Novan didn't smile back. Instead, he slowly dragged his thumb across his throat in a jagged, unmistakable motion.
"Do as she says, boy," Novan muttered, his voice dropping an octave. "Or else, you won't have a head left to speak of by the end of the week."
Arad let out a free, genuine laugh, the sound cutting through the thick tension like a blade. He didn't seem truly intimidated, but he nodded with a newfound respect as he started the car. He eased the black van onto the main road, the engine purring like a predator in the night.
An hour later, the wrought-iron gates of the Zarrin estate loomed ahead. Arad leaned on the horn—three sharp, impatient honks that echoed against the surrounding stone walls. After a brief, agonizing moment of scrutiny from the security cameras, the guard finally swung the heavy gates open. The car circled the grand stone facade of the garden, the tires crunching on expensive gravel, before coming to a silent halt in front of the main building.
Novan stepped out first, his movements stiff from his injury, and opened my door with a slight bow. Arad was already at the back, pulling my heavy suitcase from the trunk.
The moment my foot touched the cold stone pavement, I drew in a deep, shivering breath. The air here tasted of damp earth and old money. My brothers and sisters... my family. And especially him—the eldest one. The one who held the keys to this kingdom.
Arad stood back, waiting for me to lead the way. As I reached the first step of the porch, a thought struck me so suddenly it almost stole the air from my lungs. A ghost of a memory, seven years old.
If I were eighteen again...
My older brother would be standing right there, at the top of the porch. He'd have one hand tucked carelessly into his trouser pocket, his gaze sweeping over me from head to toe with that mixture of pride and protection. Then, slowly, he would pull his hand free and open his arms wide—waiting. He would be waiting for me to take the stairs two at a time, to run straight into his embrace and disappear into the scent of his cologne and the safety of his shadow.
I wished, with a sudden and violent ache, that I were eighteen again. I wished he were still standing there, waiting for his "Little Witch" to come home.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my heels clicking like a death march, and pushed the half-open door fully ajar. The grand hall lay in a suffocating silence, my footsteps echoing across the polished floorboards. I paused in the middle of the room, letting my fingers graze the surface of the new velvet couches. Everything had changed, yet everything felt exactly the same.
"Miss, where should I put your suitcase?" Arad's voice broke the quiet, sounding too loud for the stillness of the house.
I looked around the vast, empty room. "I... I don't know," I answered honestly, my voice low and uncertain. Did I even have a place here anymore?
Arad was about to respond when a sharp gasp from the staircase above caught both of our attention.
"Sofi!"
I whipped around toward the grand stairs. Daria was standing on the fifth step, her eyes wide with a shock that bordered on disbelief. I couldn't hold myself back. I took quick, eager steps toward her and wrapped her in a warm, desperate embrace. She felt real. She felt like home.
Pulling back slightly, I pressed a kiss to her tearful eyes, tasting the salt. "Daria... hi," I whispered.
She let out a soft, watery laugh, brushing away a stray tear. "Look at you! You've grown so much, Sofi. You're a woman now."
"You're the second person to tell me that today," I replied with a small, fragile smile.
She turned toward the upper landing, gripping the mahogany railing as she shouted, her voice echoing through the rafters. "Sienna! Sienna, come down! Sofi's here!"
Moments later, Sienna came rushing down the steps, her breath coming in short, frantic pants. Seeing me, she almost screamed my name. I opened my arms for her, expecting a hug, but she stopped dead just one step above me.
She bit her lip, her eyes scanning my clothes with a clinical, judging intensity. I understood the source of her discomfort instantly. I lowered my hands, the realization hitting me like a cold wave: her obsession was far worse than I had imagined.
"You've grown so much," she whispered, her eyes roaming over my face.
"That makes the third one," I said, trying to lighten the mood, but Sienna's gaze was already wandering back to my black blazer.
"Can you... can you go take a shower and change your clothes before I hug you?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of anxiety and affection. "I'll leave you something clean to wear. Something... safe."
When Sienna said "something clean," it didn't just mean fresh laundry. She meant clothes that had been bought from a sterilized store, washed a thousand times in scalding water, and ironed until every potential germ was scorched into oblivion.
Daria noticed Arad standing awkwardly by the door with the luggage. "Why are you just standing there like a statue?" she asked him.
"He doesn't know where to put my suitcase," I intervened quickly.
Sienna's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "In your room, of course! Where else?"
"Is it still there?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "You didn't turn it into a storage closet?"
They both laughed, the sound brittle and strange. I turned to Arad. "The last room on the right, upstairs. Go."
Arad lifted the heavy suitcase and passed by us, his eyes fixed forward. Once he was out of earshot, I turned back to my sisters. "Is anyone else home? Where is... everyone?"
Daria shook her head, ticking off the names on her fingers. "Mom went to the charity gala—she couldn't face the house today. Boran and Farhan are at the company headquarters, trying to manage the PR disaster. Cyrus is locked in the lab at HealCo, and Dad... Dad went to handle the final arrangements for Kian's funeral."
She bit her lip, her expression softening into pity. "I... I didn't notice earlier. Sofi, I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. It's a tragedy."
