It took a few minutes, and then a tall, lean man appeared before them.

He looked like he was in his early forties. He was dressed impeccably in a black tuxedo. His hair was parted on one side, kempt by what Monique perceived as hair gel, adding to his overall polished appearance. With a touch of salt and pepper, his dark hair complemented his warm skin tone, giving him a distinguished and mature look. His eyes were framed by thick, dark eyebrows. He was attractive. However, there was something about his eyes when he looked at Monique. Something foreboding. Something unsettling. It felt like he was sizing her up.

But what made Monique's heart almost jump out of her chest was when her mother gasped and shook, an act that the woman rarely did unless something significant like the loss of money transpired.

"Madam, I believe you know who I am and why I'm here," the man stated, his voice calm and composed.

Monique's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as her proud mother, Vanessa Van Welch, bowed her head to the man in front of them. It was an action that could only be done by the lady of the Van Welch family when in the presence of someone of higher social standing or someone they feared.

Others might find the surprise Monique felt overly dramatic, but her shock stemmed from the knowledge that the Van Welch family was known to be at the pinnacle of society, especially when it came to wealth. They were also respected and no one dared to cross them or make enemies of them. To witness someone above them was an entirely new experience for Monique.

"I understand. Did she leave any instructions for us? I mean, my husband and me?" Monique's mother inquired, her voice filled with concern.

"None, madam. Only that Monique must arrive at the manor in two weeks and take permanent residence there," the man replied, his face impassive.

Upon hearing this, Monique instantly frowned and was about to interject, not to argue. Never to argue. But for clarity. However, her mother tugged at her arm and whispered urgently, "This is beyond us, Monique. You must agree."

Monique was about to insist, but her tongue froze and her words receded when she noticed her mother's demeanor. Her body seemed frozen in place and Monique noticed that her stillness contrasted sharply with the chaotic energy that suddenly surrounded her. But it was her mother's facial expressions that made Monique gasp and step back. The features of her mother's face, serene and composed minutes ago, now bore the unmistakable signs of distress.

Her eyes, bright and lively, were now glazed over, the sparkle they had during the party dulled by a veil of something keen to sadness. They seemed suddenly distant.

The corners of her mouth filled with gentle upturns that conveyed warmth and joy, when she guided Monique down the staircase were now pulled downward in a subtle but noticeable frown. The rosy hue that adorned her cheeks had faded, replaced instead by a pale, almost ghostly pallor.

This heightened the foreboding Monique felt. So she opened her mouth attempting to speak but she was cut off when her father grabbed her shoulder, squeezed it, and commanded, "Leave us, Monique."

She scowled, her frustration evident. Without saying a word, she stormed out of the living room and made her way toward the garden at the back of their mansion. She despised the idea that, whether she wanted it or not, she would have to abide by her parents' decision, no matter the circumstance. And what was wrong with her mom? What was that?

An hour passed, and it was unusual for her parents not to come searching for her. In the past, they would instantly seek her out, even though they knew where she was. What had happened? Who was the man? Monique questioned herself, her mind filled with uncertainty.

"Monique," her father's voice sounded coarse, and a deep frown marred his forehead as he stepped out from the shadows, looking her in the eye as though what he was about to say was a burden on his tongue.

"You've always wanted your freedom. Now you have it. You will leave this house in a few weeks and take residence in the Welch Manor," her father declared, his voice carrying a mix of sternness and resignation.

Welch Manor. The name of the place sounded familiar to Monique. Not because it bore a fragment of their family name, but because there was something... She almost fell off the chair she was sitting on as realization dawned on her. "Aunt Catherine," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Yes, your aunt passed away a month ago, and she had named you the sole heir to her fortune and estate," her mother confirmed, stepping in from the garden gates, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and relief.

"You've always wanted to separate from us, this is your chance," her mother added, her voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

Monique stared at her parents with wide eyes, her mind racing to make sense of the situation. Their demeanour and tone felt odd. They were letting her go? At only eighteen, they were willing to let her leave. Without a finance? Without her insistence? It went against the rules of the Van Welch family. What was happening?

