He leant lazily on the kitchen island, shoulders nonchalantly slumped, one Laboutin boot crossed casually in front of the other. A single, thick, wiry brow arched like a challenge and Regina marvelled at how she’d love to wipe that smug, punchable, fuck-off look off of her husband’s face. His tight knit black rollerneck sweater hugged that toned physique, so much so that she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Anthony Blackstone showed no signs of being flustered. His eyes remained level, calm. His lips tugged slightly into the hint of a smirk and Regina folded her arms across her chest. If anything, she was pinning her hands beneath her biceps to prevent them from flying across his idiot face. But Regina didn’t break. Her steely eyes remained locked on his like a target, he was in her crosshairs.

“Is that utterly ridiculous smile on your face truly necessary?” she quipped, a frustrated exhale quickly exited her nasal cavities.

Regina blinked. Anthony said nothing. He simply stood there, as if posing for a headshot, staring back at her entirely unphased. In fact, from across the kitchen, Regina could see that infuriating glint in his eye. The one that promised he would exit this conflict unscathed. The one she loathed but loved so deeply. Their arguments often ended exactly like this one. Copy, paste. Copy, paste. She’d begin with a passive-aggressive accusation. He’d bait her. She’d bite. He’d bite back. Then, once he’d successfully ruffled her feathers, Anthony Blackstone would allow his wife to unravel whilst he stood by, chillingly calm, then walk away as if nothing happened.

But this time? He did something differently. Instead, he quickly crossed the kitchen in a few easy steps. Closing the distance between them, Anthony stood nose to nose with her, ignoring her flinch of disdain.

“Ginny,” he purred, the smell of cognac on his breath, “You keep scowling like that and you’ll undo all that expensive botox I paid for.”

_______________________________________

It was a grey, misty early evening at Blackstone Manor. Regina had asked the staff to put together a firm favourite; Marry-Me Chicken with a Crème Brûlée for dessert. She and Anthony had enjoyed a bottle of Macon-Villages, a 1995 Sauternes and a glass of bourbon in front of the open fire as a finale. She’d adorned a silk Gucci shirt that billowed at the sleeves but hugged her hips. Candlelight warmed her clavicles. Jazz soul seeped from the overhead speakers. Regina sat in her allocated seat at the banquet-sized dining table, distanced by a few chairs between her and Anthony, who commandeered the opposing chair at the head of the table. She enjoyed him like this. From a distance. She eyed him, scrutinising him as he drained the remnants of bourbon from the glass. Ice clinking in protest, Anthony placed his whisky glass on the table with a finality that said he was heading to bed. Regina scrunched her nose.

“Would you please use a coaster? This wood isn’t made to be watermarked.”

That earned an eye roll. But Anthony relented, placing the glass on a coaster with the drama of a theatre student. She sighed, a strained smile tugging at her blood-red lips.

“I’m gonna head up, Ginny…” he said, leaving his dishes for the staff to clear later.

The candles flickered. A breeze whistled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Blackstone Manor’s dining room. Regina loved this room. She’d carefully curated it herself, choosing extravagantly but tastefully. Her eyes scanned the paintings, lingering on her favourite pieces, until her eyes finally landed back on her husband. She watched him leave, staring into his back as he made his way upstairs to the bedroom. Again, Regina was alone.

Rising gracefully from her seat, she lifted her whiskey glass to her lips, lashes fluttering shut as she felt the last of the bourbon grace her palette. Regina swallowed. Returned the glass to the coaster. Then, she breezed over to the drinks cabinet and clicked the key. The wood squeaked in resistance as she opened the cabinet doors and her hand found the bottle of bourbon with the eagerness of someone who had a hard night ahead of them. The bottle glugged hungrily as it emptied its contents into Regina’s glass. The ice clattered as it rose, swimming in the generous serve of bourbon. Cradling it in her palm, Regina headed over to the fire that roared in the drawing room. Surrounded by shelves filled with books she’d never read, photos of her children dotted across the mantle, Regina sunk into the leather chesterfield armchair that was positioned demonstratively in front of the fireplace.

Folding her legs, she watched the flames lick seductively at the firewood. They danced for her, twisting and turning behind those wrought iron grates. Hypnotised, Regina watched. She sighed. She decided she wouldn’t be joining her husband in their marital bed that night. No. In fact, she never would again. Instead, she sat across from the inferno that burned just for her and listened to the sound of the staff clearing away their final meal. The silence, save for the occasional crackle of burning wood submitting to flame, was the last thing she remembered.

____________________________________

A shrill, piercing scream reverberated through Blackstone Manor. It was the scream of a banshee. The kind you hear from the mouths of women in horror movies. It was that scream that awoke Regina. She jolted in the chesterfield armchair, ash in the fireplace and melted ice in her glass. The amber red glow of sunrise cut through the drawing room windows, the room awash in that rising sun hue. Regina’s head thumped, a reminder of the last of the bourbon entering passing her lips. She rose from the armchair, heart rattling against her ribcage. Her stomach turned. A feeling of impending doom coursed through her veins, pushing her unsteady steps forward through the house.

“MRS BLACKSTONE! MRS BLACKSTONE COME QUICKLY!”

Lola? The housekeeper? Regina’s eyebrows knitted together and her steps became hurried. She attacked the staircase, her bare feet slapping against the freshly waxed wood. Her steps echoed through the house, Lola’s cries frantic and urgent. Regina’s sleepy feet couldn’t keep up with her intended pace and her hand flew for the elegant bannister as she struggled up the staircase. It seemed to go on forever. Another step. Another step. A trip. Another step. She jogged to their master bedroom suite, where Lola’s cries still erupted from. The house became a blur around her, eyes blinking fiercely in an attempt to focus. The thump of her heart filled her ears, the sound of rushing blood filled her mind. Regina had reached the entryway to the bedroom and the first thing she saw was Lola, hunched over the bed, body convulsing with ragged breaths.

“L-lola” the hoarse croak that left Regina’s chapped lips was not her own. “Wh-What is all this? What are you-“

He looked so peaceful. Still. His naked body laid up in that bed, uncovered. So vulnerable. Asleep. Regina took slow, methodic steps forward. Knees shaking. Chest constricting like a boa had wrapped itself around her heart. Closer. She was at the foot of the bed now and her vision was clearing. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even stirred. Lola’s frantic breaths, ramblings about calling an ambulance, they didn’t disturb him. Still, he slept. Dreaming, surely. She reached out a hand and ever-so-gently touched his exposed foot atop the duck down duvet. Ice. Stone cold. Then, a noise left Regina’s soul like a spirit entering the underworld. It was foreign, faraway. A wail that tore through her vocal cords and threatened to shatter the mirrors in the grand bedroom. Anthony, her husband - her idiot, greedy, charming, loathsome, lovable husband felt like an inanimate object beneath her fingertips. This was wrong. All wrong. And for what felt like hours, Regina cried. Not movie tears. Ugly, wailing, inconsolable tears.

