A Who Done It

Chapter 1
Chapter 1

Chapter Description: Katy Arrives

The tires of the limousine crunched over gravel, the sound muffled by the thick fog rolling across the estate grounds. Katy stirred awake, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was. Then, through the tinted window, the silhouette of the manor rose like something from an old painting — tall, sprawling wings of stonework, ivy climbing its walls, and turrets dark against a bruised twilight sky.

The trip had not been smooth. A storm had battered the countryside for most of the day, turning roads to rivers and snapping branches onto the asphalt. Twice, the chauffeur had been forced to reroute when police barricades blocked their path, warning of fallen trees further ahead. At one point, they had idled for nearly half an hour while a crew cleared a massive oak that had collapsed across a lane. The driver, stone-faced and polite, never complained — but Katy could see the faint tremor of irritation in the way his gloved hands gripped the wheel.

She must have dozed through the final stretch of the journey, lulled by the low growl of the engine and the drum of rain on the roof. as she stepped out of the car, she noticed the rain had eased, but the skies above were still dark and brooding. It felt less like a true end to the storm and more like a pause — a breath held between downpours. The air was heavy and strange, damp with the smell of wet earth. Salt carried on the breeze told her the sea was close. Behind her stretched the long stone bridge, its arches cutting across black water below. It looked ancient, though she knew it had been built only decades ago — a monument to Hugo Hawthorne’s wealth and eccentricity.

She blinked hard, still half-dreaming. The driver had said little during the journey, only calling her “Miss” once, when he lifted her suitcase into the trunk back in the city. Now he was at the door, bowing slightly as he offered his gloved hand to steady her.

For years she’d heard his name whispered with admiration. Hawthorne — the reclusive billionaire who funded hospitals, rebuilt schools, and was said to give fortunes to causes without ever appearing for thanks. And yet, almost ten years ago, he had vanished from public life. Rumors said he was ill. Others claimed he’d gone mad in his solitude. Tonight, she might learn the truth.

Her stomach fluttered. On paper, she was ordinary — a quiet redhead of twenty-eight, spending her days processing permits and requests in a government building where nothing exciting ever happened. But online, under the name Mona, she was someone else entirely. She explored fetishes from what people might describe as strange. Hanging around in Transformation groups. Hero’s and ordinary people turned against their will or even willing, Sexual or none she spent a few  hours a day exploring it. Her biggest secret was Age regression, the thought of being regressed or regressing others often helped Mona reach climax when she was alone. That secret that gave her the courage to accept the letter’s invitation. Ten thousand dollars for a single evening. Ten thousand dollars for listening to a man’s speech.

The chauffeur set her bag neatly beside her, then without a word climbed back into the car and drove away. Katy turned, startled, as the limousine’s headlights washed over her one last time before it glided back onto the bridge. Within moments it was gone, swallowed by mist. She was alone now.

Alone with the manor.

The iron gates loomed ahead, open just wide enough to suggest she was expected. Lanterns glowed along the pathway, guiding her toward the enormous oak doors of the house. Each step crunched on the gravel, echoing in the hush of night. Somewhere in the gardens, an owl hooted, the sound deep and lonely.

When she reached the steps, she paused. The doors towered above her, carved with intricate patterns — hawks in flight, talons clutching roses. A crest she didn’t recognize. She raised a trembling hand, unsure whether to knock or to wait. And before her knuckles touched the wood, the doors creaked inward, slowly, as though the house itself had been waiting for her.

.Standing before her was a well-dressed man, not the billionaire she half-expected, but someone else entirely.

He was only slightly taller than Katy, his posture immaculate, his olive-toned skin contrasting with his starched white collar and perfectly tailored black suit. His jet-black hair was slicked neatly back, not a strand out of place. His sharp, appraising eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than politeness allowed, as though weighing her against a set of unseen expectations.

“Miss Stevenson,” he said at last, his tone clipped but controlled. “Fashionably late, it seems. I am Carlos the Butler”

Katy opened her mouth, fumbling for an excuse. “Oh, yes… some roads were closed, and my driver had to take another route, only for that one to have a tree blo—”

She was cut off by the man’s cool interruption. “Please. The other guests are already gathered in the drawing room. They are most eager to meet the final arrival.” His words carried the faintest edge of reproach, but his polished manner never slipped.

