George Westley had left a very impactful legacy. His wealth, his infamy, and the marks he’d left on society remained, but I believed that the people he had left behind were the ones that needed the most recognition.

He’d had several wives, and he’d divorced multiple times. And, with those many wives came lots of children. Ten, in fact. The first, as one could guess already, was the eldest of them all, Alexander Westley.

When I saw him for the first time, I hadn’t thought he looked like his father at all. He must’ve resembled his mother, who I knew was no longer alive.

There was a sense that Alexander knew of his duty, and of his upcoming responsibilities. No one else, it felt, could carry on the entire legacy of Westley except him.

The family was also known to share distinct characteristics, along with their infamous eye color, all similar variations of Westley blue. The velvety, almost navy, brand color of the entire family.

According to my short research, Lynn Faraway, Christopher E. Laice, as well as their elder brother, Alexander Westley, all appeared to be close in resemblance to one another, even when all three had different mothers.

As for Modiano, I hardly knew of that family. They were much older than Westley, so old that no one spoke of them anymore, like a myth . . . the opposite of Westley, and yet they supposedly matched well together.

Westley had blue eyes, whereas Modiano had green ones. I’d heard it was best not to trust either of them. The people who had warned me were quite possibly correct with their statements. The house had once belonged to the Modiano family, and was now under the care of Westley. I had no idea as to why that situation had happened, but I was curious to know. I seriously wanted to know how we had ended up trapped in their own home, for goodness sake.

Did Modiano also have a hand in building the school? Or was it all just Westley? Who’s fault was this exactly?

If I wanted to find out, I had to ask someone from those families. It wasn’t going to be hard. All I had to do was look into the eyes of every guest. Did they have green eyes, or blue? Or even grey?

I tried not to stagger. It was impossible to stand, and to look upon the people who had partly gotten me there. I could not yet say that it was their fault. I had no idea what the situation was really like, except that there was indeed someone messing with us, and that . . . Alexander and Bell were anxious enough to make me believe that the emotions they were expressing were not entirely lies.

The panic one felt under certain extreme circumstances, especially ones involving death, was all very real and frightening at that moment. I couldn’t help but stay motionless, hyper-aware of all that was happening. I had no time to tremble anymore, no time to have a rational thought. My mind was running a mile a minute, processing all the information I could gather and remember. I was amid strangers, strangers that I’d only known through the papers, strangers that I could only recognize by eye-color.

There was something up there, in the house that was watching me. I could feel it slowly approaching me, like I was some sort of prey. I was scared, and I was angry that I had let this happen. I could’ve avoided it.

And now, to get through it, I had to understand.

I had to begin.

“A-Alexander . . .” I called to him. He hadn’t lifted his head up. It was troubling seeing the famous heir with his head hanging low, like he’d been stripped of his power.

When he viewed me, his brow arched. Time had passed, we had breathed for long enough in silence. It was the perfect time to ask questions.

As Bell wiped at his face, to flick away the oncoming tears, he grabbed his older cousin by the shoulder and pulled him, “Alexander—” He said, more forcefully than I expected.

Bell must have seen the suspicion in his eyes. I would’ve been suspicious too if a stranger had entered my home during such a difficult time.

I had to introduce myself, but I could not fully give away my real identity. With what had occurred, it would’ve been foolish to reveal who I really was. I didn’t trust them, and they sure as hell were not going to trust me.

Reverting back to my original assignment, I fisted my hands until I could feel my nails digging into my skin. I had to get out of there somehow, therefore I had to play along. I had to go back to what I’d planned from the start, otherwise I would crumble from the pressure of what had just been presented to me, and to us.

I really needed to follow a plan. Or else . . .

My eyes went to the speakers again, “Who the hell was that?”

The two Westley men said nothing. From their serious stares, I concluded once more that they had no idea either. Alexander had faltered, and sent me a look that screamed he had no time to even guess. He had better things to do. I would too if I had a whole empire to run.

Bell tugged at his cousin’s jacket. I’d almost forgotten it was a uniform. It appeared to be old, though. Old-fashioned, from twenty or so years ago, before the second war had started.

“Who are you?” Alexander asked. His voice had changed from that strained whisper I’d first heard.

I had no choice but to answer him, “John.” I replied. “John W. Michael. I’m the assistant of your cousin, Riley Ledders, of Ledders Publishing House.”

