)

Mason's party location was well guarded, though not as secure as Hawthorne Mansion. It was a grand estate with serene lily ponds and an elegant Greek fountain. Grayson couldn't help but wonder if this was Mason's own residence. If so, why was he living in a hotel? Thoughts swirled in Grayson's mind, suggesting that Mason might be spying on him or keeping tabs on Alison.

Grayson made his way through the crowds of familiar faces, acquaintances who had crossed paths with his grandfather in the past. But Alison remained no where to be found, her presence like a whisper in the wind, felt but not seen. He wondered if she was deliberately avoiding him, or if she too was lost among the many guests.

Grayson's eyes were drawn to a grand staircase leading to the upper floors. Something told him that Alison might be hiding in the shadows, observing from a distance. With each step closer, his heart raced in anticipation, until he glimpsed a figure with strawberry blonde hair at the base of the grand staircase. A surge of emotions overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he dared to believe that it was Emily standing there.

"Emily," Grayson muttered, his voice trembling slight. His steps faltered as he approached the girl, his breathing quickening. He reached out and touched her shoulders, praying that when she turned around, he would be met with the familiar face he longed to see.

The girl slowly turned, revealing her features, and Grayson's heart sank. "Grayson Hawthorne?" It wasn't Emily. The girl had green eyes, pink puckered thick lips, and sharp eyebrows. Grayson took a step back. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," he apologized, his voice filled with a mix of relief and disappointment. The girl's eyes widened in surprise. "No problem," she replied, her voice tinged with confusion but amazed. The girl was about to speak, but Grayson spoke first. "Have a good evening," he managed to say, his voice slightly quivering. His heart thumped in his chest, yet he maintained a calm facade. The sight of someone resembling Emily unsettled him, awakening the ache and yearning he held for her. He turned away, trying to regain his composure, and continued his search for Alison.

Grayson climbed the stairs, the wood creaking softly under his steps, while a gentle breeze tousled his silver hair.

At the top, Grayson entered a long corridor filled with beautiful paintings. Soft lights cast a gentle glow, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. He walked through the corridor, alert and focused, taking in every detail.

Suddenly, his attention was seized by a door at the end of the hall. A sliver of light escaped from beneath it, beckoning him forward. Grayson's heart raced as he approached, his hand reaching for the doorknob. With a steady turn, he pushed the door open, revealing a room awash in a warm, golden glow.

Inside, he discovered walls of bookshelves, and a long table with a single wheeled chair. It seemed to be a study room, perhaps Mason's. But why would Mason have a hotel room if this was his house? Grayson couldn't help but question Mason's true intentions, wondering if he was merely keeping tabs on him or even Alison.

Seating himself on the chair, Grayson traced his finger along the wooden desk, searching for hidden compartments. He explored every inch, tracing up and down, left and right, but found nothing. Assured that there were no secrets to uncover, he pushed himself across the room and focused on the shelves of books. Though the room was small, it felt like being in Hawthorne library. And then, a memory struck, one of their grandfather's games where Grayson, Jameson, and Xander had faced a clue that led them to one of many libraries in Hawthorne Mansion.

"What are we suppose to find again?" Xander asked, looking up at the second oldest Hawthorne brother.

Grayson shrugged, his brows furrowing. "You tell me, Xander."

The two of them had been searching the bottom shelves of the library for three hours, finding nothing of significance. Grayson glanced up at Jameson, who had been absorbed in reading a small green book. "Got anything to share with us, Jamie?" he quipped.

Jameson closed the book and looked down at Grayson, his mischievous green eyes sparkling. "I would never hide anything from you, Gray" Jameson said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But from you, Xander, maybe."

"Offence taken," Xander grunted, looking up at the third oldest Hawthorne brother. Jameson's laughter echoed through the library as he smoothly jumped off the shelf, landing on his feet. At just the age of fifteen, Jameson was strong, flexible, and just as tall as Grayson.

"Actually, I did find something," Jameson said, turning his attention to Grayson. "Part of the shelf is loose." He gestured toward a section of books, his hand hovering above them. "There's something behind these books."

With a push from Jameson, the books on the shelf emitted a creak. Witnessing Jameson's discovery, Xander hurried over to him, positioning his hand where Jameson had pushed. Yet their combined effort fell short.

Noticing their struggle, Grayson sprang into action, and together, they pushed the bookshelf back. To their surprise, it swung open, revealing a secret passage. For a moment, the three Hawthorne brothers gazed into the darkness, not sure where it would lead them.

"Race you to the bottom!" Xander exclaimed, dashing past Jameson and Grayson, vanishing into the darkness of the descending stairs.

"Loser gets blamed for stealing Alisa's diary," Jameson said mischievously, pushing the small green book into Grayson's hands before following Xander's lead.

"You'll need this!" Grayson shouted, realising the green small book was Alisa's diary. Rolling his silver eyes in amusement, he trailed behind Jameson, embracing the thrill of the unknown darkness ahead.

Grayson examined the bookshelves and found a loose board, and pushed it back to reveal a cluttered room. Inside there was a single bed, scattered papers on the floor, and walls adorned with glowing ink filled the space.