“And Lord Hawthorne,” he continued, “will meet you shortly. Now, if you would—leave your bags here. They will be taken to your quarters in the east wing. The furthest door on the left.”

With practiced precision, he lifted a small silver bell from a side table and rang it once. As his hand reached forward, Katy’s eyes caught on a dark birthmark at the base of his thumb, an oddly intimate detail on an otherwise immaculate man.  The sound was delicate, almost too soft to summon anyone at all. But within moments, footsteps clicked on the staircase behind.

A woman appeared, descending the staircase, her every movement a blend of grace and seduction. Her crisp black-and-white maid’s outfit clung to her curves, the neckline teasingly accentuating her ample bosom, each step drawing attention to her swaying hips. The fabric seemed to whisper against her milky skin, which glowed under the soft light filtering through the hall. Her raven hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few delicate strands escaping to frame her porcelain face.

 Katy felt her cheeks warm as her gaze seemed to linger on the generous figure. She quickly glanced away, embarrassed by her own reaction, hoping no one had noticed the flicker of colour in her face.

“This is Miss Izabella,” the man announced smoothly, as if nothing were out of place. “She will see you to the drawing room.”

“This way, mademoiselle,” Izabella said, her thick French accent wrapping around the words with a beauty that oozed confidence and an effortless, magnetic allure.

Katy nodded, following behind

Katy's eyes were glued to Izabella's every movement, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and desire. Izabella's large, voluptuous ass swayed hypnotically with each step, the fabric of her tight dress stretching and releasing, accentuating every curve and jiggle. Katy found herself mesmerized, her imagination running wild as she pictured what lay beneath the thin layer of cloth.

As Izabella led the way, Katy followed slowly, her steps deliberate and measured, trying her best not to get lost in the intoxicating haze of her imagination. Breaking free from her daze her noticed that the corridor walls stretched tall, panelled in dark wood, every surface glowing faintly in the light of antique sconces. The floor beneath her echoed each step louder than she expected, as though the house wanted to remind her of her presence.

At last Izabella pressed open a pair of tall double doors, polished so clean Katy could see distorted shapes of herself in their surface.

“Voilà,” she said simply, her tone carrying a faint trace of amusement. “The others are waiting.”

Izabella pushed the tall doors open and stepped aside. Katy walked into the drawing room, feeling the weight of several eyes turning her way. The warmth from the fireplace reached her first, carrying the smell of smoke and polished wood. A low murmur of conversation quieted, then picked back up again in pockets.

By the fire sat a young man, maybe mid-twenties, his sandy hair falling into his eyes. He wore a plain checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up, talking animatedly to the girl beside him. She was curled sideways in an armchair, dark hair tucked under a knitted beanie, wearing jeans and a soft cardigan that looked well-worn. Both looked up as Katy entered, nodding politely before slipping back into their talk.

At the bar stood two more men. One was wiry, his plain T-shirt hanging loose on his frame, sneakers scuffed at the toes. He swirled the ice in his glass like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there. Next to him, in sharp contrast, the taller man leaned easily on the counter in a fitted blazer and polished shoes. His posture carried a quiet confidence that set him apart from the others, even if he couldn’t have been older than twenty-seven.

In the corner at a side table, a girl with mousy brown hair sat hunched over a thick paperback, her glasses slipping down her nose. She gave Katy a brief smile — small, shy, almost apologetic — before lowering her eyes back to the book.

And at the window, with her arms folded tightly across her chest, stood another woman. Her ponytail was tied hastily, strands loose around her face. She wore simple leggings and a sweatshirt, yet there was a stillness in her stance, a focus in her eyes fixed on the storm-dark grounds beyond the glass.

Katy lingered a moment just inside the door, Everyone had looked at her, then just as quickly looked away again, as if uncertain whether to speak. The silence between their conversations stretched just a second too long, and Katy felt the weight of it pressing on her.

She cleared her throat softly and managed a polite, “Hello.”

The blond man by the fire was the first to answer. He straightened in his chair, flashing a quick, easy smile. “Hey there. Looks like you’re the last one.” His voice was friendly enough, though it carried an undercurrent of curiosity.

