it was the next day as the morning sun filtered lazily through the high windows of the mansion, casting muted golden streaks across the marble floor. Astrid sat curled up on the leather couch in the grand living room, laptop perched on her lap. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, broken only by the gentle rustle of pages as Kayden shifted his Lego manual beside her. It was a Saturday, and unlike the weekdays where he disappeared into school uniforms and classrooms, today he was sprawled on the carpet with blocks scattered around him like colorful rubble, His small hands moved with remarkable concentration, occasionally clicking a red piece onto a blue one, his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth in effort.
Kyle had already left earlier that morning. His polished shoes clicked against the marble as he strode out with his usual confidence, tailored suit clinging to his broad shoulders, the air of authority trailing behind him like a shadow. Astrid had watched him from the staircase, careful to avoid being seen, almost studying him. He seemed untouchable, composed, even on a Saturday when many men in his position might sleep in. But Kyle Moonstone was not many men. He was different.
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard as she searched his name online. Results flooded the screen—articles, interviews, glossy magazine covers with his face, sharp and handsome, carved like stone under expensive photography.
Kyle Moonstone. Thirty years old. Founder and CEO of Moonstone Fragrances, a perfume empire that had expanded rapidly across the continent. From humble beginnings, he had carved his fortune out of the unforgiving world of luxury brands, competing with European giants who had reigned for decades. Articles called him "the young mogul," "the visionary," "the perfumer king." He wasn't just a businessman; he was a story. He had built everything with no help from his parents, no inherited fortune, no safety nets—just an uncanny nose for scents, an eye for opportunity, and the kind of charisma that turned heads in boardrooms.
Astrid scrolled deeper, devouring every word as though piecing together the life of the man whose house she now lived in. She read about the launch of his first fragrance, "Lustre," which had sold out in a single week and catapulted him into wealth almost overnight. She learned about his expansion strategy—franchising boutiques across major cities, striking deals with high-end fashion houses to feature his scents in their runway shows, even donating a fraction of profits to children's hospitals, which only elevated his public image further.
And then there was Emberly.
Astrid hesitated, the cursor blinking as if urging her on. Information about Emberly was far less elaborate. No magazine features. No interviews. Just the basics. Emberly Hart-Moonstone, age 29. Socialite. Married. That was it. There was no story told about her, only fragments of her existence tied to Kyle's. No notable career, no charitable foundation, no published thoughts. Just her face on his arm in photographs. Beautiful, yes, but almost painfully decorative—like a diamond necklace worn to galas.
Astrid leaned back, the leather couch sighing under her weight. Her thoughts tangled. Was Emberly ever truly part of Kayden's life? Or was she just a figurehead, someone to complete the image of Kyle's empire, while Kayden grew in the shadows? She glanced at the boy on the carpet. He was quiet, deliberately quiet, as though his very existence needed to shrink so as not to disturb the household.
The silence pressed on her. She closed the laptop , she rubbed her temple as she sighed. A memory from yesterday—Kyle's sharp tone, Emberly's previous despair, Kayden's watchful eyes—lingered in her chest. The tension of yesterday clung like smoke to every corner of the house.
She exhaled and rose, stretching her stiff legs. Crossing the room, she passed the staff moving soundlessly in the background. They lowered their heads when she came near, eyes avoiding hers. The air shifted when she entered; it was subtle, but undeniable. Intimidation.
Earlier that morning, she had tested it without realizing. Sitting at the breakfast table, she had mentioned casually that the eggs were "a bit salty." Just a passing remark. Yet the chef had nearly collapsed at her words. He dropped to his knees with frantic apologies, his face pale, as though she had handed him a death sentence. Within minutes, he scurried back into the kitchen and returned with a fresh dish, steaming and fragrant.
"Madame, Emberly's favorite," he whispered as he set it before her, trembling hands almost spilling the tray.
Astrid had looked down. A delicate porcelain plate carried saffron creme brulee with mango. She had blinked in surprise. Who eats dessert for breakfast? But apparently, this was Emberly's indulgence. Sweet, rich, extravagant—much like her life had been.
Astrid had eaten in silence, every bite heavy with the realization that this house ran on fear, not loyalty. The staff moved like ghosts, always watching, always ready to bend at the slightest shift of her expression. Did Emberly thrive on this control? Did she enjoy seeing people tremble? The thought unsettled her.
Her musings were broken by a small sound. A faint, almost embarrassed growl.
Astrid turned. Kayden's hand froze over his Lego piece, his cheeks flushing scarlet. He pressed a palm over his stomach, avoiding her gaze.
"I'm… I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice barely a whisper.
Astrid's chest softened. She closed the laptop completely and set it aside, crouching beside him on the carpet. She smiled gently.
"No need to apologize," she said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "You're hungry. Let's make lunch together."
His eyes widened. "Together?"
She nodded, standing and holding out her hand. He hesitated only a moment before slipping his small fingers into hers. The warmth of his hand clung to her like something achingly human, something that reminded her of a life she had lost.
They had barely reached the archway leading into the hall when a voice thundered through the house.
"Astounding! Absolutely astounding, Emberly!"
Astrid froze mid-step. The voice was sharp, dripping with fury. Kayden's face lit up instantly, his whole body perking as he tore his hand from hers and dashed ahead.
"Grandmother!" he shouted with glee.
Astrid's blood ran cold. Grandmother?
Her pulse hammered as she turned the corner into the entrance hall. There, standing in all her formidable glory, was a woman dressed in a navy silk blouse and pearls that gleamed under the chandelier. Her hair, streaked elegantly with silver, was tied back in a severe bun. Her eyes, piercing and merciless, landed on Astrid.
And Astrid understood.
This was Emberly's mother. Kayden's grandmother.
The air thickened instantly. The woman's lips curled into a thin line, eyes raking over Astrid with open disdain.
"You ungrateful child," she spat, her voice echoing against the marble. "Do you realize what disgrace you've brought upon this family?"
Astrid blinked, struggling to keep her composure. "I—"
"Don't you dare," the woman cut her off, stepping forward. Her heels clicked like gunshots. "You think attempting to take your life solves anything? Do you know what whispers are running through the city right now? Do you know what shame you've cast on Kyle? On Kayden? On all of us?"
Astrid's throat tightened. She wanted to defend herself, to explain that she wasn't Emberly, that she wasn't the reckless woman this mother thought she was. But the words lodged in her chest. Kayden stood beside the woman now, his little hand clutching her skirt, eyes darting between them nervously.
"I— I didn't mean—" Astrid began softly.
"Didn't mean?" The woman's voice rose, slicing through the room. "You've humiliated us, Emberly. Do you think this family will survive scandal after scandal because of your weakness? Because of your selfishness?"
The tension was unbearable, stretched like a string about to snap. Astrid's palms sweated, her mind scrambling.
Then the woman's eyes hardened. Her voice dropped lower, more venomous.
"This family cannot afford you anymore."
Astrid's stomach lurched. "What… what do you mean?"
The woman's pearl-adorned hand trembled slightly as she pointed at her, voice shaking with restrained fury.
"Divorce, Emberly. Kyle will divorce you. That's the only way to cleanse this disgrace."
The words slammed into Astrid like a physical blow. Her lungs seized, her heart pounding loud enough to drown the silence that followed. Divorce.
The ground beneath her feet seemed to tilt, everything spinning, Kayden's small gasp the only sound in the suffocating air.
And before she could gather her thoughts, before she could even breathe, the chapter of her borrowed life cracked open to a new, terrifying