And she did not stop. Not when the ambulance arrived. Not when reassuring hands clutched at her shoulders. Not when the police flooded the Manor like rats up a drainpipe. Not when Lola the housekeeper retold the frantic discovery story over and over again. Not when they asked her to step away from the body. No, Regina didn’t stop crying for eons. And when she took a breath, when she could manage the semblance of a sentence, she stared wide-eyed at the nearest officer and said vacantly:

“You’ll need to phone the children.”

---

The phone lying on the nightstand buzzed to life, setting a warm, faint glow in an otherwise pitch-black room as the screen illuminated with an unknown number. It buzzed again, and again. Each time, it was invasively loud, louder than it had any business being. Katherine stirred within the white comforter shared with her boyfriend, Samuel.

“Hmm.”

The phone continued buzzing, making the girl sigh in defeat. She reached out for the device, her hand first making contact with the nightstand before she found the phone. It buzzed in her hand, and Katherine tapped the screen to answer without so much looking at it. She brought it to her ear, her face still half-buried into the pillow. “Hello?”

On the other end, a man introduced himself as Detective Russell. Katherine listened, and what he said next made her sit straight up in record speed.

“Are you sure about that?”

Her heart began to race, her free hand clutching the comforter that was now on her lap. She didn’t keep her voice low, not even considering Samuel who’d just finished a shift at the local hospital. He was doing his residency, and he must have gotten home maybe not even an hour ago while she slept. The man continued speaking, but it didn’t register with her. Katherine had an insane amount of thoughts running through her head all at once, and they didn’t stop when the call was ended, her phone remaining against her ear for a few more moments before she placed it down beside her.

“Sam.” She shook his shoulder slightly, figuring he’d been broken out of his deep sleep by then. But he didn’t so much as make a peep. “Sam! Sam, wake up Goddammit!” This time she shook him hard, much harder than she wanted to. In response, he woke up startled.

"Wh—what’s going on?" He was barely there, but he was alert.

“Sam, it’s my father, he’s been found dead.”

”What?!" Samuel sat up beside her, the comforter now covering only their legs. ”What happened?"

“He wouldn’t say...” Katherine shook her head slightly, her gaze straight ahead even though she couldn’t make out the finer details of the wall decor across from them thanks to the blackout curtains draped over the floor-to-ceiling window. She didn’t say anything else, not even when Samuel got out of bed and pulled her with him as he went, part of the comforter falling to the floor. With one hand on her shoulder and another one wrapped around her waist, Samuel swiftly led her to their walk-in closet which resembled a small room. Without so much as a warning, he switched on the lights in the closet and Katherine squinted hard. ”Sorry love, but we’ve got to go," he whispered, leaving her standing cold and alone in the middle of the closet as he went to fetch some clothes for the both of them. He moved with a purpose, going from one side to the other as their clothes were organized opposite of each other.

Eventually, what nearly felt like an eternity, he returned to her side. ”Here, put these on."

^{Blackstone Tower Penthouse, 27th Floor
January 24, 2026; 2:35 AM}

---

Edward stood on the balcony of the penthouse, the frigid bite of the night air raising goosebumps in his skin. Leaning on the rail, he watched the glittering skyline of lights among the monolithic skyscrapers that surrounded Blackstone Tower. A cigarette rested lazily between his lips, smoke mixing with puffs of heated breath. His thumb slid over the screen on his phone, as if attempting to fish a notification to its unlit surface. In the twilight of the evening-turned-morning, Edward found himself unable to sleep, his bed instead taken up by a shirtless woman whose name he didn't care to memorize. Hours prior, he had his fill of skin and physical sensation. The pleasure had still yet to arrive.

He had been waiting for the confirmation for so long. Edward suddenly found himself pacing back and forth across the smooth stone floor of the balcony, slowly increasing the length of the cherry on his cigarette. In his mind, he mulled over the conversations from days ago, the planning, the pieces of everything that he'd hoped fell into place without failure. How long was it going to take? Edward was no stranger to being patient—it was something nearly beaten into him as a child—but for something of this magnitude, the anxiety was difficult to handle. If it didn't all go according to plan, he'd lose everything he worked for, and that's not something he would allow, not after all the money he had to spend.

And then, ding.

Edward looked down at his phone, the screen illuminating to show a notification. New message. Unlock to view. He swiped across the screen, input the unlock code, and slowly pulled down the notification screen. What met his gaze were five words from an unknown sender and, as he read them once, twice, five and six and seven times over, a smile slid across his face.



^{Blackstone Manor
January 29, 2026; 11:09 AM}

---

A sleek, black sedan pulled past the gate that closed Blackstone Manor off from the rest of civilization. In the backseat, watching through the window as century-old conifers crawled past, Edward sat, dressed sharply in a suit in almost the exact same of shade of black. A pair of shades concealed his vacant stare, and he was lost in thought. The past five days had been quite the whirlwind. His father's death, this early in that old codger's wretched life, was a variable Edward couldn't predict, and he'd spent most of his life attempting to hone and perfect that skill. It's what made him effective at what he did. Being a supplier required the right amount of prediction, allowed him to exercise his expertise over risk. If there was anything he swore by, it was that there were no second chances, no mistakes. All or nothing.

"Gideon," Edward called the driver up front. Staring into the rear view mirror, he watched as a pair of old, tired eyes flicked up briefly to acknowledge the eldest child's presence in the vehicle.

"Sir?" asked Gideon, the gray hair on the back of his head shifting slightly to the right as he leaned his head. His voice was weak, carrying with it the apathy of age.

"Stop the car. I'll be approaching the manor on foot from here on."

"Are you sure, sir? We will be reaching the courtyard in a few minutes."

"I need time to myself to think, Gideon. Stop the car."



The last time Edward found himself walking along this trail was after a tense, heated argument with his father. The details were muddy and blurred, but the feeling of resentment hung with him all the same. The bottoms of his checkered sneakers, a stark contrast to the suit, kicked up dust along the dirt path that wound and curved, like a serpent ready to strike, all the way to the towering, gaudy Blackstone Manor. At least the breeze was nice.

Not long after, he found himself in the courtyard, flanked by pine trees that wreathed the asphalt. In the center was a fountain depicting two cherubs, one seemingly saving the other from the absolution of hell. Edward scoffed at the imagery. This misguided metaphor for being a savior—he never believed in it. He lived long enough in this place to know at least that much.

Edward sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the front door to the manor as he pulled a cigarette from inside his coat pocket. With a strike of a match, he took a drag and sat silently, waiting for the empty courtyard to fill.

