Unwelcome Visitor

The West mansion loomed against the darkening sky as Adrian's car pulled into the circular driveway. Since their hospital visit that morning, he had barely spoken, his mind clearly elsewhere. Ella hadn't attempted conversation, lost in her own fragmented memories that Sofia's reaction had stirred.

Edward greeted them at the door, his weathered face betraying brief concern at their expressions. "Welcome back, sir, miss. Shall I prepare some tea?"

"Later," Adrian replied curtly, guiding Ella toward the library with a hand at the small of her back.

The elderly butler hesitated. "Sir, I should mention—"

"Adrian!" A booming voice called from the grand staircase. "What a delightful surprise."

Ella felt Adrian stiffen beside her. Richard West descended the stairs with the casual confidence of someone who belonged everywhere he went. Tall and distinguished with silver-streaks dark hair, he carried himself with the same commanding presence as his nephew, but where Adrian's coldness was precise, Richard's charm seemed calculated, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

"Uncle," Adrian acknowledged, his voice neutral but his posture tense. "I wasn't aware you were visiting today."

Richard laughed, the sound oddly hollow. "Family doesn't need an invitation, my boy." His gaze shifted to Ella, appraising her with unsettling familiarity. "And who is this lovely creature?"

"Ella Morrison," Adrian replied before she could speak. "My assistant."

Recognition flickered across Richard's face, quickly masked by practiced charm. "Morrison? How interesting." He approached, extending his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear."

Ella reluctantly accepted the handshake, fighting the inexplicable dread rising within her. His fingers closed around hers, holding a moment too long.

"Morrison," he repeated thoughtfully. "Any relation to Sofia Morrison, by chance?"

The casual mention of her mother's name sent a chill through Ella. "She's my mother," she replied carefully.

"Fascinating," Richard's smile widened. "I heard you paid her a visit today, Adrian. At St. George's."

Adrian's expression hardened. "Your network of informants remains efficient, Uncle."

Richard waved a dismissive hand. "Merely concerned about family interests." His eyes never left Ella, examining her as one might appraise a valuable antique. "She has her mother's beauty, doesn't she? The same delicate features. Sofia was quite extraordinary in her day."

Something about his voice triggered a memory—distant, hazy, but edged with terror. Ella tried to focus on the present, but Richard's presence seemed to pull her backward in time.

"Come," Richard said suddenly. "Let's have drinks in the study. We have much to discuss."

In the wood-paneled study, Richard poured whiskey without asking preferences. Handing a glass to Adrian, he raised his own in a mock toast.

"To unexpected reunions," he said, eyes fixed on Ella.

The room seemed to tilt slightly. Something about this man—his voice, his mannerisms—tugged at buried memories. Ella remained standing near the door while the men took seats.

"So, nephew," Richard began casually, "your new... assistant. She's quite exceptional."

"She is," Adrian replied flatly.

"I've been looking for someone with her... qualifications myself," Richard continued, swirling his drink. "Perhaps you might consider lending her services temporarily?"

Adrian's knuckles whitened around his glass. "That won't be possible."

"Come now," Richard pressed, leaning forward. "Sharing is a family tradition. Your father understood that well enough."

The word "sharing" struck Ella like a physical blow. Suddenly she was 14 again, standing in that luxurious apartment where they lived. Her mother was there, eyes vacant with fear. And Richard—younger but unmistakably him—was smiling that same empty smile.

"The daughter's even prettier than you were at her age, Sofia. William would be delighted to know the family tradition continues."

His voice, oily with suggestion as he circled her, appraising her adolescent body while her mother begged in whispers.

"Please, Richard. Not her. She's just a child."

His hands on her shoulders. The sickening smell of expensive cologne and whiskey. Her mother lunged toward him, desperate to protect her daughter.

"You ungrateful bitch!" Richard's rage as he backhanded Sofia, then turned to the terrified girl. "Your mother forgot her place. Let me teach you yours."

Pinned to the bed, his hand around her throat, squeezing, her vision darkening as she fought for air...

"Ella?" Adrian's voice cut through the memory, concerned with edging his usually cold tone.

She was swaying on her feet, her breathing shallow and rapid. Richard was staring at her with something like recognition—and anticipation.

"Are you unwell, my dear?" he asked, rising from his chair. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Stay away from me," she whispered, backing toward the door.

Richard's smile twisted into something predatory; he took a step toward her

"I will never forget a face, especially one as pretty as yours."

"Don't touch me!" Ella gasped, her heart hammering painfully.

The room was spinning. Ella couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The buried memory had surfaced completely now—the apartment, her mother's desperate attempt to save her, Richard's hands around her throat as consciousness slipped away.

"You tried to…" She couldn't finish the sentence as blackness crept into the edges of her vision.

Adrian moved toward her just as her knees buckled. She was dimly aware of his arms catching her before she hit the floor, his voice sharp with an emotion she'd never heard from him.

"Ella!" The concern in his tone seemed genuine, almost desperate.

Through fading consciousness, she heard Richard's amused voice. "How touching. You actually care about this one."

"Get out." Adrian's command was deadly quiet as he cradled her against his chest.

"Now, nephew—"

"GET OUT!" Adrian's roar was the last thing Ella heard before darkness claimed her completely.

When sounds began filtering back, she felt the motion of a car beneath her, and heard Adrian's voice giving terse instructions on a phone.

"I don't care what time it is. Have Dr. Mendes meet us at the private entrance. No, not the hospital—my penthouse. And ensure complete confidentiality."

She struggled to open her eyes, finding herself in the back seat of his car, her head resting in his lap. His hand was gentle on her forehead, a startling contrast to his harsh phone manner.

"Adrian?" she whispered, her throat painfully dry.

Relief washed across his face, quickly masked by his usual control. "Don't try to sit up," he instructed, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "The doctor will meet us at the penthouse."

"Why not the hospital?" she managed.

Adrian's jaw tightened. "My uncle sits on the board of every major hospital in the city. I don't trust their discretion."

The implication was clear: Richard's influence extended everywhere.