The girl in the beanie beside him gave Katy a small wave before tucking her knees closer under her cardigan.

At the bar, the wiry man let out a low whistle, muttering, “Guess we’re all here now,” before tipping his glass back for a sip. The taller man in the blazer ignored him and set his drink down, stepping away from the counter.

“You must be Katy,” he said smoothly, crossing the room with a confidence that made Katy instinctively straighten her posture. He extended his hand. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Katy hesitated only a second before shaking it. His grip was firm, his smile practiced.

“I’m Daniel,” he added. “It seems we’re all in the same boat here, waiting to find out exactly why we’ve been… invited.”

The girl at the side table glanced up again, pushing her glasses higher. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire. “None of us really know what’s going on.” She gave Katy a tentative smile, as if apologising for speaking at all.

Katy nodded, feeling a little more at ease knowing she wasn’t the only one bewildered.

From the window, the woman in the sweatshirt finally turned. Her eyes were sharp, watchful, as though she’d been studying something far beyond the glass. “We’ll find out soon enough,” she said flatly. “Hawthorne doesn’t do things by accident. “The way she said his name sent a small chill down Katy’s spine.

Daniel gave Katy’s hand a final shake, then glanced over his shoulder toward the window.
“Oh, ignore her,” he said lightly. “She’s been brooding there for quite some time. Jessica’s convinced herself she’s wandered into a murder mystery. Which, to be fair, this place does feel like one of those old black-and-white films.”

Jessica rolled her eyes, pushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Better than standing around playing host,” she shot back. Her tone carried no warmth. “Maybe you can explain why we’re all in the middle of nowhere on the promise of a paycheck. It’s all well and good for you locals, but some of us came halfway across the country with no answers. No welcome. Just an irritated butler and…” Her gaze slid past Daniel, toward the maid still waiting by the door.

“…and a stereotypical French maid who looks like she belongs more in some sleazy film than in a millionaire’s mansion.” Jessica’s mouth twitched into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “No offense, of course.”

Izabella dipped into a small, graceful curtsy. “None taken, mademoiselle,” she replied in her lilting accent, her expression unreadable. “I shall go check on the host.”

With that, she turned and slipped out through the doors, leaving the faintest trace of perfume in the air. The room felt oddly quieter once she was gone, as if her presence had been holding some unseen thread together.

Katy feeling the crackle of tension ripple between the others. It was clear they’d all been waiting too long, and patience was wearing thin.

The tall man in the t-shirt let out a short laugh, the sound cutting neatly through the room.
“Millionaire?” he repeated, setting his empty glass down with a quiet clink. “More like billionaire.” He glanced around at the group, his tone light, but his smile carried a knowing edge.

“Isn’t it obvious why we’re here?” he went on, crossing back to the bar to refill his glass. “Hugo Hawthorne’s name has always been tied to these little gatherings. He invites people who’ve brushed against his work, or even stood against it, and then plays host. It’s practically a tradition.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his reflection flickering in the polished wood behind the bar.

After a slow sip, he added, “The man never leaves this place. Sits in his lab all day, inventing this and that, with no people skills whatsoever. I can’t imagine what ten years of solitude would do to someone’s mind. No wonder the rumours spread.”

The fire popped in the hearth, punctuating his words.

He shrugged, topping off his glass. “Personally? I welcome it. A weekend away, a handsome payslip just to listen to an eccentric billionaire ramble? It’s like a free holiday, if you ask me.”

No one answered immediately. The girl with the book turned a page with deliberate slowness. The wiry man in sneakers tapped his glass against his thigh. And Jessica, still at the window, gave the well-dressed man a look sharp enough to cut.

Daniel remained by Katy’s side, his easy smile never slipping.
“And this lovely fellow,” he said, gesturing toward the wiry man, “is Mark. As you can see, he’s a people person.” His tone was light, but the glance he gave Mark carried a sharper edge. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re in R&D for a rival company, aren’t you? Hoping to snoop a few secrets from the big fella?”

Mark snorted and swirled the ice in his glass, unimpressed. “No. Not at all. I’m half interested in this circus at best. Merely here for the money.” He leaned back against the bar, gaze narrowing on Daniel. “And don’t act all high and mighty. Why else are we here, if not for the money? It’s not like we know Hugo.” His voice dropped, almost a whisper, but the words carried in the firelit room. “The whole thing feels… odd.”

