Threads Of Fate (Being Revamped)

Secrets in the Shadows

The sun had barely crept above the skyline, draping the streets in a thin veil of gold as Anthony and Zenith stepped into the Attenborough manor. The air inside felt heavy, carrying the scent of dust and age. Zenith moved ahead with a familiarity that should have unsettled Anthony, her fingertips grazing the grimy banister and then drifting to the thick white curtains along the hall. They left faint streaks on her fingers—dust caked so deeply it nearly matched the faded blue of the walls, walls that had once been rich and bright.

Her sharp brown eyes flicked back to catch Anthony watching her as though she were a puzzle with missing pieces.

"I'm not playing them," she said firmly, all trace of amusement gone from her voice. "I actually do want to help."

Anthony's lips pressed into a thin line. His stance was rigid, guarded—exactly what she'd expected. Trust did not come easy to him, and certainly not to her.

She continued down the corridor, her gaze running over every peeling edge and worn detail of the house, confusion knitting in her brow. "What happened here? This place used to be... grand. Now it looks like it's been left to rot."

"I don't know," Anthony admitted, his frown deepening. "I noticed the manor wasn't up to its usual standards, but with everything going on, I didn't ask questions."

"Is Edward in financial trouble?" Zenith asked after a beat. "Is that why he threw Anya to that beast?"

Anthony didn't answer. His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffened—tiny shifts that she could read as easily as a marked card at a gaming table.

Her lips curved slightly. "You're in love with her."

His brows shot up before dipping into a scowl. "No."

"You're not in love with Anya?" she teased, smirk creeping back into place.

"I'm not doing this with you," he growled. "You are not my friend, or someone I trust. So forgive me if I'm not inclined to share my private life with a thief." His green eyes glinted with sharp warning.

Zenith only nodded, as though his answer was confirmation enough. "So you are in love with her."

Before he could spit back a retort, she had already strode to the far end of the hallway and pushed open the wide kitchen door. Her steps slowed. What had once been the bustling, beautiful heart of the manor now lay cold and colourless. Dust cloaked the counters, chairs sat unaligned, the air carried the dry taste of disuse. Only the stove and sink looked touched in weeks.

Behind her, Anthony trailed in, running a hand across the counter. Dust collected thickly at his fingertips.

"Weren't you staying here for a few days?" she asked, nudging a spiderweb in the corner with her boot.

"I was," Anthony replied. "But Edward used to bring us our meals himself—said the maid had a bad knee. The guest bedroom and parlour were spotless, so I didn't think about it. Given what you've pointed out... it's strange."

Zenith raised an eyebrow. "Strange enough to tie into the Duke's threats?"

Anthony's frown deepened. "Maybe. The Duke claimed he could send Edward to prison for tax evasion. I thought he was bluffing, fabricating evidence, but... maybe not."

Zenith didn't answer. Instead, she sighed and moved to the shelves with an ease that told Anthony she knew exactly where everything was. She plucked down a kettle, filled it, and set it to boil. Tea leaves followed—measured carefully by a steady hand.

"You like your tea dark, I suppose," she said over her shoulder.

"Yes," Anthony replied.

"I could guess." A soft chuckle escaped her. "And relax. I'm not going to poison you."