-3 years ago, Rena's pov, age 23 years old-
I stepped off the jet, Ukraine still fresh on my skin, the sting of icy wind and the faint hum of danger lingering in my mind like a pungent scent. My car waited just beyond the tarmac, black paint gleaming under the airport lights. Waiting by it was Thomas, my butler, impeccably dressed, hands clasped behind him, posture as precise as always.
"Welcome back, Miss Graye," he said lightly, a polite tilt to his voice while he held the car door open for me. I nodded at him, smiling before he continued. "Your father is so excited you have returned."
I approached the Bentley behind him and slid into the leather interior as I shrugged, brushing off the remark. "Sure he is."
I allowed the car to swallow me in quiet luxury as Thomas slid into the driver's seat, accepting my unwillingness to accept my fathers affection in defeat.
*
We rolled to a stop at the gates, and the sprawling estate unfolded before me, walls and gardens dripping with cultivated wealth. Windows glimmered under the dim light, but there was no warmth behind them, no hint of sound or movement, only an impression of pristine emptiness. As I stepped forward, the faint shuffle of footsteps drew my attention- row upon row of maids emerged, perfectly aligned with neatly pressed uniforms and hair restrained, yet they blushed and exchanged discreet giggles at my passing, eyes lingering just enough.
"Rena, oh my, you've grown so much" my father's voice cut through the gentle laughter as I entered. He descended the grand staircase with a slow, measured gait, hands behind his back. His gaze caught the delicate curve of ink in my hand. "Another tattoo?" There was a sly undertone in his question, amusement mingling with his usual pointed observation.
I arched my brow. "Hi pa."
"What are you like 6ft 5 now? And look at those firm arms! What have you done to my little girl?" he laughed, richly as if nothing was wrong.
"6ft." I corrected, brushing his arm off my broad shoulder.
"I don't understand why you dispose of yourself to be a rat for the government like your mother," he said, stepping closer, "when you're heir to... all this." His hand swept across his surroundings, walls and furniture decorated with artifacts imported directly from the Philippines. I scoffed, already done with the conversation.
"How long are you staying?" he continued.
"I've actually been discharged. I won't be going back." I gulped down the guilt and pain, trying not to seem bothered.
"Well that's great news!" he grinned widely, pulling me in for a hug. "Maybe you can come to work with your little brother and I. Our company is working on something rather remarkable."
"I'll pass." I replied, dully, pulling myself out of his embrace.
"Rena don't be stubborn."
Our words collided, a familiar tug-of-war threading between us, until I turned away. "It's late. I should rest," I said, letting the conversation fall behind me as I moved toward my room. He tried to walk after me but was advised not to by Thomas who shook his head in disappointment.
The door clicked shut behind me and my room greeted me like a quiet refuge: polished surfaces untouched, my bed raised on a sleek platform, and an immaculate balcony that overlooked the estate. I swung my bag down and pushed open the balcony doors, the cool night air rushing to meet me, carrying the faint scent of wet stone and trimmed hedges. I stepped out, cigarette between my fingers, the paper still faintly crackling as I lit it. The smoke rose in lazy spirals from my lips, curling upward into the darkness, twisting and breaking apart like memories that refused to settle. I inhaled deeply, letting the warmth spread through my chest, a small comfort after months of tension.
Below, the garden stretched in rigid perfection. The water fountain at its center glinted in the moonlight, the ripples catching faint silver glows. The gentle trickle of water whispered softly as if the night itself had slowed just to let me breathe. I rested my elbows on the balcony railing and let my gaze drift down.
A memory surfaced- my mother, sitting on the edge of that fountain years before her death, laughter spilling from her lips as she bit into an ice cream cone, her hair catching the sunlight. I had perched beside her, careful not to spill my own. She had always been extraordinary, a prodigy in the military. As a child, I had rarely ever seen her.
The night carried a quiet magic, a stillness that contrasted sharply with the life I had built for myself in the military. I had walked into chaos more times than I could count, had made choices that weighed heavy on my conscience, and had carried victories that tasted hollow and bitter.
The cigarette burned down to my fingers, and I felt the subtle ache of muscles conditioned to constant alertness. My thoughts drifted to how far I had come since the girl who had once clutched her mother's hand beside this fountain, dreaming of something bigger than herself. That girl had no idea what lay ahead- a life where loneliness was constant. I grazed the new tattoo on my hand, thinking back to my last mission. The once bare skin that held the last touch of my dying friend- the way his nails sunk into my skin in fear and his desperate eyes fighting death...the tears that welled but never fell as he gasped his last breath.
The curl of smoke barely faded when a soft knock broke the calm. I glanced over my shoulder, flicking the ash into a crystal tray before the door opened to reveal one of the young maids. She carried a stack of freshly laundered bed sheets, moving with quiet efficiency yet somehow radiating intent. She didn't glance at me directly, but a smirk lingered at the corners of her lips, knowing she had caught my attention.
She moved methodically across the room, and I stepped back inside, letting my gaze track her every motion with measured curiosity. "Serena. Not even a hello?" I asked, tone teasing.
"I'm Elena, Miss Graye. Serena's downstairs," she finally looked up, her blue eyes glinting with jealousy.
"Just teasing," I responded swiftly, closing the space between us and standing behind her as she leaned over my bed, changing my pillowcase.
"I'm glad I left a memorable impression last time I was in here" sarcasm laced in her words as she finished working on my bed sheets. I smiled knowing I didn't remember our last encounter. "I missed you so much Ms Graye. You leave for far too long." She turned to me, her voice soft but with edge. Before I could respond, she wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing close.
Her uniform was tempting, soft cotton that hugged her waist. I felt the familiar pull, trained restraint warring with instinct before she started to guide my lips to hers. Without breaking rhythm, I forced us forward, tripping her onto my bed. She made a nervous yet mischievous sound as her back landed on the cool, freshly polished sheets, wriggling slightly under my hold.
The room smelled of linen, rain, and something faintly metallic from the night outside. Her face shot up as her lips latched onto mine hungrily and for a few fleeting moments, the weight of my memories dissipated as our bodies moved between untucked bed sheets and each other's fabric. I allowed her warmth to consume me as I leaned into her yearning embrace.