009

Gianna discreetly wiped the corner of her eyes before hopping off her bicycle. She pushed it along the small pathway leading to her grandmother's house. The night air carried a faint chill. It had been years—or at least it felt that way—since she had last set foot here. She dreaded it; it reminded her of the death of the one she cherished the most.

Gianna exhaled softly, staring at the peeling white fence. The small porch light flickered weakly, a reminder that time had continued moving even in her absence. Despite her wealth, she refused to renovate the mansion because she didn't want any traces of her grandmother to disappear. Sighing to herself, she proceeded to carefully rest her bicycle against the fence.

A wave of nostalgia hit her as she climbed the few steps onto the porch. The wooden planks creaked beneath her feet, just as they always had. She reached for the key hidden beneath the flowerpot on the windowsill—it had always been there…

Wait.

It wasn't.

Her expression froze for a moment before she frantically started searching for it, her hand tapping around—but nothing. The key didn't touch her fingertips. In the end, she moved the entire flowerpot aside, but except for some dirt and tiny pebbles, there was nothing.

Gianna's brows furrowed. That wasn't right. The key had always been there—she always put it back after visiting. The house cleaner too… she made sure to place it there. So where was it?

A flicker of unease settled in her chest, her heart growing heavy, but she quickly pushed it down. Maybe the wind had knocked it off or… no, the next excuse would be worse.

Still, just to be sure, she checked beneath the doormat, the wooden railing, even inside the crack on the doorstep where her grandmother sometimes stashed little things.

Nothing.

Her unease deepened.

Someone had been here.

Gianna straightened, her gaze darting around the quiet surroundings. The street behind her was empty, the night eerily still. If someone had broken in, there were no obvious signs—no shattered windows, no forced locks.

Looking at the door, she took a deep breath, her expression hardening with determination. She stepped forward and grasped the doorknob, twisting it gently.

It turned.

The door was unlocked.

Gianna's fingers tightened around the cold metal, her heart racing.

Pushing the door open slowly, she stepped inside, her senses on high alert. The familiar scent of aged wood and lavender greeted her, wrapping around her like a bittersweet embrace.

The house was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window. Everything looked the same—the small couch against the wall, the wooden shelves filled with old books and porcelain teacups, the worn-out armchair by the fireplace.

Who was here? And where were they now?

She walked forward cautiously, her footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. As she moved past the living room, her eyes caught something on the table.

A cup.

A freshly used cup.

Gianna's heartbeat quickened. The slight dampness around the rim suggested that whoever had used it hadn't been gone for long. She slowly approached, her expression alert.

"What are you doing?"

In the darkness, a hand landed on her shoulder.

"Ahhh!" She immediately turned around, her clear eyes widening with fear and shock. Her pupils dilated. But suddenly, the world seemed to freeze as her gaze locked onto the magnificent face before her.

Towering over her, like a figure born from the shadows, he stood shrouded in darkness. His eyes were deep and unreadable, his brooding gaze searching hers. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to place her.

"Lu—Lucas?" She whispered his name, a gasp of disbelief escaping her lips as she tried to confirm if it was truly him.

"What did you just call me?" His expression darkened with doubt. He thought he had heard his name, but he had never seen her before. It was strange.

Gianna swallowed, taking a step back as she assessed the man before her again. He was a familiar face.

Lucas Beaumont Grey.

The younger brother of her husband in her past life, Sylus Grey.

Questions flooded her mind, one overtaking another like trucks racing down a highway. Why was he here?

In her previous life, they had been close. He was probably the only one in his family who had treated her kindly.

He would call to check on her, and after an argument with his family, he was the one to console her. She was certain he had understood her better than Sylus ever did. And yes, he knew her hometown. He knew this place because they had visited together once—when she decided to take a vacation, and he had tagged along.

She hadn't expected to see a member of the Grey family so soon. And certainly not him.

The question was: what was he doing here?

Did something happen?

Had his brother sent him?

"I asked you a question."

His large palm grabbed her chin, the ring on his finger grazing her jaw, forcing her to meet his cold eyes.

"Who are you?"