Alexander

"I'm sure she's safe, wherever she is." Reginald squeezed my shoulder.

"I hope so." I said looking directly at the exit of the airport. As if on cue, a black car pulled up and the driver came out to assist putting my things in the trunk.

"I'm sure you're tired from your trip, I'll wake you up when we get home." I nodded and gave a smile as I went inside the car. A few minutes after, sleep has already claimed me.

I woke to Reggie's call. We were already in front of the mansion. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I opened the door and looked at the estate. The mansion was more than just an estate-it was a legacy, a fortress of old money and whispered power passed down through generations.

Built by my great-great-grandfather, a steel magnate who had shaped my family's legacy with a single signature, the château had stood untouched by time, its towering presence a testament to the family's enduring influence. Inside, marble floors carried the quiet echoes of past footsteps-deals struck in the study over aged whiskey, lovers' trysts hidden behind silk-draped parlors, and the ghost of my mother's laughter, now just a memory trapped within gilded walls. The grand staircase, its mahogany railing worn smooth by decades of hands, curved toward the upper floors, where rooms remained frozen in time-portraits of our ancestors watching with knowing eyes, their presence as suffocating as the weight of expectation.

I had grown up beneath these chandeliers, playing hide-and-seek with my twin sister behind velvet curtains, listening to the hushed conversations of men and women who shaped the business world while sipping from crystal glasses. But wealth came with a price-a gilded cage masquerading as a home, where appearances were everything, and rebellion was met with cold stares and quiet correction-something my sister dabbled on and lived for.

Outside, the gardens stretched like something out of a fairytale, trimmed hedges and cascading fountains hiding the fact that me and twin had once dreamed of running. But no one truly left a house like this. The walls held onto their own, and the gates, though open, had never truly let anyone go-apart from myself years ago and now, so did my twin. I went inside, the distinct smell of opulence and influence overwhelmed my senses instantaneously.

"Welcome home," Reggie tried to sound enthusiastic but he knows how I felt about these place and all its corners. I saw the maids carrying my luggage up the double side staircase and went to the west wing where my old bedroom was. "Your grandfather is in his study, do you wish to meet with him right now?" I thought about it and decided to might as well do it before I rest.

"And grandmother?" I asked. He gave a small smile,

"She's with him, as always." I smiled. "Do you need anything of me Alexander before I let you go?" I shook my head gently and grave Reggie a gentle hug. "Just so you know, it's good to have you back. Since you and now your sister left, this place is as dull as it gets." I laughed.

"Careful Reggie or they-" I pointed to the row of images of my ancestor on displayed on the wall. "Might just haunt you in your sleep." He laughed and went on his way. I ascended the staircase. Crafted to perfection, a sweeping curve of polished wood that commanded the estate's entrance as if a welcome by royalty itself.

I went to the opposite wing of my bedroom was located and stopped in front of an ornate double door made from mahogany. I knocked three times and waited for my grandfather's voice to command me to go inside. As soon as I heard him speak the door opened in an instant and was greeted by my grandmother who flashed me her biggest smile, pulled me in the room and wrapped me in the most warm hug I ever had for God knows how long.

"My dear boy," my grandmother cooed. She placed a kiss on my cheek and a laughter bubbled out of my mouth. "Nice to see you too grandmother," I said in between chuckle.  He warm and radiating presence very much reminds me of my late mother. I always thought this is where my sister got hers. That welcoming presence, like the sun rising up the horizon, giving warmth to everything its light touches. A signal for a new day. A new hope. "How was your flight?"

"Tiring but I made it." I said shrugging my shoulders.

"I told you just to use the family's plane." I groaned.

"Grandmother, you know that's just too much."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed and waiving a dismissive hand. "You could have taken the easier way instead of feeling like a ghost of yourself." I gave her a smile.

"Grandmother, I will live. I will just have to sleep this off." She sighed in defeat.

"Oh you and your morals. Your mother indeed engraved humility in you a-little too much. You really are Amelia's son." I smiled.

"I'll take that a compliment." I held her hand, intertwined my fingers with hers as we approached my grandfather whose back turned from us, gazing from the window in front of him, looking over the garden behind the mansion.

"Henry, aren't you going to greet your own grandson? You've been staring outside that bloody window for too long." My grandmother reprimanded. I saw my grandfather look over his shoulder briefly before facing us.

Just like this mansion, my grandfather has not been touched by time itself-as if he found the answer to stop the aging process. Henry Pearce Kensington, was a man who carried the weight of his family's legacy like a crown of iron-unyielding, cold, and absolute. He was the kind of man whose mere presence could silence a room, his sharp gaze capable of reducing even the most confident men to uneasy silence.

His suit was always impeccable, pressed to perfection, his silver hair neatly combed back, a stark contrast to the deep-set lines that carved into his face, not from laughter, but from a lifetime of control and calculation.

He spoke in measured tones, never raising his voice-he never had to. Disappointment was wielded more cruelly than anger, and his words were like finely honed blades, cutting straight to the bone. He valued discipline above all else, viewing emotions as weaknesses and indulgences as distractions. To him, love was conditional-earned through obedience, respect measured in achievements, and failure met with quiet, withering scorn. grandfather's presence loomed over my childhood like an unshakable shadow, his expectations suffocating, his approval a rare and distant prize.

He believed in duty, in sacrifice, in tradition. And above all, he believed that the Kensington name was not just wealth, but an empire-and an empire did not bend for anyone. And despite that, my twin sister was able to dodge the wrath of the man who's remained still in front of us. How did she do it? I would want to know. But if she is to return from her escapade, she will feel is anger in full force-something I never wanted to experience. I'd rather shot myself instead than go through with that. I wasn't exaggerating either.

"Alexander, it's good that you complied."

Complied.