Without stepping inside, Grayson could see the entire room and wondered if this was where Alison slept. But this was Mason's house, why would Alison live here?

As Grayson took a step inside, something caught on his foot—a phone with a cracked screen. Despite its damage, he managed to turn it on, revealing a picture of an ice cream cone. It was undoubtedly Alison's phone.

With a swipe, Grayson unlocked the phone and was sent to a file of recorded calls. The most recent one was from 4:30 this afternoon, the same time they had enjoyed ice cream together. Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he pressed play.

"Mum's dead," a voice that resembled William's spoke, followed by anger and accusations. "You killed her, you son-of-a-bitch! You tried to kill me, but mum?" The line went silent, only to resume with William's anger escalating.

"First, Mason Valentine, and now Grayson Hawthorne? They are real people, not pawns in a game of chess! What the fuck do you think you're doing, Alison? You-"

Grayson chose not to delve deeper, stopping the recording abruptly. So it was William who had called Alison, not Mason. A wave of sympathy washed over Grayson, for only two days ago, he had seen Alison's mother, and now she was gone. But what did William mean by saying Alison killed her? Seeking further clarity, Grayson proceeded to the next call, hoping it would shed light on the tangled web of events. This time, the call was yesterday during lunch hour.

"Did you know?" Mason's voice rang through the phone.

"I assume you're talking about my latest work?" Alison responded.

"Grayson Hawthorne," Mason hissed. "He's visiting your family, or what's left of it."

Alison remained silent, and eventually, the call came to an end. It was a short call, but it spoke volumes. So Alison did know of Grayson's whereabouts, was it all an act then? Moreover, she turned out to be the true author of America's best-selling books. So why was Mason's name written all over them?

Seeking further insight, Grayson decided to listen to the next recorded call, which had taken place two days ago at 8 o'clock in the morning.

"What do you think you're doing, Alison?" Mason's anger resurfaced. "Do you think Grayson Hawthorne-"

"I don't think of Grayson Hawthorne," Alison interrupted sharply.

"You and I both know he will be the end of us-"

"There was never an 'us'," Alison retorted with heightened anger. "There's no 'us' in team, only 'me'."

The call abruptly ended then, leaving Grayson to question his place in Alison's life. Why did William mention him? Why was he considered their "end"? He recalled Alison's confession of caring for him during their walk to the ice cream shop this afternoon. Doubts crept in, wondering if her words were merely manipulative lies. A pang of pain throbbed in Grayson's chest. Did Alison truly care for him? Her willingness to provide clues now made sense, but for what purpose? What did she hope to gain from him?

Grayson thought it was best to stop and put the phone down when he encountered a notification, giving him the option to delete the particular phone call permanently. Like a Hawthorne, curiosity always got the best of them, Grayson pressed the file and listen to one last phone call.

"Where are you?" Mason's voice reflected concern and worry. "Alison-"

"I'm at the grocery store," Alison replied flatly.

"What could you possibly buy that I haven't already bought you, and at this time of night?" Mason's tone softened.

"Rope," Alison responded devoid of emotion. Silence followed before Mason spoke again. "Why do you need rope?"

"For hanging," Alison answered.

"Alison, stop playing games," his voice lowered, filled with seriousness. "Can you please come back. I need to publish a sample of-"

The call ended abruptly, indicating Alison's frustration with Mason. Grayson looked down at the phone. The phone call occurred this morning at 1. Slowly, Grayson started putting the puzzles together.

Alison, the writer behind the clever clues in the books, sought help from her readers, including Grayson. She desired freedom, but Mason didn't want to not let her go. Mason's books, Alison's books, revolved around them- their relationship. The girl in the story was Alison, and she fell in love with a boy, Mason, who tricked her into his bidding. But there was one thing that didn't fit in the puzzle, each story ended the same: the girl ending her life. Was Alison planning to follow the same path?

A chilling thought gripped Grayson—Alison's mention of buying rope to hang. She wouldn't, would she?

Grayson's knowledge of Alison's life was limited to fragments: phone calls, family encounters, and the enigmatic clues she had entrusted him with. Though he couldn't claim to know her deeply, he sensed the weight of her hardships from the beginning. Her eyes always carried a profound sorrow, even surpassing his own. But would her struggles truly drive her to the brink of ending it all?

Fear surged through Grayson, causing him to retreat. He swiftly restored the bookshelf and returned the chair to its original position, erasing any evidence of his presence. As he left the room, a haunting dream resurfaced in his memory—an image of Alison hanging in the school garden. It had been merely a dream, but the possibility lingered in his mind, unsettling him deeply.

Grayson walked down the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd for Mason, his heart yearning to see Alison by his side. However, as Grayson caught sight of Mason in the midst of the crowd, he noticed Mason was making a phone call. Simultaneously, Alison's phone, which Grayson still clutched, buzzed loudly. In that moment, Mason's eyes met Grayson's, and without uttering a word, they both grasped the undeniable truth—Alison was absent from the party.