The Heir's Ruthless Obsession

The black car had been idling outside the iron gates for three hours. No one at Saint Brigitte's owned anything that shiny. Most visitors arrived either in rusted-out trucks or rattling taxis, looking for a way out or a place to leave a mistake. This car just sat there, the engine a low, expensive hum against the gravel.

I watched it from the laundry room window, biting the inside of my cheeks until I tasted copper.

"Isabelle! The linens aren't going to scrub themselves."

Claire's voice hit me like a slap. She was only eighteen but the orphanage had already squeezed the girlhood out of her, leaving behind something sharp and bitter. She shoved a basket of wet sheets into my chest. The weight was sudden and heavy, the cold water soaking into my apron immediately. The room was thick with the smell of cheap soap and the kind of humid heat that made your skin feel permanently tacky and leave your hair frizzy.

"I'm on it," I muttered. I reached up, tugging my hood further over my brow until the world was just a narrow slit of gray stone and floorboards.

"Still wearing that rag?" She liked to crowd people, a habit she'd picked up from the older girls. She was the kind of person you don't want to see first thing in the morning. "You look like a monk. Or a coward."

Before I could pull away, she reached out. Her fingers caught the edge of the wool and yanked.

The hood fell back, and for a second, the room felt too quiet. My hair didn't just sit there. It seemed to scream against the dull backdrop of the laundry. It was a deep, bruised red, the color of a fresh wound. In a place where everything was bleached by lye or faded by the sun, my hair felt like a violation.

"Sister Marianne says the cold triggers my nerves," I lied. My voice sounded thin, even to my own ears.

"Sister Marianne is a fool for you," Claire spat. She leaned in, her eyes tracing the line of my scalp with something that looked like hunger. "She thinks that hair makes you a miracle. I think it makes you a target. You look like one of those weeping statues in the basement, Isabelle. You know what they do to the pretty ones? They break them first."

She gave me a hard shove. I tripped over the edge of the stone basin, the wet sheets sprawling across the floor like a heap of dead skin. I couldn't fight back. I know better than to create a scene. I just stayed there on the grit, my palms stinging, listening to the girls' muffled snickers as they walked away.

"Fix yourself," Claire hissed over her shoulder. The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall groaned on their hinges. "Someone's coming. And they aren't here for charity cases."

I scrambled up, frantically stuffing the red strands back into the dark wool of my hood. My skin felt electric, a prickling sensation crawling up my neck.

Sister Marianne appeared in the doorway. She looked smaller than usual, her hands vibrating with a slight tremor. She was followed by a woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a different universe.

She wore ivory wool and pearls that caught the dim light. She didn't belong in a room that smelled of bleach and poverty. Her eyes, a blue so bright that it felt cold, snapped directly to me.

"Isabelle," Sister Marianne whispered. She looked like she was choking on the name. "This is Madame Beaumont. She wants to hear you play."

"Now?" I looked at my hands. They were raw, the skin pruned and white from the water. "Sister, I have three more loads to-"

"Now," Madame Beaumont interrupted.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it stopped the room. She walked toward me, the click of her heels sharp against the floor. She didn't look at me with the pity I usually got from the rich ladies who visited on Sundays. She looked at me the way a person looks at a winning lottery ticket they'd found in the trash. Now that's a new look. When she reached out, her gloved hand stopped just inches from my cheek. I saw her flinch, a tiny flicker of genuine fear.

The walk to the church hall felt like forever, it was a blur of cold air and the scent of old incense. My violin case felt heavier than usual. As I took the instrument out, several thoughts flooded my head. I wondered why she wanted me to play, I wondered why Sister Marriane hands were trembling earlier, I wondered if the violin strings will snap. They always did when I was nervous.

But this time they didn't when I played.

I didn't play the hymns the Sisters liked. I played the melody that always sat at the base of my skull, something jagged and restless. It sounded like a house burning down.

When the last note died, Madame Beaumont exhaled, a ragged sound that broke the silence. She turned to Sister Marianne, her voice a sharp hiss.

