Veils Of Secrets

Nadia's POV

My name is Nadia Rivers. I've lived in silence for as long as I can remember, not just because I can't make noise with my lips, but also because I've always felt invisible. Under the pretense of preserving the family's reputation, my mother, Margaret Rivers, took away my voice. I've turned into my sister Nancy's shadow, the forgotten daughter in this world of whispers and unwritten rules.

Nancy is lively, and gorgeous, and commands every room she walks into. She is everything I am not. The kind of woman that people remember. Me? People look at me without thinking twice since I'm just a girl who blends in with the wallpaper. Generally speaking, I've come to accept it. I've built my life in the quiet nooks and crannies, and I find comfort in my job as a sign language translator at the biggest news station in the city. But tonight, in the grand dining room of my family's estate, something feels off.

The room is filled with the sound of crystal glasses clinking and the aroma of roasted lamb. My father Arthur Rivers, sits at the head of the long mahogany table, his wheelchair securely positioned like a throne. His keen eyes look about the room, and he appears... active for the first time in years. Margaret, my mother, is sitting next to him, her diamond necklace glistening in the light from the chandelier. Her countenance is a careful mask of indifference, and she is as calm as ever.

Nancy is running late.

That, in itself, is unusual. Family dinners are no exception to Nancy's love of being the center of attention. She ought to have been here, seated across from me, her laughter filling the awkward silences, with her perfect makeup gleaming. Instead, her absence feels like a crack in the façade of my family's perfect image.

"Where is Nancy?" I make rapid, flowing motions with my fingers while I sign to my mother.

Margaret waves me away as if my question is bothersome, her lips pressing into a thin line."She's fine." She responds in a clipped voice.

I squint but remain silent. Or rather, sign nothing.

Unspoken tension permeates the air as the dining room gets cooler. With a harsh, gravelly sound that demands attention, my father clears his throat. "Let's not waste time waiting for Nancy. We have important matters to discuss."

Important matters? I look at my mom, but her expression is blank. Every tick of the old clock on the wall breaks the ebbing silence and adds to the mounting uneasiness.

Arthur's knuckles are white against the wood as he holds onto the table's edges. "Nadia," he says, his voice low, almost grave, "there's something you need to know."

My stomach becomes constricted. He only uses that tone when delivering news he knows I won't like.

"You're getting married."

Suffocating and thick, the words linger in the air.

In mid-air, my fingers fumble. I blinked at him, sure that I had misheard, but his eyes were fixed on mine.

Margaret speaks impatiently and sharply as she leans forward. "It's already arranged. Derick Steele. The contract is

Derick Steele. In my view, the name represents a thunderclapEven without speaking, I can feel the weight of it on my tongue. A billionaire with a reputation as icy and merciless as the winter wind, he is notorious in the city. His name is whispered, and stories of his calculating business dealings and unwavering attitude paint him as a guy to be feared.

I sign frantically while shaking my head forcefully. "This is a mistake. Nancy was supposed to marry him. Not me."

The sound of my father slamming a hand on the table echoes throughout the space. "Nancy isn't here, is she?" he snaps. "This alliance is too important to fall apart because your sister decided to be reckless."

Reckless? I felt chilled.

"She ran," Margaret says, her words slicing through the air like a blade. "Nancy left this morning. She left us no choice, Nadia. You're stepping in."

I grab the edge of the table to keep myself balanced as the room wobbles. Every time my heart beats, it roars loudly in my ears and pounding in my chest. Nancy ran? And now they expect me to take her place?

"Why?" I sign, asking a desperate and incisive question. "Why can't you wait for her to come back?"

"Because this deal will save our family," Arthur concludes in a definitive tone. "Without it, we're finished."

My chair scrapes the floor as I push away from the table. My vision becomes blurry at the edges, and the air feels too thick. My own family is throwing me into the fire, offering me up like a pawn to be sacrificed.

Margaret stood up and approached me, her shoes tapping on the ground. She puts a chilly hand firmly on my shoulder. "You'll do this for the family, Nadia. You'll be fine."

My chest heaves as I sign angrily, jerking away from her grasp. "You're using me! You don't care what happens to me, do you?"

Her face hardens. "Enough of this childishness."

"Margaret," Arthur warns, but she waves him off, her focus still on me.