The girl in the beanie by the fire shifted in her chair, tugging her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. She glanced toward the others, then back at Katy with a hopeful tilt to her voice.

“Maybe he wants to find an heir,” she said. “You know, to his fortune. What if we’re all distant relatives? Like, surprise cousins or something? Oh — sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Sarah. And this—” she jabbed a thumb at the man slouched beside her, “—is my twin brother, Dean.”

Dean looked up, sandy hair falling into his eyes, and gave a small wave. “Hey,” he said simply. Then, with a crooked grin, added, “Don’t listen to her. If we’re all cousins, that means I’m stuck with her for eternity. And trust me, that’s punishment enough.”

Sarah swatted at him, cheeks pink. “See what I mean? He’s insufferable. Been making jokes since the limo picked us up, like this is some kind of school trip.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Better to laugh than sit around glowering like the rest of you. If Hugo wants to make us heirs, fine. If not, at least I get a free meal and maybe a good story to tell.”

Sarah rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Ignore him, please. He’s always like this.”

Jessica barked a laugh from her post at the window. “Oh, please. There is no way in hell I’m related to Mark.”

Mark turned, bristling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Their bickering sparked others to mutter, and soon the room filled with a rising chorus of voices, overlapping arguments, sharp tones and defensive laughter.

Katy stepped aside, quietly slipping toward the corner where the shy, mousy-haired girl still sat with her book. She looked grateful to see someone else break away from the squabble. With hesitant courage, she reached out and tapped Katy lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she said softly. “I’m Flo. From Florida.” She gave a quick, nervous grin. “Flo from Florida — guess my parents liked alliteration.”

Katy managed a polite nod, but the joke slid right past her. Flo’s smile faltered for half a second, then she hurried on as if nothing had happened.

I don’t know why I was invited here either. One moment I was at college, the next the dean told me I either accepted this invitation and the money… or I’d need to find another school.” She gave a nervous shrug. “I’ve only been studying a year. Maybe it’s because I wrote a paper on one of Hawthorne’s old theories? I don’t know.”

Katy tried to listen, but her eyes kept flicking back to the growing argument around the fire and bar. Voices were louder now, sharp with suspicion and defensiveness. She shook her head and forced herself to look back at Flo.

“I’m sorry,” Katy said quickly. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’m Katy. And yes — it’s surreal, isn’t it? Being here. None of it makes sense.” She lowered her voice. “What do you think it’s about?”

Flo leaned a little closer, lowering her voice so it wouldn’t carry over the rising chatter by the fire. “I don’t know. It does worry me that Hawthorne used his influence to make me come. That’s not normal. There has to be a reason we’ve all been picked.” Her eyes darted toward the bar, where Daniel and Mark were circling each other with words. “Everyone here claims they don’t know him. What about you? Do you work with him?”

Katy shook her head quickly. “No. Nothing like that. I work in local government. Planning permission, permits… not exactly glamorous.” She gave a small shrug. “Not the sort of job a billionaire would even notice.”

Flo’s brow furrowed as she fiddled with the corner of her book. “Then it’s strange, isn’t it? Nobody knows him, but here we are.”

Katy tried to redirect the question. “Have you all been waiting long?”

Flo giggled, a sound that broke some of the tension. “Oh, not really. They’ve just been arguing since I walked in. You can tell, can’t you?” She tipped her head toward the group by the fire, where voices had grown sharper, overlapping one another. “They don’t know each other, so their pride kicks in. Watch them — it’s like some weird animal ritual, all the guys trying to figure out who gets to be the alpha.”

Katy glanced back at the group, Daniel leaning forward in his polished blazer while Mark gestured with his glass, scowling. She couldn’t deny it.

Flo smirked knowingly. “And just wait. When Hawthorne walks in, they’ll all scramble to be closest, like moths to a flame.”

Just then, the doors opened again and Izabella glided into the room. The raised voices softened at once as she gave a polite cough, drawing every eye.