"It's her. The eyes, the way she carries herself... It's Elena's silhouette. If I can see it, Viktor Volkov will see it before she even opens her mouth."

"She is safe here," Sister Marianne pleaded. Her fingers worked her rosary beads so hard I thought the string might snap.

"Safe?" Madame Beaumont let out a short, dry laugh. "The Volkovs have eyes in every gutter. She's a ticking bomb, and the timer just hit zero."

She turned back to me and shoved a cream-colored envelope into my damp hand. The gold wax seal felt heavy, embossed with a crest I didn't recognize.

"You're coming to my estate next week," she said. It wasn't an offer. "Everything, the clothes, the story, the protection will be handled. You'll be my guest performer."

"A guest...guest performer?," I stammered. "I don't think I have that talent yet, I'm still lacking in some ways."

"You are not lacking anything," she whispered. She leaned in, and for the first time, I saw the desperation behind the blue eyes. "The people who think you're dead are currently throwing a party. I'm going to ruin it. But listen to me: the Volkovs will be watching. Especially the son, Dmitri. If he looks at you, don't flinch. Don't even blink. Because if he sees the ghost in your face, the hunt starts all over again."

She turned and left, her coat billowing behind her. The sound of her heels faded, leaving a silence that felt heavy and permanent.

Sister Marianne sank into her knees, her head dropping into her hands. She started to cry not a soft sob, but a desperate, ugly sound.

"I failed," she wailed. "I promised her I'd keep you hidden. I promised I'd keep you away from them."

"Sister, promised who?" I knelt beside her. As I asked, a sharp and white-hot pain spiked behind my eyes. For a split second, I smelled smoke and heard the roar of wood snapping in a fire.

"The woman who brought you here," she choked out. She grabbed my shoulders, her grip bruising. "She told me to never let the world see you. And now they're coming. They're going to take you."

I looked at her as if she were possessed. I looked at the envelope. It felt like a heavy weight, so heavy I didn't want to hold it anymore.

I walked back to the dormitory alone, past the girls who were still whispering. I stood in front of the cracked mirror in the washroom and pulled the hood back. I stared at the red hair and the silver eyes. For years, I'd been told I was a nobody. A foundling. A mistake.

I wasn't a girl anymore. I was a target. A ghost from the past that should remain dead. And for the first time in my life, I realized the hunter was already at the gates.

Volkov," I whispered to the empty laundry room, the name feeling like a hot rod on my tongue.

The name didn't just stay with me. It roamed my mind like one of the morning hymns. For a whole week, I was a possessed girl in the halls of Saint Brigitte. I played until my fingers ached and were numb. The skin on my neck began to feel raw and bruised bearing a mark from the violin's rest.

Sister Marriane, on the other hand, watched as I practiced nonstop. Praying like I'm going for a battle. "You are pushing yourself, Isabelle'" Sister Marriane said, stepping out of the shadows. "You need to put the violin down and take some rest".

"Not yet Sister," I replied trying to place the violin under my chin. "I need to practice some more so I don't embarrass Madame Genevieve,". I wished for some rest too but I couldn't. Sister Marriane isn't helping much either. Her staring and lurking around, acting more strange than I am has been bothering me. I wish I had the time to feel the suspicion inside me and ask questions but when the sound of her rosary beads clicked, it felt like a countdown.

I was halfway out the door on the morning of the gala when Claire blocked my way and decided it was a good time to give me a 'Big Sister's pep talk. Unlike every other day, I would have stayed there and allowed her to bless me with her bitter words but not this morning. Not when I'm feeling overly nervous and anxious.

Accompanied by two of her minions. She didn't just sneer, she looked tired. Her eyes were sharp and hollow screaming exhaustion from a girl who knew she was staying while I'm leaving.

"Look at her. The little charity pet is getting groomed for the circus," she said but her voice lacked its usual bite. It was flat. Bitter. She shoved me back and the corner of the bed frame bruised my thigh.

"Not now Claire. Let me through."