I've done everything to ensure this family's survival." She says, her voice is low and poisonous. "And now it's your turn to contribute. Don't disappoint us, Nadia."

With my hands shaking at my sides, I gaze at her. Like a tidal wave, the truth sweeps over me. In their eyes, I'm nothing more than a stand in, a silent shadow to be moved around as they see fit.

The sound of the front door slamming shut fills the house before I can sign another word. My heart jumps into my throat as my head snaps toward the sound.

Nancy.

Despite my mother's stern orders to halt, I ran out of the room. The faint aroma of Nancy's perfume is still permeating the corridor as it extends in front of me. My heart pounding, I make my way to her bedroom and open the door.

It's empty.

Her vanity is stripped bare.The closet doors are thrown open to show racks of missing clothes.The only thing left is a crumpled piece of paper on the bed.

With shaky hands, I pick it up and look over the hastily scrawled note.

"Nadia, I can't do this. Please forgive me."

I sink onto the bed's edge as my knees give way and the note slips out of my grasp.

Nancy has left.

And I am the replaced bride.

Nadia's POV

The next hours passed in a blur. It didn't matter how angry I was, how afraid I was, or how much I protested. The choice made by my parents was final. I was thrown into a frenzy of preparations before I could regain my breath. Without my voice or permission, vows were made, dresses were fitted, and documents were signed.

My heart was beating so hard by the time I reached the imposing door of St. Augustine's Cathedral that I could hardly hear the melancholy tones of the organ.

The building smelled of ancient incense and polished wood, and it was frigid. Every exquisite lace thread in my gown served as a reminder of my captivity, making it feel like a cage.

I gripped the bouquet of white flowers with shaking hands. In contrast to the turmoil that swirled within me, they were flawless and immaculate. I looked around at the well-organized rows of guests. I glanced at the guests seated in neat rows. Most were strangers, their faces carefully neutral, their whispers carrying just enough to sting.

She's so plain compared to Nancy.

He must be furious about this arrangement.

Poor Derick. Imagine marrying the quiet one.

Even though the words were painful, I continued to look ahead. Beside me, my father wheeled, his face impassive as he readied himself to give me away.

Being given away to a man who most likely didn't want me any more than I wanted him was really ironic.

Then he showed up.

Derick Steele.

Like a marble statue, he stood icily and uncompromisingly at the altar. Every cut and contour of his well-tailored black suit emphasized his strong physique. His storm-gray eyes were harsh and far away, but his dark hair was pulled back nicely. He was not smiling. He didn't flinch. I walked up to him, and he hardly acknowledged me.

By the time I got to him, he held out a hand, tight but cold. I swallowed the lump in my throat after feeling cold from the touch.

The priest started talking, rambling on and on about unity, love, and dedication. It seemed like a mean joke. Derick's expression was emotionless as the stone pillars around us, and his jaw was clenched as he stared straight ahead.

Derick was the first to speak when it came time to exchange vows. Each remark was measured and free of any hint of warmth, and his voice was low and clipped.

"I, Derick Steele, take you, Nadia Rivers, to be my lawfully wedded wife."

His tone was severe enough to cut, and he said it as if he was concluding a business transaction.

Then it was my turn. My silence was like a scream echoing across the room. With a practiced smile, my mother stepped forward as the priest paused, his brows furrowing.

"She'll nod," Margaret said smoothly. "That's how she communicates."

I wanted to shout and scream that I didn't want this and that I was being pushed into a life that I didn't choose. Rather, I nodded while moving in a rigid, robotic manner.

After a blurry ceremony, I found myself sitting next to Derrick in the rear of a sleek black limousine. The stillness between us was oppressive, despite the luxurious interior.

I glanced at him in the hopes that he would show some emotion or show that he was just as uneasy about this arrangement as I was. But his face was a mask, his eyes fixed on the passing cityscape.

You don't have to try so hard," He abruptly remarked, his voice piercing the silence like a razor.

I frowned, confused, and signed, What do you mean?

He didn't give me a look. "To impress me," he clarified. "We both know this isn't about us. It's about them."

I wasn't prepared for how painful his words were. My knuckles were white as I sat back, gripping the folds of my gown tightly.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across his unreadable face.

A gothic nightmare came to life when the Steele mansion towered over us. As we got closer, the sound of tall iron gates creaking open irritated me. With its tall spires penetrating the overcast night sky, the expansive mansion was enveloped in darkness.