The Eton College sweater swamped Regina’s tiny frame; Hem skimming the top of her knees and cuffs hung past her knuckles. The college logo plastered across the chest was faded and cracked, years of wear and laundering aging it to vintage aesthetic. The neckline smelt like him. Tom Ford. With every slight movement, a waft of Anthony’s musky cologne flooded her nostrils. Tears threatened to spill over every time. She’d taken position in the Blackstone Manor foyer, sat with her legs folded beneath her on an Italian leather chair by the Grandfather clock that ticked incessantly next to her. She’d pulled her greying hair back into a low bun, badly, and stray curls sprouted from the hair tie. Regina’s usually steely gaze was vacant as she watched police officers pace in and out of the manor house. Like a guard dog, the newly-widowed Regina stared at the front door as it open and closed repeatedly. More officers had been called to the scene and a Detective Russell had introduced himself as the man in charge of the “case.” It was he who had volunteered to phone the children, at Regina’s request, to inform them of their father’s passing. Now, she sat wondering which of her children would rush to the scene.

Her ghostly pallor earned pointed, concerned looks from passing police officers. Lola had been ushered away for further questioning and Regina had watched her leave in hysterics without an ounce of empathy. Frankly, she was glad to have the source of irritating snivelling removed from her presence. House Staff should watch their composure in the company of the Blackstone employers. Anthony was her boss, not her husband. The tears felt jarring. Performative.

A shiver skittered down Regina’s spine and she realised her knuckles had whitened as she gripped her phone. It vibrated angrily in her palm and her leadened eyes flickered down to look at the screen. A text from Edward, her eldest. Breath catching in her throat, she thumbed the notification to open the message.



She tutted. Of course he wouldn’t be here when she needed him most. Not even a family tragedy could drag that boy away from whatever work he was busying himself with. His father was literally dead and he still prioritised anything but. Ironically, it was a move his Father would’ve made. In fact, Anthony repeatedly put work before everything else. He and Edward shared that philosophy. Regina let out a shaky breath and weakly locked her phone again, letting it slip between her fingers and land on the Italian leather with a thud.

As she stared absently at the herringbone floorboards of Blackstone’s foyer, it took her far too long to notice two polished combat boots stood stationary in her eyeline. The hum of a police radio made her look up, finding Detective Russel looming over her.

“Mrs Blackstone,” the Detective said by way of greeting. His eyes were inquisitive, void of any expected empathy. “We’ve had the medical examiner take a look at your husband’s body…”

The image of Anthony, motionless on their mattress, flashed in Regina’s mind and she shuddered again. The Detective pressed on, unphased.

“It’s of the experts opinion that Mr Blackstone’s death was, in actual fact, not of natural causes as was initially evaluated by the paramedics.”

Detective Russel’s voice sounded muffled, so far away from where Regina sat, shellshocked and shaken.

“That does mean that the house is now an active crime scene. We’re securing the premises now, to protect any evidence. My officers will begin to sweep the property and it’s likely the forensic team will arrive any minute to aid the process.”

The words bled together, like watercolours on a canvas, each sentence seeping into the other. Regina simply stared back at Detective Russel, face absent of any recognition or real emotion. Her lips pressed together to form a hardened line, eyes slowly blinking in forced gestures that would ordinarily be automatic. Her chest felt like it had been wrung out like a wet towel, coiled like a spring inside her.

“The children are coming,” Regina stated, voice strained but firm. “This is their home. They’ll be on their way already.”

Detective Russel, seemingly immune to Regina’s gravitas, shook his head once in denial of the request. She narrowed her eyes, the bubbling of anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. A woman unaccustomed to refusal, Regina rose from the chair slowly, levelling the playing field by straightening her shaken body as much as she could. She mustered what little strength remained inside her and fixed the Detective with a withering look.

“Their father is dead upstairs, Detective. They’re coming home. To their mother who just found his body,” her voice was low, menacing. “And if you won’t permit them to enter the Main Building, and fuck you by the way, I’ll be waiting for them in the goddamn Pool House instead.”

________________________________

Regina had exited the Foyer dramatically, shoving past a gaggle of police and forensic officers that had began to gather at the front door. She’d slid her bare feet into a pair of Gucci slides that awaited her by the doormat. Stepping outside, feeling the bite of cool air, was a sobering moment. She glided down the front steps of the manor and winced at the crackle of gravel beneath her feet. She circled the grounds to where the covered pool sat entouraged by lush hedges and rose bushes. The Pool House, unused this time of year, had a chill and stale scent that made Regina’s nose scrunch in disgust. She shouldered the French doors, clicking the central heating into action. The warm lighting burst to life, illuminating the modern Swiss-style interiors of the Pool House. Regina lifted her phone, unlocking it with an angry swipe of her thumb. She clicked the WhatsApp icon, scrolling through her recent message threads until she found the Blackstone Family Group Chat. Thumbing the keyboard, Regina typed out a simple message and hit send.

---

Mariana awoke rather…unceremoniously. Her head pounded slightly as she sits up in a bed that seemed to be too hot for any one person. She stumbles from the mess of blankets, rubbing her eyes as they settle on the man that had been beside her. She raises a brow, running a hand through her hair as she takes in the room.
“…You’re getting better at drinking Mariana,” she mumbles to herself, her voice a bit raspy from it being the morning. She walks over to a pile of clothes, picking out her underwear and dress, pulling them in as she runs through what happened the night previous. She had just been at work, then met this guy after…but this time she didn’t wake up in a playground tunnel, so it was a win in her book.

She grabs her shoes and phone, moving to leave. Her lips tug up slightly as she leaves the room thinking, Father would be furious if he knew… this train of thought slowly trails off as she looks to her phone. 20 missed calls, even more messages. What the fuck? Did someone die?

Mariana soon ate those words, freezing in her tracks in the hallway of the hotel she spent the night at. “Oh…” she whispers. What did happen last night? Fucking hell…
She tries to stop it. Really she does, but as tears fall down her face, a laugh bubbles in her chest. She leans against the wall, sliding down it as she reads through each message, her giggles seeming more manic as her tears fall on the glass.

0% battery

Her reflection shines back at her and she exhaled sharply, throwing the phone against the opposite wall, her hand pressing to her mouth. “Finally,” she breathes.

After about five minutes she stands, leaving the broken phone as she walks from the hotel. Fuck it was cold. She looks around, guessing her way home. She hums to herself, pausing along the way and buying a corn dog from a vender.
Does she get strange looks? Absolutely. Does she give a fuck? Hell no. She relished in it. The rebellion of it all that she thought made her interesting.

Somehow, miraculously, she makes it home. Benoit, her butler greets her at the door. “Another wild night Miss?” The french man asks as she hums, kissing the side of his cheek, walking inside, “Always.” She hums before looking back at him as he shuts the door. “And Benny? My father-.” He cuts her off, “Is dead. Yes I am aware, you received a few house calls,” he states, not offering comfort, knowing she would despise it if it was offered.

“Isn’t life wonderful?” She whispers with a giddy grin, tears still stained through her face, having run through her makeup. Benoit doesn’t answer, but his eyes soften. She hums to herself, walking into her room, “Also I need a new phone if you could order one please! Thank you Benny!” She calls, flopping on her bed, “And maybe like-McDonalds!”