I tried forcing my way through a tiny gap but I was shoved back harder by the two girls. "You think a new ribbon and a silk dress change anything?" She reached out yanking the hood of my cloak so hard it scraped my scalp. "You are foundling, Isabelle. You are the mistake nobody wanted and had to drop you on a doorstep. In fact, the person was being generous. They could have left you in worse places because you weren't worth the trouble of keeping."

"And those people at the gala? They'll smell lye and cheap soap on you before you even lift your damn violin!"

"Madame Genevieve is waiting," I managed to say, my voice cracking as I tried to speak. Ouch Claire, you really had to hit the nail on the head. She went for the one thing that breaks my fragile wall of resistance.

"Let her wait! Do you think those people will smell anything but a gutter rat?" She continued sounding frustrated like the words aren't doing the trick she's aiming for.

The girls behind her were giving each other a worried look. Like she had crossed a line and they don't want to be a part of it.

"Claire, I think you've said enough, this wasn't part of the plan," Sarah said, grabbing Claire's shoulder. "Yeah, I mean that should be enough to bring her confidence down for a while, you don't have to go all the way and remember Sister Marianne warned us to stop bullying her," the other girl said.

"I don't give a flying fuck about Sister Marianne and her bloody warnings!" She screamed. "You can leave if you want. I'll finish what I started with or without you." Smacking Sarah's hand off her shoulder.

"They'll smell the lye on your skin before you even play a note. They'll mock you and your ugly-looking red hair and stupid violin and when they are done laughing, you'll be right back here with the rest of us!" She said, her chest rising and falling like she just woke up from a bad dream.

I didn't bother saying anything to her. Not in that state. She can drive a knife down my throat if I take a wrong breath. I gripped my violin case.

"Goodbye, Claire," I finally said. "I'll be back here with the rest of you."

I walked away and took the other door because that one seemed like 'Mission Impossible'.

The ride to Beaumont estate was nerve-wracking. I tried taking deep breaths but it wasn't working. Claire's words were playing in my head.

"You are the mistake nobody wanted"

The Beaumont estate didn't just smell "power" as I had imagined it. It smelled of expensive floor wax and cold rain. It felt like stepping onto another planet where the gravity was twice as heavy.

Dmitri's Pov

The ballroom was too hot, too loud, too bright and smelled of too much champagne. I stood by a pillar, my tuxedo collar itching against my neck. I felt so uncomfortable being in a space like this.

"You look like you came for a funeral," Adrien said, leaning next to me. He looked perfectly at home. This is his parents' party.

"I'm here as a representative of my father," I muttered, adjusting my tie to stop the itching on my neck. "He expects a report on the shareholders by morning. I don't have time for a party."

My father hadn't come, of course. He was at the hospital, elbow-deep in a surgery or maybe that's an excuse to skip the party and not having to face The Beaumonts. He sent me instead as his eyes and ears. "Watch the shareholders, Dmitri. Don't embarrass me, Dmitri. Make sure you watch them and don't spend your time there partying with the Beaumont boy." My father warned me this afternoon before leaving for work.

Adrien nodded towards the stage. "Well, at least watch the Charity case performance. She's the talk of the night."

I was ready to ignore the "Charity talent" the Beaumonts had scouted. Not until, she walked out.

It wasn't just the red hair, though it looked like a literal fire in that beige, dull room. It was the way she stood. She looked like she was expecting someone to hit her but she held the violin like a weapon.

My stomach dropped. I'd seen that face. I saw it in an old photograph from my father's desk. The photo was so old that the edges were curling. A woman with that exact hair and eyes. It was her. Or it shouldn't have been.

"Who is that?" I asked, my hands tightening on the glass until it groaned under my grip.

"Isabelle Duval," Adrien said. "Just some girl my mother brought from the Orphanage. She said she plays beautifully or something."

"That face," I muttered. "I've seen it. Not just from my father's desk but from one of the hidden portraits in school."

"It's just some girl with red hair. Don't make it a conspiracy." Adrien laughed.