The air felt colder inside, and the big staircase was lined with long, unsettling shadows from the low illumination. Without saying a word, Derick moved forward, his footsteps resonating on the marble floors.

"Your room is down the east wing," he said flatly, pausing at the base of the stairs. "The staff will show you."

I hesitated, signing, And yours?

Something like a smirk formed on his lips, but it was devoid of amusement. "On the opposite end. Don't worry, Nadia. I won't bother you, and I expect the same courtesy in return."

The dismissal was clear.

As he climbed the stairs and vanished down the corridor, I stood motionless. I was left alone in the emptiness until a door closed and the sound reverberated throughout the vast room.

I couldn't sleep that night. My new room was spacious, with heavy curtains hanging over the walls and ancient furniture that seemed to be watching me critically. Despite being cozy and welcoming, the bed seemed strange.

Derick's icy words kept coming back to me as I rolled over and over. Every glance, every scathing remark, it all went deeper than I wanted to acknowledge.

By the time dawn broke, I was no closer to finding peace. I was startled by a gentle knock on the door and sat up, my heart pounding.

"Mrs. Steele," a maid called gently from the other side. "There's something for you downstairs."

I hurried to get dressed out of curiosity before making my way to the great foyer.

On the shiny table by the door was a little envelope. Other than my name written in an unknown hand, it was plain and unmarked. I lifted it up with trembling fingers since it was much heavier than it should have been.

I unfolded the paper, the faint scent of ink and aged parchment wafting up as I read the words:

Secrets never stay buried.

As the words burned into my brain, the room whirled and the walls closed in around me. The note slipped from my grasp and fell to the ground.

What secrets? Whose secrets?

And, why did it seem like the start of something far darker than I could have ever imagined?

Derick's POV

The mansion felt alive that morning. Not with happiness, nor with life, but with the kind ominous energy that soaked into your flesh. The hallways were a subdued shade of gray as the rain outside pounded on the windows and the sun was obscured by the heavy clouds.

I hardly looked at the papers that were laid out in front of me as I sat in my study. My thoughts drifted to Nadia. My wife. It still felt wrong to say those things. This is not what I requested. As part of a calculated move to increase power and influence, Nancy was to be the bride. Instead, I ended up with her younger sister, a silent shadow who barely lifted her head to meet my eyes.

She wasn't the woman I wanted. Even though she appeared to be waning under the pressure of this household and its demands, there was something about her-a quiet strength in the way she carried herself.

The knock on the door startled me. "Come in," I called, my voice sharper than intended.

With his massive form filling the entryway, my father entered. Peter Steele was a man who could command a room with a single glance. As usual, his outfit was perfectly made, and he had a look of cool calculation mixed with contempt.

"I hear your wife is settling in," he said, the word "wife" dripping with sarcasm.

I crossed my arms and reclined in my chair. "She's getting used to it."

"She doesn't belong here." His voice was quiet but full of malice as he took a step closer. "That girl lacks the courage to bear the Steele name." She's not Nancy.

"I know she's not Nancy," I said in a chilly tone. "And yet, here we are."

A scowl curved Peter's lips. "Do you think this marriage will last? That she'll be able to handle what comes with being married to you?"

Unflinching, I looked him in the eye. "She doesn't have to handle anything. This isn't about her, and you know it."

He leaned over my desk and grinned. "Derick, keep an eye on her. That kind of woman-quiet, unassuming-will break down the moment things become difficult. And she will bring you down with her when she does.

I didn't answer. Long after Peter had left the room, his remarks continued to echo in my head.

I was in the sitting room later that night when the butler came up to me with a plain envelope.

"This arrived for you, sir," he said, holding it out.

I accepted it, the paper weighing more than it ought to have. My name was written in rough, crooked handwriting, with no markings or return address. My stomach turned.

I nodded to the butler to dismiss him and opened the envelope. There was only one page of paper inside.

I'm coming for her. You'll regret bringing her into your home. Keep her safe... if you can.

Printed in big characters that seemed to jump off the page, the words were striking. Anger and uneasiness swirled in my chest as my fists clasped the paper hard. This was a threat, not a warning.

I paced the room while crumpling the note in my hand. Initially, I wanted to face Nadia. But what would I even say? That someone out there wanted to hurt her?