Sienna quickly echoed her words, her face a mask of practiced sympathy.
This was it. The cue. The moment I was supposed to shed my crocodile tears for the "Golden Boy" who was now a pile of ash in a ravine. I clasped my hands tightly, lowered my head, and forced my chin to tremble. I thought of the seven years of exile, the cold nights in Oman, the forced marriage—and the tears came easily.
Two perfect, glistening tears slipped down my cheeks. Daria immediately pulled me into a suffocating embrace. My fake sobs surged, and I pushed her aside with a choked noise, sprinting up the stairs as if overcome by grief.
The moment I reached the upper landing and the doors were closed, I wiped my face and took a deep, steadying breath. I stood before the door to my old room, my hand hovering over the handle. But then, I turned.
My feet moved on their own, drawing me toward the door directly across the hall. Cyrus's room.
I stood before his door, pressing my forehead against the dark wood frame. My nose was blocked from my "performance," making it hard to catch his scent properly. Yet, even through the congestion, I detected something foreign. A strange, cloying smell.
The smell of a woman's perfume. The smell of his wife. My heart curdled in my chest.
An hour later, I had scrubbed the airport grime off my skin and stepped downstairs, draped in the clothes Sienna had laid out for me—a simple, sterilized black dress. Sienna smiled softly when she saw me, finally feeling "safe" enough to wrap her arms around me. She didn't kiss my cheek—she wouldn't risk the contact—but she traced my jawline gently with her fingertips.
Suddenly, the front door slammed open. The silence of the house was shattered by the shouting and playful screams of boys. Daria peeked out the window and smiled, pulling the door wide.
Sam barged in first, slamming his hand against the wood with a loud thwack. Behind him, Yas followed hurriedly, staying close to her brother's shadow like a timid bird. Then came Aria, panting and disheveled, his school uniform soaked with sweat and his hair plastered to his forehead.
Sam took a deep, theatrical breath, puffing his chest out. "See? You still couldn't beat me, you slow brat!"
Yas let out a quiet, melodic chuckle. But for a fleeting moment, my eyes caught Sienna. She was frozen, her gaze locked on Aria's sweaty uniform with a look of pure horror. Aria caught his mother's look and immediately took a step back, his eyes welling up with a familiar fear.
"Aria!" Sienna let out a piercing scream that made the boy flinch as if he'd been struck. He pressed his hands to his ears and backed into the wall.
Yas's smile vanished instantly, but Sam's laughter only deepened, oblivious to the rising storm. Sienna lunged toward Aria, her face contorted with obsessive rage. I moved instinctively to stand in front of the boy, but Daria grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Don't interfere," Daria whispered urgently. "You'll only make it worse."
Sienna stood over Aria, her voice rough and trembling. "Look at the mess you've made! You're covered in filth! Get to the bathroom... move it now! Wash every inch of yourself!"
Aria bolted toward the stairs like a frightened animal, Sienna right on his heels, her presence a tense, commanding warning. Sam immediately pitched his voice high, mocking his mother's frantic tone.
"You're making a mess everywhere, you little brat!" Sam laughed.
Daria growled his name, scolding him, but Sam just grinned. "Am I lying, Mom? She's obsessed!"
Daria pressed a hand to her forehead, picking up Sam's discarded backpack. That's when Sam's gaze finally drifted up to me. Next to him, little Yas was still staring at me with wide, curious eyes.
"Did you kids say hi to your aunt?" Daria asked.
Sam squinted his eyes, his brain clicking. "Sofi?"
"Aunt Sofi!" Daria corrected sharply.
Sam didn't care for titles. He ran straight toward me, and I knelt to catch him. He threw himself into my arms with full force, nearly knocking me over. I could hear his soft, conspiratorial whisper in my ear.
"Did you buy it, Sofi? Did you bring the game?"
I chuckled, nodding against his hair. Daria had overheard. "Yes, she bought it, but it's not here yet! Now go upstairs, wash your hands and face, and change your clothes before your mother sees you."
Sam pulled away, winking at me like a little partner-in-crime. "Sofi, you're awesome!" he muttered before racing up the stairs.
I laughed, knowing Boran must have been the one to teach him such slang. Yas remained standing by the door, her small fingers intertwined nervously. When my gaze met hers, she whispered something that sounded like a "hello," but it was so soft it died in the air.
Daria placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, leaning her toward me. "Yas, this is your aunt. Just like Aunt Sienna."
The poor girl had clearly never even heard my name. I knelt in front of her, locking eyes with her—big, dark, curious eyes that didn't match Daria's at all. When I had been sent away, Daria had only been a month pregnant with her.
"Hello, Yas," I said softly. "My name's Sophia."
"Aunt!" Daria prompted.
I ignored her, looking straight at the child. "I don't really like being called 'Aunt.' Call me Sofi... I'd like that much better."
As I spoke, my eyes drifted back to the front door. I found myself waiting, hoping. If only he would come through that door and greet me the way he used to—with that deep, melodic voice saying "My dear Sophia"—I think my heart would have skipped so many beats I wouldn't have been myself at all.