Gunshots echoed through the Vixens' estate, like it was some gun range training ground. Sarima Vixen didn't flinch. She simply stared at the intricately carved white ceiling above her bed lazily, waiting for the noise to settle into the background of her morning.
Another normal day in a family that had never been normal, she sighed internally.
She used to think she had been adopted out of love, something soft and simple. But her parents already had three sons and she came to realize that she hadn't been needed, she had been chosen. Her mother wanted a daughter without the burden of childbirth, and her father had accepted her as part of an exchange and an investment. Now, that exchange was finally about to be completed for the fourth time.
Her gaze drifted toward the bedside table. The object was still there, a thorn bangle...or was it a new one? She thought. And beside it, another letter.
Her fingers brushed against the sharp edges as she picked it up, irritation tightening in her chest. "Still insane," she muttered under her breath. What kind of a stalker drops crazy expensive jeweleries randomly? She sighed.
Two years, two years of gifts, letters, and messages that never made sense. And yet, he always got in. No matter how heavily guarded the estate was, no matter how impossible it should've been, he always found his way into her room.
She had never seen him,not once, but sometimes she swore she could feel him watching her.
A chill crept down her spine, and she dropped the bangle and letter back onto the table, suddenly unwilling to touch them any longer as the spicy cologne still lingered in the air, indicating that her mental health wasn't deteriorating to such level of delusions.
Tonight was definitely not about him.
It was about the arrangement her parents had already made for her, a dinner, a contract, and a marriage to a man she had never met.
By the time she was dressed and ready, the black fabric of her gown hugging her frame perfectly, the feeling of dread still hadn't disappeared.
She should've been used to this by now. To the control, to the silence and to pretending until she was sold off into another manipulative family. Something felt wrong and familiar but she pushed it down like she had done on three similar occasions like this one with same agenda.
The mansion felt quieter than usual when she stepped out of her room. Too quiet. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
The ride to the Houston estate passed in silence. Her parents sat across from her in the car, looking every bit like the picture-perfect couple the public adored. Anyone watching from the outside would've thought they were perfect. Oh... How wrong they would be. She scowled internally.
"Sarima."
Her father's voice sliced through the silence.
"Yes, Dad." Her eyes raised from her nails to meet his.
"We are going to the Houstons' residence," he said evenly. "I expect you to behave… ladylike."
Not yourself. Never yourself of course.
Sarima gave a small nod. "I understand."
That was all he wanted.
The Houston estate was blindingly white. White gates. White walls. White marble floors. Everything looked painfully pure. Too pure.
"It's almost unsettling," she murmured quietly and no one responded. Of course no one did except her mother glared at her. She rolled her eyes secretly.
They were led into the dining room, and the atmosphere shifted immediately. Polite smiles with measured greetings. Controlled movements like fake souls. It wasn't just dinner. It was business disguised as interrelationship.
Sarima took her seat, already knowing exactly how the night would end. With her.
"Mr. Vixen… welcome." Mrs Houston's high pitched voice sounded.
"The pleasure is ours."
Lies. All of it.
The conversation began with profits, investments, and partnerships, but it didn't take long before the attention drifted toward her.
"Sarima," Mrs. Houston said smoothly, her sharp gaze settling on her. "I hear you're in your third year at university. Will you be able to manage your studies alongside marriage?"
A test.
Before Sarima could answer, her mother interrupted effortlessly.
"She will. She's a Vixen. We don't struggle with responsibility."
Sarima went still. Not because she agreed, but because she was expected to.
Servants moved silently around the table, placing dishes in front of the guests with mechanical precision. Every single one of them wore masks.
Strange. But what wasn't strange here? she questioned herself. Her eyes roamed around the dinning room, taking in the white carved structures and weapons hung with bull heads decorated boldly...still painted in white.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her lap. She suddenly felt uneasy which felt different than the usual uneasiness. Something definitely felt wrong this time. She just couldn't place it.
Her eyes landed on the junior Houston. The man she was apparently supposed to marry. Silent and watching her.
He hadn't spoken once since she arrived, and yet his gaze had not left her for a second. Awkward...She thought, keeping her expression calm and taking a bite of the steak from her fork.
There was something else that made her uncomfortable as she shifted on her seat. Something she couldn't explain. Something familiar. Then it hit her. That particular scent she perceived that morning.
Sharp, spicy and unmistakable. Her breath caught instantly.
Her breathing turned shallow as the dread she had pushed down began rising. That wasn't possible. She had smelled it before, too many times. In her room, in empty hallway, in places no one should've been. She knew he would come but not this soon.
Her pulse spiked violently and her hand reached for a glass of water, but the trembling hand betrayed her. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.
Silence crashed over the table as every head turned toward her.
Sarima wasn't looking at them, she was searching for the scent. Lost in her world and clouded in her thoughts. The scent filled her lungs. It was stronger now and definitely closer, like right behind her.
Her entire body went rigid as she slowly turned. A servant stood there motionless, surveying the broken glass.
Then he lifted his head and their eyes met.
Everything inside her dropped.
Recognition.
Not confusion nor curiosity but recognition.
A slow smirk spread across his lips.
Cold, certain and terrifying.
And in that moment, Sarima knew.
He was here and in a mask.