No. This was my responsibility, and I wasn't going to allow it to break her delicate disposition.

Still, the note's words lingered.

The next morning, I found her in the greenhouse, her slight figure dwarfed by the towering plants around her. She knelt beside a group of orchids, adjusting their stems with careful hands.

"Nadia," I called.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked up. She brushed her hands on her skirt as she gently rose up.

I crossed the distance between us, stopping a few feet away. "Has anyone approached you? Delivered anything unusual?"

Her brows furrowed as she shook her head.

"Good," I said, though my tone was clipped. I couldn't let her see the tension that coiled inside me. "If anything strange happens, you tell me immediately."

She made precise, fast movements with her hands as she signed. "Why?"

"Just do it," I said, my tone more abrasive than I meant. She nodded curtly, her lips squeezed into a narrow line, and then she looked back at the orchids.

I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I hadn't handled that well as I was leaving. But right now, I can't afford to soften.

The hostility came later that afternoon.

Nadia was doodling in a tiny notepad in the sitting room where I left her. When I got back, my father was standing over her, and she was standing stiffly with a pale face.

"What exactly are you good at?" The harshness of Peter's words sliced through the room like a dagger. "You can't speak, can barely make eye contact, and you think you can handle being a Steele?"

Nadia gripped the notebook to her chest as her hands shook a little. She kept her eyes on the ground and didn't look up.

"Peter," I spoke in a menacing, piercing voice.

With an unrepentant attitude, he turned to face me. "I'm just telling her the truth. She's out of her depth, and you know it."

With a tight physique, I moved between them. "That's enough."

Peter grinned but took a step back. As he exited the room, he muttered, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

After he left, I looked at Nadia. Her hands betrayed her, gripping the notepad so hard that her knuckles were white, despite her blank expression.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She gave me a single nod, but she avoided looking at me. Without saying anything, she walked by me and out of the room.

I had trouble sleeping that night. My thoughts kept racing with the note, my father's words, and Nadia's quiet withdrawal.

I found myself wandering the halls, the dim lighting casting long shadows on the walls. The mansion was silent, save for the distant ticking of a clock and the occasional creak of the floorboards.

I walked to the west wing of the house, where I didn't often visit. The air felt heavier and colder here, for some reason.

I paused outside a door that I hadn't opened in a long time. I felt a slight coolness as I cranked the handle, which felt cool against my palm.

The room was exactly as I had remembered it to be: dusty, unaltered, and replete with artifacts from a past I had tried to conceal. But it wasn't the room itself that caught my attention.

It was the faint creak of footsteps behind me.

I whirled, but there was nobody in the hallway. Still, as I walked back to my room, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was being watched.

Nadia's POV

The home was a maze with twisting passageways and secret passageways that were both fascinating and frightening. For me, it had turned into an odd sort of haven where I could go to lose myself when the stress of everything got to be too much.

I needed to be far away from them that night after Derick had barged into the greenhouse with his cryptic questions and his father's harsh words were still fresh in my mind.

I had not yet explored the west wing of the home, but my feet brought me there. Here, the air seemed different-colder, heavier, as if the walls were hiding secrets they weren't quite ready to reveal.

I traced the elaborate patterns etched into the wood with my fingers as I moved around the wall. Something about this place felt... alive.

Then I noticed it. There is a little entrance half hidden under an elaborate tapestry.

A sense of curiosity pulled at me. I pushed the tapestry away, exposing the aged surface of the door. When I opened it, it creaked loudly in the silence.

A small staircase with shadowed stairs spiraled downward. The icy air brushed against my skin like a warning as I paused and finally lowered myself.

A single flickering lamp at the bottom lit the room dimly. Photographs with dust-caked frames adorned the walls. With my heart racing, I took a step closer and looked at them.

The faces, some familiar, others unfamiliar, peered back at me. But, I noticed a big, ripped portrait in the middle of the space.

The boy's face was half gone, and the tear's edges were ragged and irate. But, His eyes were eerily familiar to the gentle gray of a stormy sky.

I gasped and took a step back, feeling the weight of the discovery bearing down on me.

Who is he? And why had this part of the mansion been hidden away?

The answers seemed just out of grasp as the storm raged outside, the shadows whispering secrets I wasn't prepared to hear.