Duval. A lie. She didn't play like an orphan or some girl with red hair. She played like someone who was bleeding out through music. It wasn't "beautiful", it was uncomfortable. It made the air in the room feel thin.

Isabelle's Pov

I didn't play to make history. I played so I wouldn't have to look at the faces in the crowd. I played so the people wouldn't mock me just like Claire said. When I finished, the stares and silence I got were worse than the applause. It felt like I'd just stripped naked in front of a thousand strangers.

Madame Beaumont hurried me off the stage, her eyes shiny with a weird kind of pride that made me feel like a prize-winning horse. She got concerned by a man with sharp eyes.

"Good Evening Young lady," he said. "What a wonderful performance you did back there"

"Oh, Thank... Thank you sir," I stuttered trying to hide my cheeks which were starting to flare up from the stares I got on the stage.

"My name is Director Alexandre Rousseau," he said, extending his hand out for a shake. "I'm the school director of St. Aurelia."

No way the director of the school I've only seen and read about in newspapers is standing in front of me. This feels too good to be true. I took his hand and returned the shake. I hope he won't notice my sweaty palms.

"You have a talent that does not belong in an orphanage, child," Director Alexandre said. "It belongs in the halls of history"

"I just played what I know, sir, " I said, trying to step back.

He turned to Madame Beaumont. "We need to speak, Genevieve. Now." They started whispering in that urgent and frantic way adults do when they think children aren't listening. They hurried away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I backed into a corner, trying to disappear. But then a shadow fell over me.

I looked up and I forgot how to breathe. Air left my lungs in an instant. He was tall, sharp-edged, and wearing a tuxedo like it was a suit of armor. But it was his eyes that got me. Those blue winter ocean eyes. They weren't just cold. Terrified and terrifying at the same time.

"Isabelle Duval," his voice was a low, rough vibration.

"Yes?" I hated how small my voice sounded.

He stepped into my space, filling it with the smell of rain and expensive cologne. He looked at me as if he was trying to see past my skin.

"That was a nice performance," he whispered, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear. "You are standing in a bright light and you don't know who's watching. My father doesn't believe in ghosts, he buried them."

"I don't know what you are talking about," I snapped, my fear finally turning into a sharp, jagged spike of anger. "I'm just here to play".

He gave a short humorless laugh. "Sure you are. But here's a tip: Go back to the orphanage, to the shadows you crawled out from. Because if you remain in the light, there are people who won't just break you. They'll erase you."

He turned and vanished into the crowd before I could find a comeback. I stood there, my hands shaking so hard I had to grip the violin case until it hurt.

Dmitri Volkov hadn't just looked at me like I was a girl. He'd looked at me like I was a ticking bomb. And for the first time, I realized that as bad as Claire was, she had never once offered to erase me.

The shadow of Dimitri followed me back to the orphanage. I could still feel his gaze on the back of my neck like he was watching me. It sat in the corner of my mind like a heavy uninvited guest. For three days, I couldn't pick up my violin. Every time I looked at the wood, I remembered those cold ocean eyes staring at my soul like it was waiting for me to break.

The Orphanage felt colder and smaller after the gala. Meaner to be precise.

"Look at our cute little star," Claire said, blocking my way in the hall. She kicked my coal bucket and the sound of the stones hitting the floor made me jump. Here we go again, 'My Big Sis' is at it again about to give me her own personal 'compliments'.

"You think you are one of them now? You think you are better than the rest of us? Just because you played a few notes for the rich makes you think you're something better than the gutter rat you are?"

"Just let me pass, Claire," I said, my voice sounding thin.

"Or what?" She yanked my hood and grabbed a fistful of my hair, forcing my head backwards until my eyes watered. This isn't just mean. This is evil and she looked so desperate. So desperate that it sends a shiver down my spine.

"You are still one of us, Isabelle. They only wanted a show. A freak show and you are the perfect clown to hire with your hair to match. Once they are bored, they will throw you out and I'll be the one holding the door."

