The mansion was silent that night.
Not the kind of silence that soothed the mind, but the kind that felt wrong—heavy, expectant. As if something were waiting. As if something was about to happen, something you couldn't predict yet already felt tightening in your chest.
Charlene was in the kitchen, clearing the dishes after dinner. Her movements were slow. She was tired—not just physically, but mentally. Ever since the afternoon, something had felt off. The children had been unusually quiet. No complaints. No shouting. No taunts. The change unsettled her.
But she chose to ignore it. She didn't want to overthink. She didn't want to be wrong again.
After finishing up, she went upstairs to her room. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come, so she listened instead—to the rain outside, the faint rush of wind, the stillness of the house.
Then her phone rang.
She jolted upright. The screen showed an unknown number.
A knot instantly formed in her chest. She didn't know why, but something felt wrong. Still, she answered.
"Hello?" she said carefully.
No one replied. Seconds passed in silence. Then she heard breathing on the other end—fast, uneven, broken.
"Please…" a small, trembling voice whispered. A child's voice. "Charlene… help…"
Her entire body went cold.
"Who is this?" she asked, alarm rising. "What happened?"
"Please…" the boy cried now. "Charlene… I'm scared…"
Her eyes widened as recognition hit her.
"Wyl?" she whispered. "Is that you?"
"Yes…" he sobbed. "It's dark here… I'm locked in…"
Her heart began to race. She stood up, phone pressed tightly to her ear.
"Where are you?" she demanded. "What place? Tell me."
"I don't know…" he said. "It's just… dark… no lights… Charlene, please…"
It felt like something had wrapped around her throat. Breathing became difficult.
"Stay there," she said, her voice shaking. "I'll find you. Don't be afraid. I'm here."
She ended the call and rushed out of her room, running down the stairs without caring how loud she was.
"Wyl!" she shouted. "Wyl, where are you?!"
She flung open the basement door. Darkness. No lights. No response.
She ran to the backyard. The garden. The storage room. The laundry area. She called his name again and again, her panic growing with every second.
Her phone rang again.
She answered immediately.
"Charlene…" the voice was weak, trembling. "It's cold… please…"
That was it. She couldn't take it anymore.
She called the police.
"There's… there's a missing child," she cried. "He called me—he was asking for help—please…"
She barely remembered what she said after that. She was crying, shaking, terrified—like an old fear she had buried long ago had clawed its way back to the surface.
The police arrived. Neighbors gathered. The household staff followed. Then Kerill arrived.
His face was dark. Cold. His gaze sharp.
"What happened?" he asked.
"W-Wyl is missing," Charlene said. "He called me—he was crying—maybe he was kidnapped—"
Before she could finish, footsteps sounded from the stairs.
Wyl appeared—followed by Erica, Wency, and Lily. They were quiet. Calm. No tears. No fear.
Charlene froze.
"What is this?" Kerill asked coldly.
The children said nothing—until Wency laughed softly. Light. Almost playful.
"It was a prank," he said.
Something shattered inside Charlene.
"A… prank?" she repeated, her voice hoarse.
"We just wanted to see if you'd panic," Erica added.
The air grew heavy.
Kerill turned to his children, his expression hard.
"You lied," he said.
Silence.
"You called her," he continued. "You scared her."
Still no response.
"You made her call the police."
He stepped closer. He wasn't shouting—somehow, that made it worse.
"Go to your rooms," he ordered. "Now."
The children obeyed. No complaints. No backward glances.
Charlene stood trembling in the living room, unsure whether to scream or collapse under the weight of her mistake. Kerill spoke to the police, apologized, and sent them away. One by one, everyone left—until only the two of them remained.
"You crossed a line," Kerill said coldly.
"I was scared," she replied. "I thought something had happened—"
"You don't get to decide that," he cut in. "They are not your children."
The words stabbed straight through her chest.
"I did what I thought was right," she said softly. "They're kids. What if it had been real?"
Kerill inhaled deeply.
"You don't know my children," he said. "And don't ever assume you do."
He turned and walked away.
Charlene remained in the living room, phone still clutched in her hand, shaking as silent tears fell.
---
Morning came heavy with tension.
Charlene descended the stairs quietly, each step careful. No laughter. No shouting. No complaints. Even the household staff spoke softly, avoiding eye contact, as if walking on thin ice.
In the kitchen, Manang Dores was preparing breakfast. She paused when she saw Charlene, then offered a forced smile.
"Ma'am Charlene… have you eaten?" she asked gently.
Charlene shook her head. "Later."
She wasn't hungry. She wasn't sure she could swallow anything at all.
Footsteps echoed from upstairs—slow, heavy. She knew who it was before turning around.
Kerill.
Impeccably dressed. Straight-backed. No sign of fatigue—but his eyes were cold. He didn't look at her as he sat at the table.
"Eat," he ordered.
"I'm not—"
"Sit."
She obeyed, silently taking the seat across from him. They faced each other, yet the distance between them felt immense.
Seconds passed. No one spoke.
Then Kerill set his spoon down.
"You're leaving."
Her head snapped up.
"What?" she asked softly, unsure if she'd heard correctly.
"Get out of this house," he repeated, voice flat. "Today."
Her fingers went numb.
"Is this because of last night?" she asked. "I didn't mean—"
"I don't care," he said. "You caused unnecessary trouble. With the police. With me. You created drama."
"Drama?" Her voice cracked. "I was scared. I thought they were kidnapped. Anyone would—"
"Enough," he cut in. "I hired you to help, not to complicate things."
"I did what I believed was right," she snapped. "If I hadn't searched—and if it had been real—"
"But it wasn't," he said sharply. "And that's the point."
She fell silent, biting back the urge to scream.
"So pack your things," he added. "You're done here."
It took her a moment to process everything.
"Okay," she finally said, quietly.
She didn't want to leave the children—but staying only kept putting her in danger. She took a deep breath, stood, and walked away.
---
She packed slowly. Each step upstairs felt like something inside her was being dragged down.
She closed the door gently and sat on the edge of the bed.
She packed without rushing. Without crying. Folding her clothes neatly, placing them into her bag. Like a machine. Empty. Or perhaps overwhelmed beyond feeling.
A knock came at the door. She didn't move at first. It came again.
"Charlene…" Lily's voice.
Her chest tightened.
She opened the door. Lily stood there, clutching her stuffed toy.
"A-are you leaving?" the child asked softly.
Charlene knelt to her level.
"Yes," she replied, forcing a smile. "In a little while."
"Is it our fault?" Lily cried. "Because of us?"
Charlene hesitated, then gently cupped the child's cheek.
"No," she said. "It's not your fault."
"But you're leaving," Lily insisted. "Because of the prank."
Charlene took a deep breath.
"Sometimes," she said softly, "there are things we can't control."
Lily hugged her tightly, as if afraid to let go.
At the doorway stood the twins. They didn't come closer. They didn't leave. They simply watched.
They wouldn't admit it—but they felt guilty. For the first time, their youngest sister had grown attached to someone. For the first time, Lily had opened her heart to one of the women their father brought into the mansion.
And this time, she was the one being taken away.