“Bonsoir, everyone,” she began, her accent lilting, her smile measured. “Master Hawthorne sends his apologies for not welcoming you himself. He is… occupied at the moment. But he will see you all at dinner. In the meantime, I am certain you must be famished after your long journeys. If you would like to go to your rooms, to shower or change, now would be the time. Otherwise, you are welcome to remain here until the meal is ready.”

Katy noticed how the energy in the room shifted, some of the tension breaking as the promise of food dangled before them. But Jessica, still by the window, raised her hand slightly.

“Hey, excuse me, Izabella,” she said, her tone sharp but polite enough. “I’ve been trying to get a signal on my phone, but it appears there isn’t any. Would it be possible to connect to the Wi-Fi? I need to check my emails and message my friends.”

Izabella’s expression tightened ever so slightly, a faint frown crossing her face. She clasped her hands in front of her apron.
“Ah, mademoiselle, I am afraid not. The storm has knocked out the internet. Out here, so far from civilisation, it tends to happen, I’m afraid. Once the weather settles, it should return.”

Jessica gave a long, deliberate sigh and muttered under her breath, just quiet enough that nobody but Katy and Flo heard: “Cut off from civilisation… just like a murder mystery.”

The fire popped loudly in the silence that followed.

Izabella’s polite smile returned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Now, unless there is anything else, I shall return to the kitchen to finish the meal.”

With a graceful dip of her head, she turned and swept from the room, leaving behind the faint click of her heels on the polished floor.

For a moment, no one moved. The fire snapped in the grate, and the storm outside groaned against the windows. Then Sarah pushed herself up from the armchair with a stretch, tugging her beanie lower.

“Well,” she said, glancing at the others, “if we’ve got time before dinner, Dean and I are going to go get changed. Might as well not look like drowned rats when we meet the great Hugo Hawthorne.”

Dean smirked, standing with her. “Translation: she doesn’t want to be the only one showing up in a cardigan.” He gave Katy a quick nod before following his sister toward the door.

Jessica shifted by the window, her arms still folded. “You all run along,” she said flatly. “I’ll take a look around first. Big old mansion like this? Too tempting not to snoop a little.” Her eyes flicked toward Daniel and Mark as though daring them to stop her. Neither did.

Daniel smoothed his blazer, finishing the last of his drink with a practiced flourish. “Suit yourselves,” he said. “I’ll change as well. First impressions matter.”

“Pfft,” Mark muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “First impressions don’t pay the bills. But fine. Might as well see what kind of broom closet they stuck me in.” With a half-hearted wave, he trailed after Daniel.

That left only Flo and Katy. Flo closed her book, hugging it loosely to her chest, and looked at Katy with wide, questioning eyes.

“So… what about you?” she asked. “Going to your room? Or staying here?

“Oh, I’ll probably go see what my room looks like and unpack,” Katy said at last. “I think they said mine was in the east wing?”

Flo chuckled softly. “Yeah, I mean… how often do you get to stay in a place with wings? I think it’s back by the entrance, up the stairs and left.”

“Oh. Right. Are you down there too?”

“I think we all are,” Flo replied, tucking her book under her arm. She glanced toward the window. “See you in a bit, Jessica.”

Jessica grunted in acknowledgment, still gazing out at the storm before finally turning and slipping out without another word.

Flo followed soon after, the door closing behind her. Katy lingered for a moment, taking one last look around the drawing room: the flickering firelight, the abandoned glasses on the bar, the faint tick of a grandfather clock in the corner. It all seemed to hum with a restless energy, as if the house itself were waiting.

Then she turned and left.

Katy sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the sheer size of the room. It was bigger than her entire flat back home. A four-poster queen-size bed dominated the center, its carved wooden pillars climbing toward the high ceiling. Her suitcase was perched neatly on the quilt, as though it had been waiting for her.

The room had an odd mix of old and new. Heavy curtains framed tall windows that looked out over the storm-dark grounds, their edges swaying faintly with the draft. A wardrobe loomed against one wall, polished to a dull shine, while a writing desk sat beneath a sconce, its surface bare save for a blotter and a fountain pen.

And then there was the flat-screen television mounted opposite the bed, glaringly modern against the old-world furnishings. Out of curiosity, Katy picked up the remote and switched it on. The screen blinked, then froze, before flashing a bland message: No signal available.