---

It has been two days since her fathers…untimely death. Marinara hasn’t contacted anyone, her only excuse being that she doesn’t have their numbers in her new phone, as if they weren’t memorized. Thankfully she wasn’t getting as many calls.
Currently, the dark haired woman was sitting in her living room, scrolling through the movies on Netflix when the phone rings. “Benoit! Benny can you-oh Nevermind. Not like there is anything good to watch,” she hums, standing. She has ignored her family too long she supposed.
“Hello?” She sighs over the phone.
“Miss Blackstone?”

…that wasn’t anyone in her family.
“That’s my mother. Call me Mariana. Who is this?” She asks before rasing a brow at the answer.
“Yes mam’m, I am John Chandler, I work under Detective Russel, I am sure you e heard of your fathers death?”

Mariana is quiet for a long while before-

click

“Nope.” She mumbles, going back to the couch.

---

“This is ridiculous Benny, why must I go?” Mariana asks the butler as he sighs, repeating the same answer from two minutes ago, “Because, all of your family will be there.”
“…that is a horrible reason,” she sighs, fixing the black dress of a silk material and a deep v cut. “Still a reason. Now come on, we’ll be late.” Benoit says as Mariana sighs, grabbing her purse. “Fine,” she breathes.

The drive seems fucking endless. She has gone over what to say a million times. Force tears that weren’t entirely fake. It was cloudy outside. Ironic.

The driveway seems longer. Much longer. She sighs, taking a small shot of vodka from a bottle in the car before she sighs, stepping from the car. “Thanks Benny, stay…nearby.” She mumbles at he nods, giving her a reassuring smile before she shuts the door, walking up to where she saw Edward on the fountain, smoking. “Got an extra one of those?” She hums

"Got an extra one of those?"

Edward didn't even have to give her visual attention, didn't have to remind himself of who she was. Of all the Blackstone siblings, Mariana was probably the one he'd had the closest of relationships with, despite the distance. He felt a mixture of admiration and envy, quietly praised her ability to separate from the family almost entirely. He wished he had that chance earlier in life, but these days, he was still too embedded, having to make decisions from the inside.

He remembered a few days ago, the mid-afternoon of January 24th. As he sat among a cluster of businessmen who had their fingers all too deep in the wrong pies, he received a text message from his mother, Regina.


The news didn't carry the emotional weight it probably should have. He stared at the message on his phone, the blare of laughing suits in the background muffled and warped. He'd spent so long in the shadows of his family, cast aside and branded the black sheep. He wasn't the intrepid go-getter like Katherine, not when it mattered. Now, she was sitting pretty as the CEO of Blackstone Group, one of the largest and most effective security groups in the world, and here he was, schmoozing up to people that were practically no-names from his position. He could leverage his name at any moment, but the thrill of making the deals he often did would've been gone. There would be no challenge.

Even still, he couldn't put his focus on anything that day. Between navigating the social pitfalls of rich men and peering into the hole the rich man that was his father left behind, there was a certain stress that blurred his vision like frosted glass. He juggled the priorities in his mind, wondering what to do, but soon his experiences in the world took over, governed his thumbs as they tapped against the screen.


The phone fell into his pocket and he leaned back against the chair, watching the suits around clamor for the bodies of waitresses paid too little. His hand found the cigarette case in his coat pocket, pulled it out and, with the flick of his wrist, popped it open.



Edward's arm swiveled away from his body casually, almost mechanically as he offered a cigarette to Mariana.

"I take it you heard the news," he said, his voice flat, even, unwavering. Meanwhile, his thumbs found the letters on the touchscreen, tapping away.


As he felt her hand press into the case, Edward could smell that unmistakable scent of vodka. His head craned upward, scanning the face of the manor and the tape cutting them off from entering. "Do not cross," it said, almost an invitation to challenge the law. Edward stifled a grin. The Blackstones skirted legality on a near-daily basis, playing just within the confines of the rules so as not to incur the wrath of a judge who didn't care for how they handled things. Yellow tape wasn't going to stop any of them from entering their own former home—and yet, out of some anomalous respect for his mother, Edward decided to let it be.

"You probably shouldn't be drinking right now," Edward continued, his head turning to give a side glance at Mariana. "You know Mother's not going to be happy about it."

Buuuuuzzzzz.

Edward peered down at his phone, checking the reply from their mother.

---

"I take it you heard the news," Mariana grins slightly at his tone. She really was close with her brother. Well, as close as the term was defined in her book. “I did.” She hums, taking the cigarette gratefully, lighting it with a metal lighter that had her initials engraved. She couldn’t quite remember where she got it.

She studied Edward for a moment, letting smoke fill her lungs. He was…admirable? No, she didn’t admire people. But…he was strong. She’d give him that. She knew the shit he put up with, and she sure as hell knew that she would have had a total mental break by now if she were him.

She then pulls her attention to the yellow tape, curling her lip slightly. Oh. Oh she was definitely going to go in there. She wanted to see. See where it happened. Where the old man kicked the bucket.

"You probably shouldn't be drinking right now," Her brother states, finally glancing over to her "You know Mother's not going to be happy about it."
Mariana raises an eyebrow, scoffing lightly before taking a long drag of the cigarette, “And I care about that sooo much,” she says, exhaling the smoke as she spoke. Then she pauses, feeling a buzz on her phone and taking it out. “Oh joy.” She mumbles, already walking to the pool house, nudging her head for Edward to follow, “Come on Eddie, let’s go comfort our dear mother,” she sighs softly.

"Hey. You got the messages."

Edward and Mariana were en route to the pool house, along a cobblestone path set atop neatly trimmed grass. Lawn care that was top of the line—God forbid his family spare any expenses. He supposed they didn't need to. They had billions in various offshore accounts, each one stemming off the blood flow of taxes and fees with the stanching only international waters could provide. They had so many that each Blackstone child was essentially given one of their own, with all the accounts connected back to the main trust; a constant flow of money.

He was no stranger to insider knowledge. He knew how Bailey, who was now catching up to himself and their sister, was leeching the funds the family allowed her, all while pursuing some career in biomechanics that Edward didn't have the knowledge to complement in conversation. It's not that he was stupid. He simply found better priorities to care about. Regardless, Bailey wasn't the only one pseudo-pilfering from the Blackstone treasury accounts, he figured. He imagined Katherine had her share of the wealth as well, her company funded by Father almost directly, and he wouldn't be surprised if Mariana did the same, though he could almost understand her situation.

But Edward? He never touched his. If he didn't make the money on his own, he didn't want it.

Edward turned and watched Bailey catch up, her diminutive stature ill-dressed for the mood. "We're all part of the same group chat," he said, half-smiling at her attempts to seem cordial. "Kind of expected. Aren't you a little under-dressed? Father's dead, not inviting us to a concert."