I shoved her as hard as my trembling hands could, my heart thudding. I'm not brave or strong or even confident but I'm done. I'm done with Claire picking on me just because life in the orphanage made her sad and bitter.

"Believe whatever makes you sleep," I shot back as I quickly fixed my hood, picked the stones scattered on the floor back into the coal bucket and walked away before she get back on her feet and do something crazier. I could hear her cursing as I ran out of the hall.

A week later, the sound of an expensive car vibrated through St. Brigette's wall. Sister Marianne appeared, looking like she hadn't slept in a year. I wondered what she was so afraid of. She had been like this after Madame Beaumont's visit. Whenever I asked her about it, she said "Isabelle, some secrets are not just hidden, they are buried and when you try to dig them out, they break you down to your soul. You are here because the Lord loves you and doesn't want those secrets to break your soul." The Lord loves me indeed. I couldn't ask more questions after that.

"Isabelle," she whispered. "Director Rousseau is here for you."

"Director Rousseau is here for me?" I asked as the bow I was cleaning dropped from my hand. "The same Director Rousseau of St. Aurelia Academy. Is he here to see me? What for?"

"I can't answer that, Isabelle. Let's not keep the gentleman waiting," she said, picking up my bow from the floor and putting it back into the case.

I walked to the entrance. Sister Marianne followed behind. Director Rousseau was sitting there in the chapel wearing a suit that cost more than the orphanage's roof. His gaze was locked on me as I made my way towards him. He looked at me as if I were a math problem he'd finally solved.

"Hello, Isabelle. We meet again," he said, offering a smile as I sat across him. "I hope you still remember me."

"Oh Yes, I remember you, Director Alexandre Rousseau," I replied quickly, offering back a smile. I tried not to smile too much, hoping it wouldn't scare him away.

"Excellent, Isabelle," he said, his smile growing bigger like my answer was a clue he had been searching for. "I won't take much of your time, I'll go straight to the point. Your talent shouldn't be wasted here, Isabelle," he said, his voice clipped and professional.

"It's a pity you grew up in the orphanage and didn't have the opportunity to be tutored by music professionals. Your talent is one of a kind and even without being tutored, you exceeded many expectations. That's why St. Aurelia Academy is offering you a scholarship. Housing, clothing, music lessons from the best teachers in the field and a future. Everything will be taken care of."

What am I hearing? Is this a dream? Am I seeing right? A scholarship to St. Aurelia Academy? Everything including my future will be taken care of. This feels too good to be real.

"Isabelle? Isabelle?" Director Rousseau called out, snapping his fingers at my face to bring me back to reality.

"What... what do you... I... I mean why me? What have I done... I don't understand... A scholarship just like that without doing anything?" I stuttered trying to gather the right words to express the confusion that is starting to make my head spin.

"You did something, Isabelle. You did something amazing," he said, as he adjusted his glasses. "The other school administrators and I decided to bring you in. We saw a real talent and we want St. Aurelia to nurture it. That's what we do. We have the best students from all over the world. Come see for yourself, Isabelle."

I looked over at Sister Marianne, searching her eyes for words to say but her eyes were screaming not to go. She wants me to stay. I don't even need to look deeply for me to know and given the way she has been for the past few weeks. I don't know what to think or say.

"Can I think about this for a little while?" I asked.

"I would love to give you time for you to make the best decision that is fine with you but I have to know your decision today," Director Rousseau said, checking his wristwatch. "But we are starting a new session in a few weeks, to get your paperwork done and the necessary admission process for you to resume with the rest of the students."

I don't really think I should go. I don't fit in a place like that. I can't even walk around with my hair open in public not to mention attending a prestigious school. We are homeschooled. All of us at the orphanage. The sisters couldn't afford our tuition fees for a private school and going to the public school is at the other side of town.

I was about to turn down the offer when I caught a glimpse of Claire. She was hiding by the window of the Chapel, eavesdropping on our conversation. Oh Good Lord, Claire. How could I forget Claire? Goosebumps rise across my body.

