Behind most bright laughter hides the deep dark shades of sadness. I used to think when people laugh, or smile, it simply means they're happy. Well, for the most part, if I talk about life before I grew up—my childhood—I'd say every emotion Arabella Lincoln allowed the world to see was real. She was authentic, and her smile was innate, unforged.

But what changed? I'd ask myself sometimes. Even now that I'm watching Camilla Alves and Isla Lincoln laughing so loudly over Maui's mischief in Moana, which makes me laugh along as though I'm complacent, I still wonder whether I'm genuinely laughing or not, for I fear I've lost sense of reality.

I'm numb. Spurious. I'm present but not here.

"Hey, are you okay?" Camilla asks me, and I realize it's been utterly silent on my part.

"Yeah. I mean... yeah." I wipe the moisture in my eyes, yawning. "I think I should retire to bed before you guys. I had a long day." I get up, still in my office clothes.

"Um, sure." A small frown flints on Camilla's face.

She knows I'm lying. She's another emotional manipulator who laughs a lot as a masquerade for her unspoken pain. I can tell a mask when I see one; this woman here is as cracked as I am. I don't know her story in-depth, but she makes me feel less lonely.

"Good night, baby." I kiss Isla on the forehead and walk by.

In my bedroom, I go through some photos I took with Adrian back in upstate New York on his birthday. The only tangible memory of him in my possession. I smile, drift at the moment, then cry from the void, before hugging my pillow to sleep with him all over the place.

I need to forget him.

I just don't know how to because it's as if I'm harnessing the pain of losing him instead of fighting it. It's very unhealthy. I'm scared I may never escape this loop as long as I'm alive. The fact that I can't find normalcy in his absence is a sign that I'm past being normal.

He's a bloody killer; he said it himself, and I saw it with my own eyes.

I should be terrified, but strangely I feel the opposite.

It's past midnight when I feel heavy darkness in the room. Weird. Although I never sleep with lights on, the eerie feeling about this moment jolts me fully awake. My bedside lamp refuses to light up and it makes me slightly anxious. Are we out of power? I muse while slipping off the bed.

Casually, I peer through the window, only to find neighbor houses rich in power. It's chilly and quiet, with only dogs barking from a distance and trees rustling coolly. And then, out of the blue, I think of the weird guy I saw earlier today. Paranoia runs through me, my imagination a bit wilder. I know I didn't like him and it frightens me to think of the worst.

What if he was here monitoring the house so he can break in at night? He was probably a burglar or one of Adrian's men. But no, he looked more than that. They were predatory intentions in his eyes, something dark and evil. At the thought, I use my phone's flashlight to pull out Adrian's gun under the mattress.

Isla! She's the first thing that comes to mind; I run to the attic.

"Isla?" I call gently, pointing the light at her bed. It's empty. What the fuck! "Isla?" I snap frantically, leaping back through the door.

My heart races deadly. I'll die if anything happens to her. No, she must be downstairs, with Camilla. But it's still dark, and silent, and my mind jumps before my feet as I barrel barefoot through the stairs with a phone and gun in my hands.

"Isla? Camilla?" I call, praying inwardly for no horror.

The scarred face man haunts my confidence and hope. I see him but I choose to ignore him.

"Isla—" I pause at the flash of electric light in the living room just when I reach the bottom of the staircase.

I sheath my gun, and the person standing in the kitchen is none other than the Nubian gorgeous in pajamas and bunny slippers.

"Oh, fuck! It's you," I breathe out with relief.

"Oh?" Camilla utters, slightly shocked to see me... or the gun? I can't tell. "I... I guess the circuit broke. I have just turned it on; are you okay?" She folds her one hand, hiding something behind her.

But I'm faster than her. It's a gun.

I lower mine and ask, "Where is Isla?" while striding over, my eyes on the entrance door.

Camilla doesn't move from the kitchen. "In my room. She fell asleep and I was too tired to get her upstairs."

"I see." I pull in a breath, deeply relieved that all is well. Moving closer, I place Adrian's 9MM on the countertop very carefully. "I thought someone broke in. I don't know what came over me," I confess, glancing at the door once again, which seems to be locked.

Slowly, Camilla exposes her hidden gun and puts it next to mine. I look at it—it's silver, smaller than Adrian's—and then up at Camilla, who laughs feebly in a discerning manner.

"I'm always paranoid." She leans over the table to rest her elbows. "I'm constantly looking over my shoulder; I don't know when I'll be able to get rid of this feeling." Her fingers rub against each other on the table and a small silence ensues. "In case he shows up again, I won't be defenseless. That's why I have a gun." She smiles, eyes back on mine.