She exhaled and set the remote back down. No Wi-Fi, no reception. Just like Izabella had said — they were cut off from everything.

Her gaze drifted as she rose and looked around further. That was when she noticed it: in the far corner, half-shadowed by the lamplight, stood a crib. An honest-to-goodness wooden crib, its bars painted white. Neatly folded blankets rested inside, as though prepared for a child that might arrive at any moment.

Beside it, shelves had been fitted with stacked supplies — folded cloths, bottles, even tins of baby powder. A dresser sat nearby, its drawers partly ajar, showing glimpses of more carefully folded linens.

Her gaze lingered on the crib in the corner, the shelves of folded cloths and supplies stacked neatly nearby. For a moment, unease crept up her spine, but she forced herself to exhale and smile faintly.

Of course, she thought. A man like Hawthorne probably hosted all sorts of people in his lifetime — families, donors, dignitaries with children in tow. It made sense that a house this size would have a room prepared for them.

She stepped a little closer, brushing her fingers lightly over the polished wood of the crib’s frame. It was spotless, just like the rest of the room, almost as if it had never been used at all. The drawers of the dresser yawned open slightly, showing neatly folded linens stacked with military precision. Whoever prepared this room had done so with the same fastidious care as everything else in the house. Katy’s eyes lingered on the crib longer than she meant them to. For a fleeting moment, she imagined what it might feel like to be that small again needing daddy Hawthorne to change her and care for her whilst she was helpless..

A sudden noise jolted Katy from her thoughts — a dull thud out in the corridor. She froze, her hand still resting on the crib,. For a moment she listened, heart ticking faster in the silence that followed.

Curiosity got the better of her. She crossed the room quickly and eased the door open, peering into the long hall beyond.

Mark.

He was half-running, half-stumbling down the corridor, his sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished floorboards. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he darted into a room at the far end, the door closing with a muted slam behind him.

Katy hesitated, staring at the now-quiet hallway. Then, with a shrug, she shut her door again. Whatever he was doing was none of her business. They all had their reasons for being here, after all.

A soft knock came at Katy’s door almost as soon as she shut it. She opened it to find Flo standing there, freshly changed. She’d added a little makeup — nothing dramatic, just enough to brighten her face. Her outfit was simple but sweet: a pale blouse tucked into a skirt that brushed her knees, with flats that clicked lightly on the floorboards.

“I’m about to head back to the drawing room,” Flo said with a small smile. “You ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” Katy replied, giving one last glance at the crib in the corner before stepping out into the hall.

Flo leaned past her for a moment, eyes catching on it too. “Oh — you have a crib as well.” She gave a soft laugh. “How funny. I guess he keeps one in every room for guests with small children.”

“Yeah… I guess it makes sense,” Katy murmured.

Together they walked down the corridor.

As they passed another doorway, it swung open and Daniel stepped out, adjusting his blazer. “Heading out?” he asked, flashing an easy smile. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Sure,” the girls answered together.

They set off down the long corridor, the sconces casting elongated shadows across the panelled walls. Katy broke the silence first. “So… Daniel. Dan? Danny?”

“Dan’s fine,” he replied smoothly.

“What is it you do?” Katy asked.

“Oh, I’m a legal aide. I help with case files and things.” He said it casually, then added with a faint chuckle, “Funny thing — we just dropped a major case against Hawthorne not long ago. So weird I ended up here.”

Katy raised her brows. “Oh? Think that’s why you were invited?”

Dan laughed, a dismissive little sound. “I’m not high enough on the food chain to know anything important.”

Katy couldn’t shake the feeling he was brushing it off too quickly, but before she could press further, a figure appeared at the staircase ahead.

Izabella, descending with the grace of someone rehearsed, her uniform crisp under the warm glow of the sconces.

“Oh, wonderful — you are ready,” she said, her French accent lilting as her eyes swept across the three of them. “I shall escort you to the dining room.”

Izabella’s heels clicked in a steady rhythm as she led them along the east wing corridor toward the main staircase. Katy, Flo, and Daniel followed, their footsteps echoing faintly under the high ceilings.

“So, Izabella,” Daniel said smoothly as they descended, his hand brushing the polished banister, “you must have worked here a long time. What’s it like living in a house this size?”