"How surprising," Edward rebuffed, his grin fading as he turned to match Bailey's gait on the way to the pool house. "Figured she would have told all of you before me. I don't exactly fit the mold of a 'first call' these days. I've got shit I got to do. You and Katherine are the golden children, remember?"

As he walked, Edward watched her face from his periphery. Something was off; she seemed a little more perturbed than she ought to be.

"You look nervous," he said, a mere observation showing his keen eye. "Don't worry, if Dad comes back from the dead, I'll make sure he eats Katherine first; give you a chance to run back to your lab so you can research a cure."

He wondered, internally, where it all went wrong. The pool house was now in view, emerging from behind dense shrubbery that lined the acre-wide backyard of Blackstone Manor. He couldn't dredge up a memory in which he and his sisters relaxed and played and were just children. All he could remember were lessons and punishments and deep-seeded frustrations and expectations. So many expectations. The Sistine Chapel wouldn't have been enough to satisfy.

The pool house, in particular, sat parallel to a swimming pool that could've qualified for use in the Olympics bordered on one side by large glass panes that comprised the greenhouse. What was once Mother's attempt at a pastime activity in the wake of her stresses became yet another burden levied onto the help of the household. Edward imagined one of the gardeners, underpaid and overworked, tending to God-knows-what inside the improperly-ventilated vessel of greenery. He toyed with the thought of how long it had been since anyone stepped foot inside. Judging by the overgrowth of vines that snaked up the glass, it had to have been at least several weeks. He guessed it was no longer a priority, and why would it be now?

The empty backyard forced Edward back into his thoughts of an alternate reality.

"So, how's the..." Edward gestured vaguely, as if trying to conjure up words that made sense when put together. Part of him still contested with the hangover he battled on the plane coming here.

"...internship?"

Regina had changed into something more appropriate for her children’s arrival. She’d reluctantly peeled Anthony’s college sweater over her head, ruffling the already messy bun that sat at the nape of her slender neck. His signature smell of amber and tobacco with a hint of leather clung to the sweater fabric, she inhaled deeply as it passed over her head. Clutching the sweater to her chest, Regina had stood quivering and naked before the Louis Vuitton suitcase she’d packed to bring to the Pool House. Rubbing the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, the image of her late husband at college-age proudly sporting this very sweater, barrelled its way into her mind. Every memory of him was fractured, cracking with every recollection. Thoughts of Anthony were now coupled with a sickening dread that had infected Regina’s entire form.

She’d tasked the household staff with making The Pool House a little more welcoming. Through all her grief, Regina couldn’t bare the idea of judgment at the state of Blackstone Manor. The disorientating lack of control Regina had been subjected to meant she channeled her energy into controlling anything within arms reach. The Pool House deserted, stale scent was disguised by a Jo Malone candle burning and a scented air purifier pumping out Regina’s preferred household scent. Dusted, hoovered and mopped, the Pool House looked a far cry better than before. At the very least, it was clean. The Swiss-style wooden features meant the place had a modern feel, contrasting to Regina’s antique/modern design in the Manor itself. Since Blackstone Manor had been sealed off, that aggressive yellow tape forbidding entry, Regina had begrudgingly set up camp in the Pool House. It was a far cry from her usual creature comforts and the unfamiliarity of it all set her inner equilibrium way off-centre. There were small moments, fleeting, when she forgot that her husband lay dead in a morgue somewhere a town or 2 over. Those few blissful moments gave her relief from the continual ache that gripped her slight frame. The grief consumed Regina the majority of the time, hanging over her head like a persistent rain cloud, she’d barely eaten since she’d clapped eyes on Anthony’s body and the woman in the mirror looked ghostly. Haunted, drawn, gaunt, grief did not suit Regina Blackstone. Her usually perfect features were etched with the evidence of heartbreak. Not even her designer makeup routine could detract from the obvious.

But the world doesn’t stop for anyone, right? Not even the Blackstones. So whilst Regina waited for her children to assemble at their manor, she’d busied herself with the technicalities of death. Losing herself in the details, she had mostly been sat on the obscenely big sofa in the deserted Pool House, Macbook propped on her lap. Some may have found Regina’s ability to swallow the bile of grief suspicious. To those on the outside, her determined focus on funeral planning and arranging meetings with the Blackstone lawyers was unusual at best. Surely the grief-stricken widowed wife should be immobile beneath duvets and comforters, wordless and beside herself with heartbreak? Regina didn’t have the luxury of embracing the agony that had become a permanent fixture in her chest. No, she refused to allow Anthony’s death to immobilise her. Instead, she used it as a motivator to get organised.

Once she’d notified immediate family, Regina’s first phone call was to Ryland Royson, the lead Blackstone lawyer. He was chilling and matter-of-fact with his condolences. Regina had urged him to get Anthony’s affairs in order, quickly. No doubt the children, who were on their way home, would want answers to how the technicalities would be handled. Anthony was painfully private with his financial affairs. Regina was certain there were infinite details she was deprived of. But Ryland and Anthony had an understanding. They were close and it was clear to anyone that, though the lawyer was certainly under Anthony’s thumb, they did have the semblance of a friendship beneath it all. Ryland had promised he’d have the probate organised in a couple days. Usually, an estate as large as the Blackstone’s would take at least a week or more. But as one of 4 executors of the will, Ryland would have his work cut out gathering all the Blackstone estate and assets. He promised Regina to assign the task to his best colleagues and to call her once he had everything aligned. As Regina sat cross-legged on the sofa in the Pool House, Macbook open on her lap with her fifth glass of brandy in hand, her phone chimed to life. It was Ryland, again. She narrowed her eyes at his name brandished across the screen. As she reached to answer, voices could be heard approaching the Pool House. Regina’s eyes flicked to the door and her ears strained to listen. Edward’s low tones filtered through the Pool House walls and a twinge of dread squeezed at Regina’s heart. Other than the Blackstone Manor staff, she hadn’t had to face anyone since Anthony’s untimely passing. She let out a shaky sigh as her body physically braced itself for her children’s arrival. Her finger punched the green button and she lifted the phone quickly to her ear.

“Ryland, I hope this is good news,” Regina said by way of greeting, her tone clipped.

The family lawyer jumped straight into business, skipping pleasantries. He laid out the timeline, explaining that due to the sheer volume of estate assets, he wouldn’t be ready to present the will for at least another day. Elusive in his explanation, Ryland spared gory details, reassuring Regina he was working as quickly as he could.

“Anthony was clever with his fortune, as you know,” Ryland said carefully. “He made some amendments to the will just a few months ago and that’s what is complicating matters slightly…”

A lump instantly formed in Regina’s throat. She pressed the phone deeper into her ear, hoping she’d misheard. Lips pursed, she shakily tucked a stray grey curl behind her ear and swallowed. Her throat, suddenly feeling like sandpaper, struggled to swallow. Her adam’s apple bobbed with the efforts.