I don't want to stay anymore. I want to leave so at least I can get rid of myself for her, since that's what she wants. My existence has been a thorn in her side. I want to prove her wrong. Memories of my encounters with Claire flooded my head. That was enough to drive the will to live in the shadows out. I want to lose the hood and not hide my hair anymore. I want to walk freely like every other person. Like Claire. Like Pearl and the other girls. At least if nobody wants me, I want to want myself. I want to choose myself and be free from living in the shadows and fear of hiding from what I can't even see. I took a long breath.

"Yes, I'll go," I finally said, as the words left my mouth it felt like a burden was lifted from my shoulders.

"Wonderful Choice, Isabelle," Director Rousseau said, smiling like my choice was one thing he had been waiting for.

"When do we leave," I asked.

"Not today. We need to prepare the paperwork for your admission and get you ready," he said, opening the suitcase that had been sitting by his side. He brought out some documents and told me to sign them.

"I'll have someone come over for your uniform measurements and also bring you the necessary supplies you'll be needing," he said, tucking back the documents into the suitcase. "You'll be ready for St. Aurelia in three weeks. Congratulations, Isabelle. Your future awaits."

I turned to make eye contact with Sister Marianne. She had stopped praying the rosary. She was leaning toward the seat in front of her, her head bent over it like a sinner praying to the Lord to atone for their sins. One of the many positions you unfailingly see in churches on Sundays. My heart ached as I watched her hoping she'd understand why I decided to choose the open over the shadows.

Three weeks come in a blur. Sister Marianne didn't speak of that day as if it didn't happen and I on the other hand, couldn't say anything about it out of guilt that I betrayed her after she warned me. A representative of St. Aurelia came with the other paperwork that required her signature and she followed through. They came with school supplies; notebooks and textbooks that are more expensive than the entire orphanage building, a brand new laptop, a smart phone and other items I'll be needing.

Claire had been quiet too as if she had given up on tormenting me which was so suspicious. Whenever I passed the hallways or was doing chores with the other girls. I could hear their whispers about me and how I seduced Alexandre Rousseau to get a seat at St. Aurelia Academy and that is definitely Claire's work. So this is what she had been doing instead. I didn't pay them any attention and continued with my chores.

The morning of the day I'll be leaving for St. Aurelia came. Director Rousseau sent a car to get me. Finally, I'll be leaving the only place I know of. The only place that took me in when everybody else tossed me out. I couldn't stop the tears from falling as I packed my stuff. I went to see Sister Marianne earlier this morning but she refused to let me into her room.

I took one final look at my room. My rusty bed frame and my lean bedding, worn-out dresser, cracked mirror and the creaking floor. This has been my whole life until now. I removed the hood and placed it on the bed before shutting the door behind me.

Claire and the girls were waiting outside their room door. Waiting to give me their 'farewell wishes'. How touching.

"Go on then, ghost!" Someone yelled.

"Keep looking over your shoulders!" Claire called out, her voice crackling. "They are going to break you, Isabelle. And don't expect us to be here when you come back crawling."

I got into the car but their words felt like a cold weight over my chest. I thought I was being saved. I didn't realize I was changing the cage.

The Spires of St. Aurelia Academy looked like teeth against the grey sky. As the car pulled in, I watched the students. They moved in with easy, expensive grace I didn't understand. I gripped my old violin case, feeling the cheap fabric of my coat like a neon sign. As I stepped out of the car, I felt out of place instantly. They stared like I was a weird alien from another plane. Especially the girls, whispering into each other's ears and giggling about it.

My room in the hostel was bigger than the entire dorm at St. Brigette's Marble, Silk and a view that felt too wide and too open.

On the bed lay my uniform, a navy skirt and a blazer with a gold crest. I touched the fabric. It was soft and smelled heavenly.

I sat there as the sun went down, watching the long shadows stretch across the floor. I thought of Sister Marianne's shaky hands and Claire's bitter face. I felt grateful but it was a heavy and suffocating kind of gratitude.

I looked at the gold crest on the blazer. I fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Finally, I was free from the shadows. Or that was what I thought.