The Threads Of Deceit

Chapter Four: Strings of the Past

Morning broke, bringing a cold light that crept through the cracks of the curtains, but Lucas had not slept. His eyes were red-rimmed, his body stiff from the restless hours spent grappling with the turmoil of his mind. Next to him, Vivian stirred, stretching like a cat. She glanced at Lucas with a sleepy smile, unaware of—or indifferent to—the battle that had raged within him all night.

“Good morning,” she purred, her voice soft but commanding.

Lucas merely nodded, getting out of bed without a word. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, not after the night’s revelations. As he moved to the en-suite bathroom, he felt her eyes on him, predatory and watchful. The sensation of being observed, controlled even in his most private moments, clawed at him. But it was a feeling he had long since become accustomed to.

Inside the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection. The man who stared back seemed like a stranger—cold, lifeless, a hollow shell of what he could have been. Vivian had stolen his soul, piece by piece, over the years. It wasn’t just her dominance, but her manipulation, her ability to twist his every thought, his every desire, until they aligned with her own.

A flash of memory hit him: he was fourteen, already skilled in the art of deception, thanks to Vivian’s meticulous teachings. She had brought him along to one of her many “gatherings,” a place where the rich flaunted their wealth and art.

Vivian had coached him carefully, explaining which guests were to be manipulated, how to charm them into purchasing her forgeries. She had moulded him into a perfect reflection of her own greed and ambition.

At the time, he had been proud of his newfound abilities, eager to prove his worth to the woman who had saved him from the streets.

But now, standing in the cold light of morning, he saw it for what it truly was: the theft of his innocence.

Downstairs, Ellie was already awake, moving quietly through the house. The staff adored her, and she had found herself naturally slipping into the role of caregiver. This morning, as usual, she prepared breakfast for the younger servants, ensuring they were fed before their daily chores.
Lizzy, the youngest of the staff, was bouncing with energy, her cheeks flushed with excitement as Ellie placed a plate of warm bread and eggs in front of her.

“Thank you, Miss Ellie!” Lizzy beamed, her enthusiasm infectious.

Ellie smiled back, patting the girl’s shoulder. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Eat up, okay? You’ve got a big day ahead.”

As the others chatted around the table, Ellie watched them with a gentle satisfaction. This was her world, filled with warmth, simplicity, and the kind of quiet kindness that made the harshness of her surroundings bearable. She never questioned her place here, nor did she resent it. For Ellie, life was about the little moments of connection, the simple joys that made everything else seem insignificant.

As Ellie continued preparing breakfast, her focus shifted to the dining room, where the clinking of plates and the gentle hum of the staff's morning chatter filled the air. Lizzy helped her lay out the final dishes on the table, her small hands eager to assist.

"You're doing a great job, Lizzy," Ellie said with an encouraging smile.

Before Lizzy could respond, the door opened, and Lucas entered the room, followed closely by Vivian. The atmosphere instantly shifted. The lighthearted energy that filled the kitchen seemed to drain out, replaced by the cold tension that always accompanied them.

Lucas walked with his usual brisk pace, his gaze distant and unbothered by anyone in the room. His presence was imposing, his tall frame exuding an air of detachment, while Vivian followed, her eyes sharp and calculating. She wore her usual façade of elegance and control, but the coldness between them was impossible to ignore.
Ellie caught a glimpse of Lucas’s expression as he sat at the head of the table—stoic and unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed a sense of exhaustion. His bruised knuckles from the night before were still visible, but he didn’t seem to care. He barely acknowledged the breakfast spread in front of him, much less anyone in the room.