For a heartbeat, it felt like he could see every disguise I'd ever worn, every wall I'd ever built. Then, just as quickly, his gaze softened. Not much. But enough. "You shouldn't have been left alone this long," he murmured, almost too low to hear.
My throat tightened before I shoved it down. "Don't get sentimental. I bite."
Lucien laughed again. "Good. Then you'll fit right in."
***************
Damian led me up the staircase, through endless halls lined with portraits of ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow me. Every step echoed, reminding me I didn't belong here. Not yet.
Finally, he opened a set of double doors.
"Your room."
Room was an understatement.
It was a world.
The canopy bed looked like it had been stolen from a queen's palace, draped in black silk with silver embroidery. The walls were shelves stacked with books, leather-bound and ancient. A balcony opened to a view of the sprawling gardens, lanterns glowing like constellations scattered across the earth.
A fireplace crackled softly. A desk gleamed with polished wood. Even the wardrobe doors were carved with those same strange symbols.
It was breathtaking.
And terrifying.
"This is yours now," Damian said quietly. "Everything here is yours."
I turned slowly, meeting his eyes. Steel-gray. Warm now, but still heavy, still dangerous. "What if I don't want it?"
"Then it will still be yours." His tone was final, but not cruel.
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. My life at the orphanage, my underground empire-in-progress, my carefully built independence — all of it had just been swallowed whole by this house of wolves.
He lingered at the door for a moment, studying me, then left without another word.
The silence pressed in.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind a storm.
And then, just when I thought I could breathe, it hit me.
The dream.
The same one.
Shadows curling. A crown of stars. Blood dripping from roses. And a voice — ancient, echoing, impossible — whispering words I couldn't yet understand.
I jolted upright, breath ragged, sweat cold on my skin.
It wasn't a dream. I knew it now, deep in my bones.
It was a prophecy.
And somehow, it was tied to me.