“Amendments? What amendments, Ryland? Anthony hasn’t mentioned his will since he jokingly threatened to write the children out of it when they weren’t returning his calls…” Her late husbands name felt fat in her mouth, her lips fumbled around the syllables and her heart quickened. “There shouldn’t have been any amendments to the will, not without my knowing! You should’ve run that past m-“

The Pool House door swung open, clattering against the wall to announce the arrival of her beloved children. Regina glanced up at them all, taking in their all-black attire and strained expressions. A weak, thin smile of acknowledgement spread across her face as she greeted them. Edward, Mariana and Bailey were huddled together in the entryway, all of them watching her with careful eyes. Regina wondered, for a split second, what they were seeing. This splinter-thin woman in a matching Versace silk lounge set, dishevelled hair and dull skin was a far cry from the woman they’d come to recognise as their mother. She adjusted her posture, straightening her spine and lifting her chin in defiance of her weakened state. She gestured to the phone pressed into the side of her face, cheekbones jutting out from her already angular face.

“Ryland, I’ve got to go. The children just arrived. Have the damn thing ready for a reading at the Manor tomorrow. Unless you’d rather your already overworked team have yet another will added to their workload.”

Jabbing the red button and tossing her phone aside, Regina turned her attention fully to the three children that stood before her. She took in Edward’s designer suit, sunglasses and trainers. Mariana’s deep V-line silk dress and Bailey’s ripped jeans.

“Well at least one of us didn’t come dressed for a funeral - Your father won’t be buried for another week at least,” Regina sighed and shook her head weakly. “Would it have killed you to venture outside your monochromatic wardrobes? You’ve come dressed as undertakers.”

She sniffed, her analytic gaze lingering on Bailey’s dark circles that framed her inherited father’s leafy green eyes.

“Mariana, fix us all a drink will you? Take the good bourbon from the drinks cabinet,” Regina’s slight hand flicked in the direction of the Pool House bar. She shifted in her seat, nestling into the sofa cushions, Macbook wobbling in her lap.

---

The not quite grief-stricken youngest Blackstone child arrived at the manor much later than anticipated, though not by choice. Her hand, wrapped within Samuel's, was given a slight squeeze of reassurance as the gate opened. Her face was nearly expressionless, the effect of the news having mostly worn off by that point. The driver, someone their mother had sent despite Katherine's insistence she did otherwise, briefly looked back at them through the rear view mirror.

"Forgive me for intruding, Ms. Blackstone, but if I may be blunt, Mrs. Blackstone wasn't expecting additional visitors."

Her body instantly tensed, and her eyes met the man's. That was polite, Blackstone speak for Samuel not being welcomed in this particular family affair. Samuel sensed what was about to be unleashed and he intervened before a less-than-ladylike string of words could pour out of Katherine's mouth.

"That's all right, darling-"

"No, Samuel, you can't afford the time off as it is!" She turned to him with a hushed, but contempt-filled tone. They both knew her frustration was directed at her mother, and so he wrapped his arms around her and brought her close to him as he kissed the side of her head. It worked, Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. He was beyond understanding, and that's what she loved about him. She relished the moment for a little while longer, his warm embrace engulfing her in the love that she's only come to know from him, not her parents. And certainly not her father. "Alright," she whispered, "I'll handle business here and then I'll get back to you. I love you."

The vehicle pulled up just as they kissed goodbye. Not being in any mood whatsoever to be entertained, she opened the door before the driver was able to do so. Katherine left him to fetch her bag from the trunk as she turned, her body leaning against the frame of the opened door. "Don't miss me too much," she added with a smile, a real smile at that.

"I'll try not to." Samuel smiled back.

Katherine decided to break his gaze and get the circus over with. She walked away from the vehicle, the cold breeze practically chilling her bones. She could never keep warm, no matter the layers she threw on. And now, she was even more annoyed she had to make her way to the Pool House as the text from before had instructed. She stared at the yellow tape as she walked by, the entire scene giving off the vibe she was in a movie, a movie Katherine had no interest in, but was left with no choice.

Eventually, the Pool House came into view, and then the four people inside. Katherine subconsciously slowed her pace before the inevitable, but a moment later she made her way inside.

"Apologies for being late," was her one and only form of greeting for her mother and her siblings, not that she meant it in the least bit.

---

Mariana checked out when Bailey came into the conversation, raising a brow at the ripped jeans. She didn’t care either way. The dark haired woman was certainly never close with the youngest child, even in their youth. Mariana would often be stuck watching Bailey at random, and it grew tedious. Especially since she viewed the young girl as her replacement, whether is was true or not.

Smoke fills Marianas lungs and she sighs, blowing it out. The pool house came into view.

She hums, pushing open the door and her eyes fell on her mother. Mariana pauses in her tracks slightly, seeing the older woman on the phone, saying something Mariana didn’t hear over her thoughts. God…she expected to come here and feel…well not this.
Her mother was visibly exhausted. Mariana saw it in her stance, the ever so slight tremor in her hands and the cracked lips. This poor woman just lost her husband and for once in her life since she was a child, Mariana wanted to embrace her mother.

Then she spoke and all of those feelings vanished. “Well at least one of us didn’t come dressed for a funeral - Your father won’t be buried for another week at least,” Regina sighs and Mariana raises a brow, taking the cigarette from her mouth. “Would it have killed you to venture outside your monochromatic wardrobes? You’ve come dressed as undertakers.”

Always such a pleasure.

“Mariana, fix us all a drink will you? Take the good bourbon from the drinks cabinet,” Marianas eyes settle into a more relaxed state, anger shooting through her veins. The fuck was she, the bartender? Not here she wasn’t. Mariana says nothing though, pressing a tight lipped smile to her face, “Death becomes you mother.” She says, her voice not venomous, but something akin. She steps forward, tossing the cigarette on the ground and putting it out with her shoe.

“And goodness, I am deeply sorry we don’t want to dress like we are seeing some indie punk band after this,” she chuckles dryly, walking to the bar and going behind it, taking the glasses and pulling out the bourbon along with vodka and a cherry syrup. She pours the glasses, doing this one kindness before making herself a cherry vodka.

She takes her glasses, sipping it as she leans against the bar.

“Apologies for being late.” Marianas eyes snap to Katherine, pulling out another glass and lazily pouring it. “You’re not.” She says in a simple tone, swirling her glass slightly before giving a half smile, her head tilting. She meant the words in two ways. Katherine wasn’t really late. And she certainly wasn’t sorry.

---

Her head cocked to the side with a brief smile. "It's called being polite, or does the youngest child have to teach her older siblings how to conduct themselves in the wake of such family tragedy?" Katherine let loose some of her sarcasm in response to Mariana's attempt at being a smartass. She walked over to her sister with her arms still crossed at her chest, the black coat she had donned that morning billowing behind her. "Bartending, huh?" She added, giving Mariana a quick up and down before reaching for the glass meant for her. "It suits you. At least you're not leeching off of daddy dearest anymore...presumably, that is.

