Shadows of The Past

The air in Carlisle House always felt heavy, but today it was suffocating. I stood in the foyer, hands wringing my apron, waiting. I'd known she was coming—the kind of knowledge that sits cold in your gut—but knowing never made it easier.

The door swung open, and my mother swept in like a gust of winter wind: elegant, sharp, and cold. Eleanor Deveraux never just entered a room; she overtook it, conquering everything and everyone inside. I hated how my stomach tightened at the sight of her, how a lifetime of her expectations clawed their way up my throat.

"Olivia." She said my name like an obligation. No warmth, just precision. She gave me a once-over, her lips pursing slightly, disapproving even without saying it. "You're looking… well."

I forced my mouth into a tight line. "What are you doing here, Mother?"

She clicked her tongue, her gloved fingers brushing imaginary dust from her coat. "We need to talk. Your father and I are working through things."

A bitter laugh escaped me, sharp and unplanned. "Working through things?" My voice cracked under the weight of years of frustration. "You mean ruining my life?"

Eleanor's expression didn't waver. It never did. "Oh, Livy, you're being dramatic. You'll thank us eventually."

I crossed my arms tight over my chest, grounding myself. "Thank you? For what? Destroying any chance I had at a life with Nathan? For forcing me out of the only place I wanted to be? Or was that just an added bonus?"

Her gaze drifted lazily over the marble floors and high ceilings, as if my anger was too petty to acknowledge. "Marrying for love," she said with the same tone she used to scold a child, "is for fools."

There it was. Eleanor Deveraux's gospel, neatly delivered and stamped into my bones. "Right," I muttered, throat tight. "How could I forget? Love is irrelevant."

She gave a soft, satisfied hum, like I was finally catching on. "Your father and I have… arrangements, as do all couples of our standing. Lovers come and go. We maintain appearances. A divorce, Olivia, would be… unsightly."

My stomach churned. "Appearances," I repeated bitterly. "That's what matters."

She shrugged with an elegance I could never replicate. "Of course. What else is there?"

I took a step toward her, years of bitterness threatening to spill over. "So, what? I was just part of the arrangement too? A pawn in some twisted game?"

Eleanor arched a brow, as though I'd asked something particularly naïve. "We all play the roles we're given."

My breath came out uneven, my heart pounding in my ears. "Then tell me who my father is. I deserve to know."

Her expression remained cool, detached, as though the question bored her. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me!" I snapped, the words sharper than I intended.

And then it came. Her hand whipped across my face, a slap so quick it stung before I could register the pain. I sucked in a breath, blinking against the hot tears that burned behind my eyes.

"You should be grateful," she said, her voice low and steady, as if she hadn't just struck me. "You're the only child recognized by your father. Do you know how fortunate you are to still have a claim to the estate?"

The knot in my chest tightened. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep the pieces of me from shattering. "Why are you really here, Mother? To make sure I'm still playing the part?"

Her smile was thin and cruel. "Your father needed you gone, Olivia. Seeing you angered him too much. You're a reminder of his failures, his inability to procreate and the…unsavory steps that had to be taken. The unsavory results."

That broke something in me. My own mother, calling me unsavory. I felt disgusting. My eyes welled with tears I couldn't hold back, and I looked away, not wanting her to see me crumble. "Just go." My voice cracked under the weight of it all.

She tilted her head, mock sympathy in her gaze. "A maid, ordering me around? How quaint."

Before I could respond, a low, dangerous voice sliced through the tension.

"She said leave."

I turned sharply to see Dominick glowering behind us, arms crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable but fierce.

My mother's eyes narrowed. "And who, exactly, do you think you are?"

Dominick pushed off the doorframe, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. The way he moved—calm but coiled, like a predator—sent a chill down my spine.

"Someone with the authority to make you leave," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Eleanor hesitated for the first time, her eyes flicking between us. For a moment, I thought she might push back, but something in Dominick's gaze warned her otherwise. With a tight, bitter smile, she adjusted her gloves.

"This isn't over, Olivia," she said smoothly, like a final threat wrapped in velvet. "We'll speak again soon."

I watched in silence as she swept out the door, her heels clicking against the marble, until the sound faded into nothing.

The tension in the room didn't dissipate, but it shifted—warmer, less suffocating. I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, embarrassed to have been seen like this.

Dominick was watching me, his icy blue gaze softer than I'd ever seen it. "You okay?"

I nodded, though it was a lie. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he said, his voice low and quiet. He took a step closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"I can handle her," I whispered, though the words felt hollow.

Dominick's jaw tightened. "Families," he muttered, a bitter edge in his tone. "They mess you up, twist your head around until you don't know which way is up—and when you need them, they disappear."

His words hit harder than I expected, like he knew exactly what I was feeling.

I gave him a small, shaky smile. "That sounds about right."

His gaze lingered on me, heavy with something unspoken. "Don't let them win, Liv. One day, you'll be the one laughing. Trust me on that."

The kindness in his voice was unexpected, and it cracked something open inside me. I didn't know how or why, but his presence made it easier to breathe.

"Thanks, Dominick," I whispered.

He reached out, his knuckles brushing gently against my cheek—right where my mother had slapped me. His touch was brief, but it sent a shiver through me, the kind that settled deep in my bones.

"Anytime," he murmured.

And just like that, the fragile moment between us was over. He stepped back, his usual cool demeanor slipping back into place, but the weight of what had passed between us remained.

As he turned to leave, I knew one thing for certain: Dominick wasn't just a man tangled in shadows.

He was someone I could lose myself in—and that terrified me.