Chapter 3 The Game Begins

Chapter Three: The Game Begins

Isla didn't sleep after that.

She tried. She returned to her room, lay in bed, and counted the seconds by the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. But her mind kept drifting back to Lucien-his hands on the piano, the darkness in his eyes, the pain hidden behind his control.

It terrified her more than the cruelty.

Because pain meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant humanity.

And she didn't want him to be human. It would make hating him harder.

By the time the morning sun bled through the curtains, Isla had made a decision-she would stop reacting. Stop letting him see her fear. Lucien Ward fed on power dynamics, and she was done giving him leverage.

She dressed carefully. Nothing too revealing, nothing too plain. A soft blue blouse and black slacks. Something neutral, like armor.

When she opened her door, a white envelope lay on the floor.

Her heart skipped.

She picked it up and unfolded the crisp paper inside:

DAY ONE – TASK ONE: East Garden. Noon.

Bring the letter you wrote to Ava but never sent.

Isla's stomach turned.

How did he know about the letter?

She had written it months ago, during one of her lowest points-after the funeral, after the rumors, after the silence. A letter full of pain and unanswered questions, sealed and hidden in a notebook inside her apartment. There was no way he could've-

Unless...

He'd been watching her longer than she thought.

She crushed the note in her fist.

---

By Noon – East Garden

The garden looked like it belonged to another world. Wild roses clung to iron archways, and stone fountains whispered secrets beneath ivy-covered walls. It wasn't manicured-it was overgrown, ancient, and far too beautiful for a place like this.

Lucien stood near one of the fountains, hands behind his back, dressed in a charcoal suit that made him look like a funeral come to life.

Isla approached slowly, the folded letter in her pocket like a hot coal.

"You found the note," he said without looking at her.

"You're really committing to this game, huh?"

He turned. "This isn't a game, Isla."

She laughed bitterly. "Of course it is. Everything with you is."

He stepped closer. "Give me the letter."

"No."

His brow rose.

"I'll read it to you," she said. "But you don't get to keep it."

He studied her for a moment. Then nodded. "Very well."

Isla unfolded the letter with shaking fingers. The paper was creased from being held too tightly, and her voice trembled as she began.

> "Dear Ava,

I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if any of this matters.

But I miss you. I miss you so much it makes breathing feel wrong."

Lucien's face remained still, unreadable.

> "You left without answers. Without saying goodbye. And now all I have are nightmares and questions and the sound of your voice fading in my head.

Why him, Ava? Why Lucien? What did he have over you? What didn't you tell me?"

Her voice cracked. She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Lucien didn't move. He just watched her like she was a puzzle he already knew the solution to.

> "I wish I could hate you. But I can't.

Because even when you were selfish, you were my sister. And I needed you."

Silence.

Isla folded the letter and shoved it back into her pocket, wiping a tear before it could fall.

Lucien said nothing for a long moment.

Then, softly, "She wrote to you, too."

Isla blinked. "What?"

He nodded toward a stone bench. A small black box rested on it, its lid open.

Inside was a letter-familiar handwriting. Ava's handwriting.

Isla's knees nearly gave out as she stepped forward and picked it up. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the page.

> "Isla,

If you're reading this, it means Lucien kept his promise and brought you here."

Her heart pounded.

> "I'm sorry. I should've told you everything. I didn't trust you. Not because you're weak-but because you care too much.

And if you knew what I had to do, you'd have tried to stop me."

Isla felt the blood drain from her face.

> "Lucien isn't what he seems. And neither was I.

But you'll understand, in time.

Love always,

Ava."

Isla stared at the letter in disbelief. The handwriting was real. The phrasing. The nickname she always used for her.

But the content... the secrecy. The tone.

Something wasn't right.

"You expect me to believe this?" she asked, turning to Lucien.

"I don't expect anything from you," he said. "But I promised her I'd deliver it. So I did."

She stepped toward him. "What did she do for you that was worth dying over?"

Lucien's eyes darkened. "That, Isla, is not today's lesson."

She slapped him.

The sound cracked through the garden like a gunshot.

Lucien didn't flinch. His cheek turned red, but his expression didn't change.

Then-he laughed. Quiet. Cold. Dangerous.

"You're waking up," he said. "Good."

She backed away. "You're insane."

"No," he said. "I'm patient."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps crunching over gravel.

Isla was left standing by the fountain, gripping two letters-one from a ghost, one written to one.

And she had no idea which one she believed less.

---

That Night – The Library

The storm returned in the evening, slamming against the windows with wind and water. Thunder rolled across the cliffs like the sky itself was furious.

Isla couldn't sleep. She wandered instead, letting her feet take her to the one place in the manor that didn't feel haunted-the library.

Thousands of books lined the shelves, some ancient, some new. She traced her fingers along their spines until she reached a ladder and climbed to the top shelf, craving solitude.

She found an old book about poisons and forensics. Typical.

As she flipped through the pages, she heard a sound-quiet footsteps below.

Lucien entered the room, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled. He looked tired. Too tired.

"What now?" she asked from her perch above.

He didn't glance up. "I came to read."

"Do you even know how?" she muttered.

"I know how to bleed," he replied. "That usually counts."

She scoffed.

For a while, they sat in silence-Isla up high, Lucien down low, both of them pretending the other didn't exist.

Then he spoke.

"She didn't kill herself."

Isla froze.

"She was poisoned. In small doses. Over weeks."

Isla climbed down slowly. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Ava didn't take her own life. She was murdered."

She stared at him, stunned. "How do you know that?"

Lucien met her eyes. "Because I was trying to protect her. And I failed."

"You-" Isla shook her head. "You're lying. This is another one of your twisted games."

"Why would I lie?"

"To keep me here."

"You're already here."

He stepped closer. "I didn't kill her, Isla. But I know who did."

She backed away. "Prove it."

Lucien reached into his coat and pulled out a photo-Ava, standing beside a man Isla didn't recognize. Tall. Blond. Smiling. But his eyes were cold.

"This is Alaric Sloan," Lucien said. "He was her investor. And her handler."

"Handler?"

"She wasn't just your sister, Isla. She was working for people who wanted me dead. They used her to get close."

Isla's heart raced. "That's not possible."

"It is. And she realized it too late."

Lucien placed the photo on a nearby table and turned to leave.

"You wanted the truth," he said. "Now you have part of it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

He paused at the door. "Because the only way either of us survives this... is if we work together."

And then he was gone.