Katherine took a sip, one longer than anticipated. She wasn't in the mood and they could tell. Out in the distance, she could make out the vehicle taking Samuel back. She missed him already given the company she was left with, and dare she say, she missed him more than her own father whom she would never see again.

Stop it, Katherine! The young woman scolded herself, pushing out such thoughts with another sip, though not as long as the first one. The vodka left quite an aftertaste, though the slight burn was something she did in fact enjoy.

---

“It's called being polite, or does the youngest child have to teach her older siblings how to conduct themselves in the wake of such family tragedy?" Mariana raises an eyebrow, standing up as her tongue presses to the back of her teeth. Conduct themselves?
Good lord, Mariana was really beginning to remember why she wasn’t around this bloodsucking family anymore. Assholes.

Though, Mariana could tell Katherine was just as upset about being here as all of them. The dark haired woman was just apathetic towards it.

“Bartending huh?” Marianas eyes snap back to her sister, her glass paused at her lips. “It suits you. At least you're not leeching off of daddy dearest anymore... presumably, that is.”

Oh what the hell. Mariana moves her glass away from her mouth, smiling slightly, her jaw set. “Just because you think you did something with your little job in the family business, doesn’t mean you are any better than us.” She sets down her glass and braces her hands on the bar, leaning forward as she makes a small “tch” sound, “You were…are, just as much a leech as any one of us.” She whispers, her voice low before she stands straight again, taking her drink and going to sit down, her eyes surveying the family.

It was fine. This was fine. All she needed to do was get through this, the Will reading, and the funeral, then she was gone.

"Apologies for being late."

Regina’s youngest daughter, Anthony’s apparent favourite, was the last to arrive. She was bundled up in a black coat and her expressions were clouded with something adjacent to sadness. Regina’s eyes lingered on Katherine’s, her daughter’s hollowed gaze a trapdoor to the emotions she wouldn’t express. The siblings jumped straight into their usual routine; Verbal fencing, their tongues épées wielded with practiced unforgivingness. She placed her Macbook on the coffee table, lifting her hands to massage her temples. Regina’s fingers made slow, pressurised circles either side of her head, eyelids fluttering shut as she allowed the children to jab at one another over the bar. Like a mother lion, Regina had always allowed the cubs to play fight to establish the pecking order. Like the animal kingdom, family politics was full of power struggles and the Blackstone children were no different. They’d been this way since they were no higher than Regina’s knees. The Au Pairs were always complaining that they struggled to control and corral the kids when they were in this mood. What they didn’t understand was that it was a necessary evil in this family. So much was built on the wrestle for the top spot and it fluctuated between each of them.

As Regina’s cool gaze raked over the room, each of her children all in one place at one time, she wondered when they’d last all shared the same air for this long. Without the purpose of a Birthday or Christmas or Charity Fundraiser, the Blackstone family rarely congregated. They weren’t close. But here they were, reunited.

Letting out a long, deliberate sigh, Regina rose to her feet. She glided across the Pool House to the bar where Mariana and Katherine were having their face-off, each of them fixed with a facetious smile that promised this was far from done. Regina cleared her throat pointedly, shooting them both a scolding glare. Wordlessly, she took the glass of good bourbon and raised the glass to her chapped, tired lips. The cool liquor traversed her jugular, warming everything it touched. A thankful sigh of relief left her body, enjoying the way the bourbon alleviated the weight of grief that pressed down on her chest. The glass was drained in moments and she daintily returned the glass to the bartop, nodding at Mariana to pour her another.

“Well, children-” Regina raised her voice to address the room, forcing the semblance of strength and nonchalance in the face of this family tragedy. “If you’re all quite finished with your bickering, shall I elaborate a little more on why we have the pleasure of one another’s company?”

The newly-widowed woman’s eyes lowered, looking to the ground as she struggled to find the words to string together. So small in this open plan room, Regina’s slight form was starkly contrasted to her children’s stature inherited from their father. She looked small. Fragile. Weakened. So juxtaposed to her usual potency. When it came to public announcements, speeches or addressing a room full of aristocrats, Regina always took to the podium over Anthony. She was the eloquent one, the palatable speaker. Artful in her vernacular, she never offended nor overstepped. Her upperclass upbringing trained her perfectly for the life of a trophy wife; She knew exactly how to take control of a room with narrative. But in the Pool House? With no one but her children staring back at her expectantly? Regina struggled to piece together the puzzle of a sentence. Another deep swig of bourbon stirred her, giving her the liquid courage to continue. Consciously smoothing her expression to neutrality, pursing her lips and lifting her chin defiantly, Regina began.

“As you all know, a few days ago I found your father…” The word felt fat, thick with the efforts of her lips forming the truth. “… I found your father dead in our bed.” An unsteady breath, inhaled through her nose, made Regina’s chest rise and she took another long sip of bourbon. “At first, paramedics assumed some kind of cardiac arrest. A haemorrhage maybe. They believed he’d died somewhat peacefully in his sleep-“

At this, she took a moment to look at each of her children. With suspicion rising around Anthony’s death, she realised in that moment that the familiar eyes staring back at her were potentially the eyes of Anthony’s killer. It was a chilling prospect. Too much to bear. Detective Russel had eluded to some further evidence needing to be gathered before the investigation was officially launched. The police team were securing the Manor, scouring it for evidence and forensics that may aid them in processing the investigation in its early stages. She’d had to withhold her protests, realising her lack of cooperation with the police would be perceived as suspicious. But now, retelling the story, Regina wondered if her husband’s murderer was closer than she thought.

“The police are saying, after their medical experts reassessed the scene, that your father was actually murdered…” She shivered at the thought, images plaguing her mind. “Asphyxiation is the conclusion so far but the post mortem will reveal more details. They’re not sure how long this will take but in the meantime, we need to prepare ourselves.”

Regina began slowly pacing the Pool House, taking slow steps around the circumference of the room whilst sizing up her children as she struggled to read their reactions. She spoke with one hand gestating, the other gripping the glass of bourbon that was fast disappearing.

“Your fathers death is bound to be in the press by tomorrow. I’ve managed to keep it out of the public eye thus far, give us some privacy as a family, but my lucks about to run out. The leeches can only stay away for so long before a good story brings them out of the woodwork. The vultures will descend and when they do, I want us ready.”

Public perception was a force Regina was accustomed to wielding. She’d damage-controlled the Blackstone name for years, palming Journalists payouts and hiring the best PR teams to generate a narrative that kept the family in public favour as much as possible. Granted, the Blackstone’s reputation was a murky one. Anthony’s recent endeavours meant it had been nearly impossible to keep a squeaky clean visage. It had been the root to many an argument between them, Regina forever trying to prevent “Blackstone” from becoming a sullied name not to be trusted. Anthony’s death was a nuclear bomb, bound to expose secrets. But if Regina had anything to do with it, they’d be prying family secrets from her cold, hard hands.