They continued to stare at me.

And so I went on with my explanation, “He could not make it, thus he sent me in his place and now . . .”

“Now you are trapped here with us.” Bell said, with guilt in his tone. His face distorted in bewilderment. “And I brought you here.”

“No—” I tried, but Alexander cut in.

His steely gaze was enough to make me stay where I was, locked in place. It wasn’t exactly the situation for me to have such thoughts, but I couldn’t help but think that this man was very protective of his family.

The heir asked me, “Do you have proof?”

I did. The lady had given me enough documents from her publishing house for me to look over as I pretended to play my part as the assistant. I hadn’t thought I would need them.

“You can check my luggage, sir. I have my documents there.” I said with ease. It was easier to lie to him when I felt more scared by the voice in the speakers. “I doubt Mr. Ledders could send a letter confirming my arrival, what with all of this—” I stopped. I couldn’t make them more agitated.

He stared at me intently for a few seconds. It felt like minutes.

What could I do? What could I say to make them fully believe that I wasn’t the enemy? I really wasn’t. I was someone who was looking for . . .

“Jack Ledders.” I remembered. “Is he okay? I recall his mother was searching desperately for him.”

“You know of Jack,” Alexander said. His cold eyes softened at that.

“Yes, I do.” I assured them. 

There had to be something else that I could say, to convince them, otherwise I wasn’t sure what they would do with me. I didn’t want to be thrown out, to deal with those so-called ‘gate-keepers’. Would they . . . kill me?

I swallowed down that thought before I could begin to shake. I didn’t want the voice to return. I needed time to recuperate.

It had left us very threatening messages, and had made claims that were unbelievable. Would I be dressed up in a school uniform as well, to play the part of a student?

Christopher, Lynn, Alexander, and the other name that the voice had said—I’d forgotten it. I only could recall those three because they were the eldest heirs. Apparently, they had to assign roommates.

If I managed to secure a place amid those rooms, then I could navigate my way out of the mansion, on my own. I had no part in the murder of George Westley. I wouldn’t get paid for it even if I stayed behind to help them.

I only had to find Jack Ledders, to tell his mother that he was fine.

Damn, I hoped he was still alive.

Shifting back to grab my luggage from the corner, I could tell Alexander was keeping an eye on me. To be honest, it made me want to run away, to hide from everyone.

It’d be a while until I found solitude, though. I could feel it in my bones. I wouldn’t be able to escape any eyes in the mansion. There were, quite literally, people in the walls, watching our every move.

Imagining it sent shivers down my body. This would leave a mark on me forever. I didn’t think it was possible to get over such a thought.

Fidgeting with my luggage, I waited as Bell and Alexander discussed amongst themselves. They were at the staircase, while I was near the tables closer towards the foyer entrance. The scent of burnt flowers was growing stronger by the second, and it got so pungent that I had to block my nose. I felt like I had to sneeze.

It wasn’t like perfume, it was literally like someone had burned incense in some dark place, and was now letting it roam throughout the rooms. I’d only smelled something similar to that scent in church, but this was distinctly different.

Lavender, lilacs, plumeria, larkspurs—a combination of flowers.

I scratched at my nose, wondering if maybe I had accidentally brushed my arms against any sort of greenery when I’d been walking outside with Bell, but no scent remained on my hands.

Upon first arrival, I’d noticed how powerfully present flowers were in the house. On each table, a bouquet was placed. They were wilting as each day passed, without servants to replace them.

The house was lonely, and it was in trouble. The guests had become prisoners, and there was no way of calling for help. Judging by the lack of visitors, it was probably going to be days or even weeks until help could finally be reached.

I’d have to stay there, until the scent of lavender became too unbearable to—

I sneezed. It was inevitable. The burning smell was so close.

My eyes grew wide as I understood why, “Oh.”

When I turned, I found someone standing behind me.

Of course.

The tall man made me jump. And if he hadn’t been wearing the school uniform that Alexander was currently wearing, then I would’ve assumed he was that voice.

Was he?

Unlike the blue eyes I’d seen so far, this stranger had green ones. “What are you really doing here?” He said, hushed.  

The way he said it made me hesitant. He didn’t sound suspicious of me. He sounded . . . curious. Genuinely curious.