Izabella didn’t turn her head. “It is a house, monsieur. One grows used to it. Though it is not the house that is demanding—it is the master’s work.”

“His work?” Flo asked quietly. “You mean… his inventions?”

The maid’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but she offered nothing more.

As they stepped into the entrance hall below, Katy noticed the marble tiles near the front doors glistening with dark patches of water. Her shoes squeaked faintly across it. Izabella’s eyes narrowed.

“Why is the floor wet again?” she muttered, almost to herself, glancing sharply at the locked doors before smoothing her apron and carrying on.

Daniel raised his brows at Katy as if to say again? but Izabella’s brisk pace allowed no time for questions.

They passed the open doors of the drawing room, firelight flickering across the now-empty chairs, then continued down a long passage where the storm rattled tall windows. At last, the carved oak doors of the dining room loomed ahead.

From a side corridor, footsteps echoed. Jessica emerged, her ponytail slightly damp, sleeves creased, and expression unreadable. The direction she came from was odd — not the east wing where the others had prepared, but somewhere else entirely. She slipped into step with them without explanation.

“Perfect timing, mademoiselle,” Izabella said, as though nothing were unusual. She gestured toward the massive doors.

The heavy oak doors swung open with a groan, revealing a cavernous dining room. A long polished table dominated the chamber, stretching almost the entire length of the room, its surface gleaming beneath a row of crystal chandeliers. Each place was set with gleaming silver cutlery and fine glassware, every setting identical and waiting.

Behind the great carved chair at the head of the table, three towering windows filled the wall, rising nearly from floor to ceiling. Rain hammered against them in sheets, blurring the outside world into shifting shadows. Every so often, lightning split the sky, and the trees beyond thrashed violently in the gale. The thunder that followed rolled so deeply it made the silverware tremble against the plates.

Several of the guests were already seated.

On one side sat Sarah and Dean, the twins, together midway down. Sarah had removed her beanie, smoothing her dark hair nervously behind her ears, while Dean lounged with easy irreverence, idly tapping his fork against the edge of his plate.

Farther along, Mark slouched in his chair with arms folded, his gaze fixed firmly on the storm outside as if it were more compelling than anything inside the room.

The rest of the table remained empty, seats waiting.

Katy lingered in the doorway with Flo at her side, Daniel just behind them adjusting his blazer, and Jessica crossing her arms as though unimpressed by the grandeur. Izabella stepped smoothly forward, her presence commanding without being harsh.

“Please,” she said, gesturing with a gloved hand toward the open places. “Take your seats.”

The group moved forward together, the scrape of chairs breaking the tense silence as they settled in one by one. Katy slipped into a seat beside Flo, Daniel choosing the chair across from them with an easy smile. Jessica sat a little farther down, placing herself where she could keep an eye on both sides of the table.

As if on cue, the tall doors at the opposite end of the room opened.

Hugo Hawthorne stepped through.

He looked older than the last photographs Katy remembered seeing from years ago, though age had only deepened his presence. Grey threaded through his hair at the temples, but his posture was tall, straighter than she had expected. He wore a fine shirt and trousers, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, exposing strong, hairy arms that looked more like a craftsman’s than a scientist’s.

What caught her most were his eyes—impossibly blue, so striking they seemed almost to glow in the stormlight pouring through the windows behind him. He had a ruggedness that didn’t fit the image of a reclusive genius at all.

Behind him followed the butler Katy had first met upon arriving, olive-skinned and sharp in his bearing, his expression impassive as ever. His presence at Hugo’s heel gave the impression of shadow to master. Without a word, he stepped ahead to draw back the high-backed chair at the head of the table. Hugo gave him a small nod of thanks before lowering himself into the seat.

“Please, everyone,” Hugo said, his voice carrying easily through the room, warm but commanding. “Forgive my lateness. Things in my laboratory have taken… an exciting turn of events. I wanted to be sure everything was stable before I left it.” His gaze moved across the table, taking in each of them in turn. “You must all be hungry after your journeys—some longer than others. And I know there are many questions. Shall we eat first, and then discuss why you are here?”

Around the table came murmurs of agreement. Sarah and Dean both nodded; Daniel gave an approving smile; even Mark grunted his consent.

