Chapter 4 INTO THE SHADOWS

The streets of Bellgrave pulsed with life, but Elena felt like a ghost moving through it.

Every honk, every whisper, every flash of neon light around her felt distant like the world was moving on while hers had stalled in the study of her father's house.

She hadn't told anyone where she was going. She hadn't said a word to Harold Blackwoods that morning, even as he'd kissed her forehead and headed out, pretending as always that everything was perfect.

Elena now knew that perfection was a lie.

And lies were what she planned to unravel.

She stopped in front of the old Clinton estate and what was left of it. The once-grand mansion sat abandoned, its gates rusted, its windows like hollow eyes watching her.

The scene in the file flashed in her mind police reports, pictures of scorched walls, of blood, of a shattered boy who would grow up to become Ares Clinton.

She swallowed hard.

If she wanted the truth, this was where it began.

She squeezed through a side opening in the gate, branches snagging at her coat as she stepped into the overgrown grounds. The house loomed ahead, the air colder, heavier like the walls remembered the screams.

Inside, the scent of rot and dust hit her first. Then the silence. Heavy. Unbroken.

She moved through the remains of a once-beautiful foyer. A broken chandelier lay on the floor like a skeleton. Portraits were torn from the walls. Burn marks scarred the stairwell.

Elena followed the hallway to the study. The door creaked as she pushed it open.

She wasn't sure what she was looking for. Closure? Proof? Redemption?

She found a box buried under the collapsed desk. The wood had split, but inside, something was intact: a collection of letters bound with a red ribbon, and beneath them, a journal.

She opened the cover.

Property of Isabella Clinton.

Ares's mother.

Her hands trembled as she flipped through the pages. The writing was elegant but rushed, as if she had been writing in fear.

"They're coming for us. I told Marcus but he doesn't believe me."

"Harold says he's our ally,but I've seen the way he watches Marcus's every move. The jealousy. The coldness.

"If something happens to me, I pray Ares remembers who he is. That he doesn't let vengeance consume him."

Elena's chest tightened.

Her father hadn't just betrayed the Clintons. He had befriended them, earned their trust and then crushed them.

She closed the journal, but her fingers froze as they touched the last page. A photograph fell from between the sheets.

It was old. Faded. But clear enough.

Ares barely ten sitting on his mother's lap.

And behind them, standing beside Marcus Clinton...

Was Harold Blackwoods.

Smiling.

Elena stumbled back, the weight of it crashing down like bricks.

He had lied. All of it. Her whole life had been built on someone else's ruin.

She felt nauseous, angry, betrayed.

A sound behind her made her jump.

Footsteps.

She spun around but no one was there.

She backed into the hallway, heart thudding, clutching the photo and journal like lifelines.

Another creak upstairs.

She wasn't alone.

She turned to run but collided with a wall of black fabric and heat.

Hands caught her before she could fall.

"Elena?"

She looked up and exhaled sharply.

Julian. Ares's right-hand man. The one who always watched, always hovered in the background like a shadow.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, breathless.

"I could ask you the same thing."

His eyes dropped to the journal in her hand.

"That belongs to the Clintons," he said coolly.

"It's about time someone actually read it," she snapped.

Julian didn't smile. He stepped closer. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why? Afraid I'll learn the truth?"

"I'm afraid of what Ares will do if he finds out you were digging."

"Maybe he should know," she said. "Maybe it's time someone stopped pretending we're all just victims of circumstance."

Julian studied her. Then, to her surprise, he nodded slowly.

"You've got more fire than I thought."

He glanced at the journal again. "Come on. It's not safe here."

"Why not?"

"Because the people who burned this place down never left. They just changed addresses."

Elena didn't argue. She followed Julian out of the estate and into a black SUV waiting down the road. The inside smelled of leather and gunpowder.

He drove in silence until they reached a hidden garage tucked behind a row of warehouses. Inside was something she didn't expect:

A map of the city.

Strings. Pins. Photographs. Like something out of a thriller movie.

At the center was one name.

Harold Blackwoods.

"This is Ares's?" she asked.

Julian nodded.

She turned to him, lips pressed tight. "He's really going to destroy everything, isn't he?"

"He made a vow," Julian said simply. "A bloody one."

Elena's fingers curled around the photo still in her coat pocket.

"And what happens when vengeance touches the innocent?"

Julian looked at her, and for the first time, she saw the flicker of something human behind his hardened stare.

"No one's innocent in this world, Elena."

That night, back in her apartment, Elena hid the journal under the floorboard beneath her bed. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She had a choice to make.

Expose her father and lose everything she'd ever known.

Or stay silent and let Ares's war consume them all.

She was still staring at the ceiling when her phone buzzed.

A message. Unknown number.

"You went to the estate. You found the journal. You want the truth?"

"Meet me. Midnight. Clinton Tower. Come alone."

Her blood ran cold.

She typed back: "Who are you?"

No reply.

Just one more message:

"He doesn't know I'm contacting you. Don't tell Ares. Or this ends now."