My mouth opened, and then closed, and then opened. I had no idea where to look or what to say. Alexander had been suspicious, Bell had been frightened and guilty, and this man was—he was calm.

“I-I . . .” I stuttered, in a quiet tone, similar to his.

He was the source of that overwhelming scent. The flowery aroma that filled the house.

“Are you frightened?” The stranger replied softly. He had a light voice, airy. Not quite like the person in the speakers. “I’m—”

“Yora.” Alexander called.

I eyed them both as Alexander came over to the man. It was true, they were wearing the same uniform, except the taller man was wearing leather gloves. Around his neck there was even a smog mask, ready to use. He stood a fair distance from me, as if approaching me was dangerous.

Well, it technically was.

His uniform was pristine, without a speck of dust, and he had his gloved hands in his pockets, brown curled hair almost reaching his shoulders. “Relax.” He told Alexander, when he saw the heir stiffen near me. The man named Yora flicked his gaze to my luggage. “This guest is like a scared mouse right now, so if you want, I can make him my own personal vice-warden for my dorm.” He kept our eyes locked.

“Why would you volunteer for that?” Alexander questioned. He wasn’t afraid of the stranger. I wanted to applaud him for that.

The green-eyed man responded, “Because I know who he is.”

I became completely frozen.

He . . .

The stranger walked past me. The smell of burnt flowers lingered. “He is John W. Michael.” He had heard us from earlier. Had he been in the dark, listening to us the entire time? “I’d seen him in the Ledders offices in the past. When I visited Riley a few months back.”

He was lying. This man was lying for me.

Holding his chin in thought, my eyes automatically fell to those leather gloves of his. No one else was wearing them but him. “I’m familiar with him, so I won’t feel uncomfortable sharing my bed with him.” He went on.

My brows furrowed. “You—”

“Yora.” Alexander said. “Are you sure?”

The man named Yora shrugged at the heir. “Why wouldn’t I be?” When he turned back to see me, he didn’t bother to outstretch his hand to shake mine. “Right, John?” He asked. “If you want to start this with a greeting, then let me entertain you with the proper formalities—” His head fell, bowing low, “I am Yora. Yora Linda. Second heir to the cigarette empire, Modiano. It is a pleasure to see you again after such a long time.”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

First the voice in the speakers, and now this man—

Yora Linda . . . Modiano?

That explained the burnt smell of flowers. It was his product.

But why was he trying to mess with me of all people? Was he saving me from my predicament? Did he pity me?

Our eyes met, and it didn’t take me long to see that he was doing all of this because he simply wanted to. I felt no suspicion from him. He really didn’t think anything of me, or . . . perhaps he did not care enough. So, why help me?

He must’ve had another objective. I was partly indebted to him. He gave my fake persona some credible evidence to Alexander.

I could deny him, but what good would that do?

“I’ll be your vice-warden, then.” I replied. There was nothing else I could say. “If you’ll have me.”

The man, Yora, nodded. It was hard to meet his eyes. I hadn’t ever seen such a distinct, sickly green hue.

Alexander exhaled, and ran his fingers through his hair. When he left to lean on the stairway railing, Bell went after him. Our words had been enough to convince him, for now.

Yora, was the only one who stayed with me. Despite his first impression, when I believed he hardly cared, there was a hint that he was just as aggravated as the rest of them.

Eyeing his gloves, my eyes shot up when he spoke, “Science.” He said, referring to the assigned dorms. “Are you any good at it?”

I glared. Between the voice in the speakers, and with me arriving at the house unannounced, that was the only question he could ask me?

Managing to look into his eyes again, I held my luggage close to my chest and muttered below my breath, “What are you playing at?”

He looked down at me, lips upturned but without feeling. In the dim lighting of the house, it was hard to make out the lines in his face. It didn’t help me determine whether he was trustful or not. I was afraid I wouldn’t trust anyone, especially not with a murderer walking around the place.

It very well could have been him.

“I’m playing to survive.” He answered.

The mask, his careful distance, and the gloves made me think that he was wary of contamination. I was fine with that.

If all of us could keep a good distance away from each other, then that’d be the best thing.

I stepped back, feeling that same fear I’d had moments ago. It was a different fear. A fear of something that I had yet to experience. It made me scared of the future.

It made me scared of him.

But only time would tell.

With time, everything would be told . . .

Hopefully.