“Excellent,” Hugo said, his mouth curving into a smile that felt genuine but measured. His eyes lingered a moment too long on Katy, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She forced herself to look down at her plate. He was far more handsome than she had expected for a forty-something recluse.

“Carlos, Izabella,” Hugo said at last, turning toward the staff. “If you will do the honours. My new friends are ready for a proper meal.”

“Of course, sir,” Carlos replied smoothly. He gave Izabella a curt nod, and the maid fluttered after him toward the side doors, pausing only to make sure the main doors were pulled shut behind them.

When Carlos and Izabella slipped out and the doors shut firmly behind them, silence fell.

It lasted only ten seconds at most, but to Katy it dragged like a weight. She shifted in her chair, glancing at the others—the twins leaning forward, Jessica with her arms folded tight, Mark tapping his fingers against the table. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to speak.

Katy opened her mouth, searching for something—anything—but Flo beat her to it.

“I know you said we’d wait,” she said suddenly, her voice small but steady, “but… what’s the connection? Why us? From what I know, none of us have ever actually met you. And I know I’m not related. So please… what’s the connection?”

Hugo smiled faintly, lifting his glass of water. He took a slow sip, then set it down with deliberate care. “That,” he said with a glint in his impossibly blue eyes, “is the ten-thousand-pound question, isn’t it?”

Flo’s brow furrowed. Irritation broke through her timid exterior, and her voice rose. “Oh, for God’s sake! You threatened to have me expelled if I didn’t attend—you can stop with your antics!”

That struck a chord.

“Yeah,” Mark said suddenly, leaning forward with a scowl. “My boss told me I’d be out on the street if I didn’t come tonight. Fired—just like that.”

“And our landlord threatened to kick us out,” Sarah added sharply, Dean nodding beside her.

The voices began to overlap, anger and confusion bubbling up at once. All eyes turned back to the head of the table, the storm outside rattling the windows as if echoing the rising storm inside.

Before more voices could be raised, Hugo lifted his hands, palms outward, the gesture calm but firm.

“Okay… okay,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the table. “I admit—I had to go over the line with some of you. For that, I apologise. I know it can’t have been easy. Please… let me explain, and then we can all enjoy our me—”

The words cut off as the room was plunged into darkness.

The chandeliers above went dead with a pop, and all sound seemed to be swallowed at once, leaving only the roar of the storm pressing against the windows. Rain hammered, thunder rolled, the glass rattled violently as the gale screamed beyond.

“God dammit,” Jessica’s voice rang out, sharp in the black. “Lights going out? How cliché is this! I don’t want to be—”

Chairs scraped as someone pushed back from the table. Katy heard the shuffle of feet, then another voice snapping through the dark: “Sit down! Quit it with your stupid theories!”

The rest of Jessica’s words were lost beneath another crash of thunder. For a few frantic seconds, the only sounds were the storm outside and the nervous shifting of bodies inside the room—people half standing, half sitting, everyone on edge.

Then, with a flicker, the lights came back on.

Katy blinked against the sudden brightness. All around her, faces were pale and wide-eyed, breaths shallow from the tension of those long seconds in the dark. For a moment, no one moved.

And then she heard it.

A sound that didn’t belong.

A soft, high-pitched gurgle.

Her gaze snapped toward the head of the table, and her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The tall chair, once occupied by the imposing figure of Hugo Hawthorne, was now filled by a tiny, helpless baby.

The baby's features were a stark contrast to the commanding presence Hugo had once held. With piercing, impossibly blue eyes that mirrored Hugo's, the baby stared out at the room with a mix of curiosity and innocence. The baby's skin was soft and smooth, a flawless canvas that glowed with a healthy, rosy hue. A wisp of fine, blond hair topped the baby's head

The baby's body was plump and soft, with chubby limbs that wiggled and kicked as it lay in the oversized chair. His tiny penis and balls was on full display, a vulnerable and exposed sight, dangling between its fat thighs

The baby was clearly around six months old. Its tiny hands reached out, grasping at the air as if seeking comfort or understanding. The baby's mouth was a perfect, rosebud shape, occasionally opening to emit soft coos and gurgles.

Jessica broke it first, her voice sharp but wavering with disbelief.
“Okay… I did not expect that.”