I gently relax my features with a sigh and say, "I had to get one to protect the people I love. When you have so much to protect, your own safety becomes so trivial that you forget danger exists upon yourself. I'm fearless most of the time, but when it comes to my siblings, I fear a mess." A tiny bit of smile curves my lips before I continue, "I think we have every right to self-defense. After several events in my life, I realized no one can protect me better than myself so it's okay for you to feel that way too."

Sighing, Camilla runs a hand through her hair and stands upright. She smiles again, tiredly. And then she grabs her gun, stares at it for a good while, and then back at me.

"One of the reasons why I prefer traveling throughout the year is because it makes me forget who I am," she says. I narrow my eyes tentatively. "When I'm away, I don't think of Falcon, and I don't worry about him hurting me in any way because I'm away, busy, far from him, with people who don't even know my story. It's my safe place, traveling."

"Which explains why you seem so indisposed by being in one place these past two weeks?" I remark. She doesn't respond, but her eyes affirm my theory. I sigh heavily. "It doesn't have to be that way, Camilla. Falcon is your past, whatever his role was, and you can be the new version of yourself—the one you wouldn't want to run or hide from."

Camilla considers my words for a few seconds before she laughs them off. "It's easier said than done, Ara. Some people come into our lives like thin air but remain like a bold tattoo on the skin. They simply refuse to be erased." She smiles languidly. Her eyes stay on mine until she regains her composure and stands upright. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd love to go back to sleep."

"Sure," I reply reluctantly.

I wish we'd talk more about the subject.

"Oh, before I forget." She stops midway and turns around. "Why did you think someone broke in? Was it the power outage?"

I take my time to reply, "I don't know. Maybe it's the creepy guy I chased away on my way back from the office. Well, he had this bad aura and I didn't understand what he was doing parking his car in our driveway."

"The creepy guy?" Camilla parrots, a deep frown built between her thin eyebrows. "I think we should let Adrian know about this."

"Excuse me?" I retort. "And why exactly, may I ask? Last time I checked, he and I have no such relationship where I can tell him there's a scarred-face man outside the house and I can't sleep because of him." Crossing my arms on my chest, I tilt my head to one side to study Camilla's reaction.

"Does that even matter, Ara?" she quizzes.

"Yes, it does, dammit!" My voice rises, exasperated. "We can find a way to strengthen security here and maybe report the incident to the police so they can check the surveillance or something! But reporting this to Adrian? No, I'm not doing that, Cam! God, not him." I shake my head slowly and step aside.

"Police?" Camilla nearly laughs, but she brushes it off by saying, "I know you two have issues, but I trust no one but him."

"Why? Because he's a goddamn killer, rich, and a control freak who can decide everyone's fate as though he's God?" I snap.

"Because we have a kid here, Ara. Isla needs to feel and be safe and I believe Adrian can ensure that for the time being," Camilla replies, and I find myself out of the argument because she's chosen to hit me where it hurts. Seeing my garbled reaction, she cools down and adds, "Look, I know you think Adrian is a heartless jerk for keeping you away from his life, but I'm sure he has his reason to do it. Unlike me, you have people to protect, Ara. You have a family and he didn't want you to endanger them. I've lived this life for more than a decade, and trust me, I would've done the same thing he did in his place."

I don't know what to say. I hold every thought for a while until I manage to say something.

"If that's true, then he shouldn't have come into my life in the first place." I grit my teeth, my breath harsh and rapid. "Why did he show up if he knew he'd put me and my family in danger? What made him kiss me, fuck me, only to leave me at every chance he gets? And why do I have to depend on him for protection if he's the one claiming to be the danger himself? Why is everything about him so fucking confusing—why?" I shout, body tensing and shaking from both fear and rage.

Camila gapes. "Ara—"

"No, don't say anything!" I fling a hand in the air, gesturing for her to stop. "He should be the one to answer these questions, not you," I say dismissively, so much confusion running through my head. "We should get back to sleep. Good night." I grab my gun and leave.

But I know Camilla is right.

I've put myself in danger by coming here and my little sister who has nothing to do with my thirst for vengeance against Adrian Castle. I'm a selfish bitch. An idiot. If anything happens to Isla, it'll be my fault.

As if everything on my plate doesn't add up much in my misery, I receive a call early in the morning from an unknown number, which turns out to be my mother's. I sit up instantly upon hearing her voice calling my name rather urgently.

"You need to get out of New York, Arabella! You can live anywhere in the world but not in New York! Please get your sister and go back to Las Vegas; I can give you the money and everything you need." She sounds desperate, terrified even. "Are you listening to me?" she adds.

I don't say anything, but I do end the call and lay back on my bed, shocked deeply by the audacity she has to tell me what I should and should not do after everything she has done to us.

__________

A/N: Mama dearest is back in the picture, but what's her deal? Should Ara tell Adrian about the scarred-face guy? Yeah, we still hate him.