“Katherine, I want you to deploy close-protection security to each of us. If Anthony’s murder is as suspicious as the police say, none of us are safe,” Regina’s words were clear, concise. Despite the inner turmoil that whirlpooled in the pit of her stomach, she spoke with the authority of a true Head of Family. “The Will reading is tomorrow. You all need to be there. Not that I think you’d miss the opportunity to hear first-hand what small fortune you’re each inheriting… Ryland will be distributing the estate and assets. Funeral arrangements are being made. It’ll be on Friday next week, providing they release your Father’s body in the next couple days…”

Regina paused for thought, levelling each of the children with her signature challenging gaze. She’d managed to speak with no real interruptions, much to her surprise. And as she took a moment to allow her words to sink in, to land with her children, she awaited their responses.

---

Mariana raises a brow at her mother clearing her throat but says nothing, feeling it to not be worth arguing at the present moment. She settles into her seat, her eyes following her mothers hand to top her off.
Hell no, she poured a glass. That was her kindness. That was it.
Marianas thoughts drifted off, thinking of something, anything to take her away from the present moment before she is pulled back by her mothers words.

“… I found your father dead in our bed.” Mariana takes herself from her unruly and never ending train of thought, her eyes finding her mother. “At first, paramedics assumed some kind of cardiac arrest. A hemorrhage maybe. They believed he’d died somewhat peacefully in his sleep-“ A small sighs leaves the woman, her eyebrows furrowed and yet her eyes softened. To have to see that…someone you loved dead…

“The police are saying, after their medical experts reassessed the scene, that your father was actually murdered…” Mariana freezes, her breath hitching, her sympathetic gaze gone. Murdered. Murder. The word rang disgustingly clear in her ears. She expected it in all honesty. But…to actually hear it spoken so plain…

“Asphyxiation is the conclusion so far but the post mortem will reveal more details. They’re not sure how long this will take but in the meantime, we need to prepare ourselves.”
Prepare themselves. She was a suspect. She would never be free from this family, never.

“-It out of the public eye thus far, give us some privacy as a family, but my lucks about to run out.” Mariana snaps back to attention, her eyes on her mother, and for the first time, her emotions are on her sleeve, her eyes wide, like a porcelain doll frozen in fear, or a deer caught in a trap.

“The leeches can only stay away for so long before a good story brings them out of the woodwork. The vultures will descend and when they do, I want us ready.” Ready? Ready for what? For the public to begin to speculate? Judge as they always have, but now being given a reason they can cling to.

“Katherine, I want you to deploy close-protection security to each of us. If Anthony’s murder is as suspicious as the police say, none of us are safe,” Mariana felt blood rush in her ears with each word, reality setting harder.
“The Will reading is tomorrow. You all need to be there. Not that I think you’d miss the opportunity to hear first-hand what small fortune you’re each inheriting… Ryland will be distributing the estate and assets. Funeral arrangements are being made. It’ll be on Friday next week, providing they release your Father’s body in the next couple days…”

Mariana felt sick. She had accepted the death. She hadn’t really cared much about it until now. At least, that is what she told herself. But this was too much. It was too real. She exhaled sharply, standing, her drink set down now as the dark haired woman surveys the room. Her family. Killers. Bloodsuckers. Cruel bastards, and she was no better.

Mariana leaves the pool house, grabbing her purse and pulling her phone out, sending a fast message to Benoit to bring the car around.

Tears unwillingly burn her eyes as she exhaled sharply, waiting for the dark vehicle to take her away from this cursed place.

"Well, children, if you're all quite finished with your bickering, shall I elaborate a little more on why we have the pleasure of one another's company?"

Edward stifled a chuckle with a sharp exhalation, taking his place near a window that gave way to a cloudy sky. His sisters, as was typical, were at each other's throats in the subtlest of ways, something he learned to tune out when he was younger. It was annoying, always hearing the family bicker.

"As you all know, a few days ago I found your father... I found your father dead in our bed. At first, paramedics assumed some kind of cardiac arrest. A hemorrhage, maybe. They believed he'd died somewhat peacefully in his sleep."

Already, he knew the paramedics were mistaken, or perhaps he wished them to be. Edward couldn't remember a time where he didn't wish his father was plagued with nightmares. For all the good Anthony supposedly did in the world, his son knew it was to keep up an image. Real life was often worse.

"The police are saying, after their medical experts reassessed the scene, that your father was actually murdered. Asphyxiation is the conclusion so far, but the postmortem will reveal more details. They're not sure how long this will take but in the meantime, we need to prepare ourselves."

Prepare for what, Edward wondered. To protect our reputation? Why? We have more money than the world knows what to do with. We can literally buy silence.

If people were cagey with being questioned, then they had something to hide, he figured. There was nothing Edward felt needed to be kept secret. If there was a murder, he'd be an open book on when and where he'd been. The clubs could vouch for him, and the women he'd brought back to his bed—even if they hated the way he casually paid them the next morning—would attest to his escapades between the sheets. Edward's thoughts turned to the next time he'd be away from this place, his eyes casually following his mother as she slowly paced around the pool house.

"Your father's death is bound to be in the press by tomorrow. I've managed to keep it out of the public eye thus far, give us some privacy as a family, but my luck's about to run out. The leeches can only stay away for so long before a good story brings them out of the woodwork. The vultures will descend and when they do, I want us ready. Katherine, I want you to deploy close-protection security to each of us. If Anthony's murder is as suspicious as the police say, none of us are safe."

None of us are safe. After all these years, what an ironic thing to say.

"The will reading is tomorrow. You all need to be there. Not that I think you'd miss the opportunity to hear first-hand what small fortune you're each inheriting. Ryland will be distributing the estate and assets. Funeral arrangements are being made. It'll be on Friday next week, providing they release your father's body in the next couple days."

There was a certain tone in his mother's voice that pinched a nerve. She was clearly on the attack, trying to do damage control. Underneath her words, he could hear how the tears she shed tinged every formant and pitch, and it was this that dug at him. Edward knew for a fact that none of those tears were realistically for her now-dead husband. No—instead, they were for the very possibility that their lives were going to collapse around them, that none of what transpired across the years would remained unburied, as it would ruin the family's good—good?—name. Edward's eyes darted over to the window, watching the backyard and the pool in particular. In the midst of the speech, he briefly daydreamed being younger, yet still having the wherewithal to...

"So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Edward asked, stepping away from the window and rejoining the family. At the same time, he took notice of Mariana, who had suddenly become visibly distraught and reached for her phone as she immediately left the pool house. It was an odd behavior, one that could betray two possible causes. Regardless—"Are we staying here, booking a hotel, what? If the detectives are going to be grilling us about Father's death, I assume we're not going far."