Her thoughts swirled from one idea to another, desperately seeking clarity amidst the surprise and vagueness of the recent happenings.

"And if I refuse to accept the inheritance?" she asked, her voice filled with hesitation.

Her father chuckled. "No one has ever..." His words were cut short by her mother's stern interruption. "Seamus!" Her tone filled with warning.

The way her mother cut off her father's words mid-sentence only heightened Monique's curiosity. In the past, her mother's cheek would have met her father's palm if she had dared to interrupt him like that. What the hell was going on? Monique thought to herself as her parents, for once, turned on their heels and left her on her own devices. It was a bizarre move that had never happened before.

As Monique watched the disappearing silhouette of her parents, a sense of unease started to rise within her, curling and nipping at her veins until it reached the tip of her tongue. It was the word "trouble." She was in trouble. How and why, though, she had no idea.

***

She felt like bile had risen to her throat. Disgusting, unreasonable, and utterly confusing-those were the words that came to mind when she thought about her parents' behavior since her eighteenth birthday. It was the day the man in the black tuxedo had proclaimed that she had inherited her eccentric aunt's fortune. Yes, her crazy aunt. She was never one to judge. But in her defense, it wasn't just her who had called Catherine Van Welch crazy; everyone did.

Catherine had lived a solitary life, keeping herself locked up inside her manor. She never accepted visitors, nor did she visit anyone. People said she used to be a jolly person, but everything changed when she turned eighteen.

"Eighteen," Monique murmured to herself. There had always been speculations and gossip surrounding the Women of the Van Welch family when they turned eightheen. It was a story she had never heard in its entirety. Every time she tried to dig deeper into the rumors, every mouth would shut, and every tongue would recede. Monique thought it was the absurdity of finding a partner at eighteen. But now...

Her musings were abruptly interrupted when a voice called out from behind her.

"You need not bring all your belongings. You can buy them once you have settled in your estate."

Monique felt the urge to throw the pair of scissors she held in her hand at her mother, but she quickly suppressed it. Dark and angry thoughts swirled within her, but she had learned to keep them hidden from the world.

"Bring one suitcase. Why do you need to carry so much baggage when you're now richer than your father and me?" her mother remarked, her voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

Yeah, right, Monique thought bitterly. Yes, she longed for freedom, but the events of the previous days had left her with a sense of foreboding. Something inside her warned that her so-called freedom wouldn't last long. She couldn't explain why she felt this way, but the feeling scared her.

Her parents, leading up to this day, had been whispering in the dark. Every time Monique tried to listen in on their conversations, they would ask her to leave. She couldn't even sneak up on them because a maid would always be present by her side, watching her like a hawk. A rule that came to be after her eighteenth birthday. Something was wrong, but no one would say a word about it. Her brother, the man who spent days bothering her with his new car and whatnot had been commanded not to talk to her, or even look at her.

What had her aunt's fortune done? What was happening?

Catherine Van Welch, her aunt, had been a spinster who claimed that pleasuring herself was preferable to the hand of any man in marriage. She had lived alone in her manor, with only a few helpers, and had shunned her relatives for decades. What could have possibly compelled the eccentric old woman to name Monique as her heir? Monique had only met Catherine once when she was eight years old, and as far as she could recall, their brief encounter had not left a lasting impression that would warrant such a fortune.

"The car has been waiting for an hour, Monique," her mother murmured, her voice filled with a mix of concern and impatience, aware that Monique had been lost in her thoughts. "Mom, why do I have to live there? I mean, you and Dad always said that my brother and I should..." Monique's voice trailed off, her words tinged with confusion and frustration.

"Circumstances, that's all this is," her mother replied, her tone firm yet evasive.

Monique's lips quivered with suppressed emotion. In a fit of anger, she swept things off her bed, sending her comb, hand mirror, and makeup crashing to the floor. Her forehead contorted with worry, and she clenched her jaw tightly as she yelled, "Mom, something is wrong, and I know you're aware of it but have chosen not to tell me!"

