It was a compass. It was not a flashy, gold-plated object, but an aged brass piece that is clearly in good shape. It was placed inside a wooden box on the small bed of worn velvet. My heart had been filled with fear, but now it felt like a tsunami of confusion. A compass? I find him in my room, surrounded by nothing but cold and no one to talk to? It made no sense.
I picked it up. The brass felt gentle on my skin, with a slight wear to its surface in places where it could have easily been touched. A needle inside had a scratch on the glass cover and pointed north. It was so stubborn. Despite being the embodiment of modern power, how could Alex possess an object that is so archaic? What is the reason for him to leave it in this place for me to locate? This was the initial personal item I had encountered in the entire mansion, and it belonged to me.
Was it a test? A warning? Or something else entirely? But the thing felt like it had a lot of baggage, not just physical mass but some strange, unsaid narrative. The sound of a click permeated the vast, silent room as I closed the box. Alex's face, cold and unreadable, caught my eye. His mind was jumbled, and this guidebook stood out as the initial puzzle.
I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. The grandiose bed felt like something out of a place, and the sound of people screaming in silence filled the mansion. With every crack in the old house and every scream of wind outside, there was something hidden. Sleep came in sudden intervals, replete with perplexing fantasies of endless hallways and a compass that seemed to point nowhere.'
Upon awakening the next day, I felt both tired and determined. However... I didn't want to be broken by this gilded cage. My art. My northward direction was where I began. I took out my sketchbook and charcoal.' I found a spot close to swish windows, light seeping in, and started drawing. Despite my depictions of the well-tended gardens and distant city skyline, I couldn't help but reflect on how to navigate through it. My charcoal quickly portrayed the worn brass, minor scratches on its surface, and the needle's unbreakable state. The object was aesthetically pleasing and had a peaceful history.
"Mr." was the time when Anya arrived for breakfast at eight. Volkov is in his study. He desires you in the breakfast nook. ".
The breakfast area, located away from the primary dining hall, was a smaller and less intimidating space. At that moment, Alex was present, occupied with a tablet and an assortment of documents on his desk. The sight of my sketchbook under my arm caused him to look up as I entered, with something that could be taken away from me.
I said "Good morning," trying to make the situation normal again....and so on.
With a nod, he gave stern recognition. "Mrs.". The routine of the household will be shared with you by Petrova. The estate is available to you in its entirety.'... My schedule is... demanding. ".
Sitting, I said, "I am aware.
I debated asking about the compass. Should I? Would he explain? Would he perceive it as weakness? Or not? The stillness, heavy and painful.
I blurted out, "I found a way to navigate in my room," before leaving.
I had a more assertive voice than my own.
The coffee cup that Alex had held in his hand froze after it fell. The typically guarded gaze of his eyes exhibited a brief, raw sensation that could be described as either shock or something similar. He quickly covered it up, his face becoming a smooth, unreadable mask again.'
With a quiet and almost raspy voice, he mentioned an old family heir, confessing: "It belongs to my great-grandfather.".
I had no knowledge that it was there. ".
His explanation was too abrupt and unhelpful.' The. I did not believe him. Not entirely. The compass was deliberately placed. But why?
Before I could press his button, Anya came in with a small formal envelope. "A letter has been delivered for Mrs.". Volkov, by special messenger. ".
An eyebrow raised was the rare spark of curiosity that Alex had in his eyes.. I took the envelope. The paper was thick and weighty, and my name was written in a graceful, round-faced script. There was an odd feeling of fear that settled in on me. I opened it.
The letter came from an unidentified law firm. I stared at the words, and took a deep breath. I didn't think it was because Alex had supposedly paid off my family's debt. It was about my father. A new, unforeseen lawsuit has been filed by an unknown entity, alleging that my father had committed a significant breach of contract and was involved in alleged corporate misconduct. The claim was enormous, surpassing the amount of debt that Alex had cleared. Alex didn't completely free my family.
My eyes widened as I stared at Alex. It hurt. Despite his unclear expression, I could sense a faint glow in his eyes and he cast an invisible shadow that indicated some knowledge. This latest and unsettling problem was not a coincidence.'". It felt orchestrated. And the most chilling part? The name of the company suing my father was so familiar that I could almost sense it had been in a place I shouldn't have seen recently....
And then it hit me. That name. The marriage contract I had signed contained a concealed message. A fact I had not grasped, disregarded as legal terminology. It was a clause that connected me and my family to Alexander Volkov in varying ways.