Her mother refused to respond to her. With a stern expression, she turned and left, leaving behind only the command, "Have your things ready in thirty minutes. I didn't raise a sloth."

Those were the last words exchanged between Monique and her mother. Soon, she found herself inside a car, driven by the same man who had appeared during her birthday party. He introduced himself as Mr. Shaw. The caretaker of the Welch estate. She attempted to engage in small talk with him, hoping to alleviate her curiosity, but he simply ignored her questions and curiosities, responding with nothing more than a shake or bob of his head.

They traveled for two days, their journey taking them along winding dirt roads that made Monique feel nauseous. The car navigated through deeply forested turns and passed by murky-looking lakes. The surroundings and the road they traversed gave her the impression that the manor was situated in the middle of nowhere. Although Monique had met her aunt years ago, she had never visited her so-called manor. Their meeting had taken place in a hotel, and that was the extent of their interaction.

As the hours went by, Monique fell into deep and foreboding thoughts while the driver continued to remain silent, his face stoic and focused on the road ahead. She couldn't help but wonder if the man even possessed a tongue, or if he was taking her to the right place. However, as dawn broke, splashing hues of orange and red on the slowly brightening horizon, Monique found herself stretching her body, descending from the car, and being presented with a lavish five-story manor that could easily be mistaken for a castle by onlookers of lower social standing. However, its front lawn was a sore.

The grass seemed unnaturally sharp, like razor blades eager to draw blood. It swayed in a macabre dance as a breeze passed by. Its darkened hue evoked a sense of foreboding as if it harbored secrets best left undisturbed.

Gnarled and twisted trees loomed on both sides of the manor, their branches contorted like the fingers of a witch. Their bark, ashen and decayed, exuded otherworldly darkness, casting long, haunting shadows that writhed and twisted on the ground. The leaves, wilted and withered, rustled with an eerie whisper as if they carried the mournful cries of lost souls.

And the flowers, oh, the flowers. They bloomed with a wicked beauty, their petals an unsettling blend of midnight black and sickly violet. Their fragrance permeated the air, but it was not one of sweet serenity. No, it was a scent that reeked of decay and despair, the perfume of a desolate graveyard.

Yet, despite this, the manor seemed to belong to the earth it graced. Its gray and brown walls were made of a stone that reflected sunlight, casting a warm glow that seemed to soothe Monique's restless soul. There was a certain brightness to the manor, despite the gloom that surrounded its existence. Strangely, the imposing house and the dancing trees in the wind seemed to beckon to her, evoking a sense of belonging that calmed her previous restlessness.

Monique smiled.

Solitude. The place offered solitude. Away from the noise and parties she loathed.

"Glad I agreed to this," Monique whispered to herself, her words carrying a mix of peace and comfort.

The driver heard her whisper and cast a curious stare in her direction. "You find this place tolerable?" He questioned with a look of surprise on his face.

"What do you mean?" Monique retorted, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, as she tried to make sense of the driver's reaction.

"Well, it's not pleasing to the eye," the man answered, his eyes lingering on Monique from head to toe. "Women of your social status would have scowled and cursed at me for presenting them with a place like this."

There it was, the assumption. Monique had dealt with countless assumptions whenever she found herself in the presence of people of lower standing in life. They would assume she was a spoiled brat, a pain in the ass, a woman filled with frivolities. Someone who only appreciated bright colors, loud music, and the finest of things.

Monique let out a weary sigh. She circled the driver and stood in front of him, locking eyes as she spoke. "Whatever preconceived notions you have of me, please throw them away. Yes, I may have lived a life of lavishness, catered to and given everything money could buy. But none of those things define who I am at my core. None of those are the framework of my personality. I can assure you that I will never give you unreasonable commands or curse at you for no reason. I will never..."

Her words were abruptly cut short when she caught a glimpse of something from above. Against the window of what she deemed to be the attic, an undeniably handsome man stood. He was bathed in a strange, almost golden light, casting an ethereal glow upon him.

Pointing at him, she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and intrigue, "Who is that?"