Chapter 10: Unraveling Hearts

Chapter 10

Oleander walked her guests out of the house, discussing when to meet up again to fix the blunder she had made on their assignment.

“Let me ask Gabe about his piece. It’d be better if I had the actual material rather than just the picture he sent me.” She rummaged through her bag for something, mindlessly shoving the taken-out items into the arms of poor Azel, who just happened to be behind her. “I’ll call him and ask if I can borrow it. That should give us more clarity on what to correct since his work is the main starting point.”

“Yes, that would be a good idea.”

As they walked further along the estate’s main road, Oleander whispered something into Isla’s ear.

By now, the sky had darkened, and the estate lamps flickered on, casting a warm glow over the gravel pathway nestled between lush green grass. The towering trees, their leaves rustling with the night breeze, occasionally obscured the light, creating dappled shadows along their path.

For Azel? This felt like heaven.

He remained silent, taking everything in. Oleander noticed but chose not to comment—lest she startled the porcupine into retreating back into his shell. Azel wasn’t the most sociable person. Even when he did talk, it was strictly related to their group projects or assignments.

The same guard from earlier arrived in Azel’s car to pick them up.

Dorothy slung an arm around Oleander, grinning. “Let’s meet this Saturday to finish up? I’ll confirm with you later, yeah?”

Oleander nodded, watching as Dorothy climbed into the car. Azel was about to follow when she lightly tugged on his jacket. He turned around just as Jane came running up with a small tote bag.

He raised a brow, questioning why he was being stopped—only for Oleander to place a container filled with leftover cream puffs into his hands. “I noticed you liked them, so you can take the rest. I wouldn’t be able to finish them all myself.”

And there it was—round two of his blushing.

The notoriously teasing individual in the car had seen it all. Dorothy stuck her head out, cackling, “Azel, you lucky bloke! I didn’t even get any!”

Oleander tilted her head at her and smirked. “Dorothy, you barely touched dessert. I assumed you don’t have much of a sweet tooth, so inside is another tiffin with matcha pudding. Less sweet, more earthy.”

Grinning, she gives a thumbs up.

Azel murmured a quick thanks before scrambling into the car, facepalming Dorothy back into her seat as she let out an exaggerated wail.

As the car disappeared into the distance, Oleander’s expression shifted. Her blank gaze lifted toward the main building—toward the shadow lurking behind the window.

Winford.

His habit of observing people’s every move was suffocating.

Their stare-off was intense, but Winford was amused. The youngest had guts. But she misplaced them in the wrong battle.

She was playing a dangerous game—one even his own children dared not to.

And yet, here she was, glaring directly at him.

A sudden gust swept through the estate, making the curtains by the window billow. Winford’s eyes widened slightly (unnoticeable) before his smirk returned.

“It has been years, hasn’t it, my favorite granddaughter?”

Oleander appeared in his room as if summoned by his words, her caramel-brown eyes sharp with unmasked hostility.

“But your bad habit of prying into my life hasn’t changed, you fraudulent old coon.”

His smirk widened, his grey eyes gleaming with wicked excitement. His laughter boomed through the room.

“HAHA! Finally, you bloomed—”

Oleander made a disgusted face.

“—into the shell you were always meant to inhabit! This is a momentous occasion! And yet, you hid it from your dear old grandpa?”

“Sicko. First of all, look at yourself. No one’s gonna admit they have a grandpa who looks like a thirty-something-year-old mid-life crisis. And second—”

She took a step forward just as Winford instinctively stepped back.

“—it would’ve been better if you never found out, but alas, now I’ll have to shut you up.”

(Immortality does not suit this wrinkled old freak.)

With a flick of her wrist, she slashed her hand through the air. Though she made no contact, the force of it sent Winford crashing onto the couch, knocking him off balance.

(...it shouldn’t be this easy??)

And then—there was movement. A dark mist slithered out from the shadows, shifting into form.

“Oh-ho? So the elite butler was a DyJin being all along~?” Oleander grinned, eyes gleaming with manic delight.

Butler Frederick was not human.

His shadow was missing.

Ignoring him, she trotted forward, grabbing Winford’s hair, yanking his head back.

“I know this isn’t your real form. You’re probably somewhere else, watching,” she mused. “But let me make myself clear—a single flutter you make would be an alarm for me.”

This day was going peaceful until —The sight of the mist following Azel as they departed pushed her over the edge.

Frederick’s pitch-black eyes widened. His unsettlingly inhuman features twisted in shock. He shuddered under the immense pressure, Oleander emitted.

“And if you so much as think about touching what little I have left—” her grip tightened, “—I’ll make sure that the last breath I take ruins everything you’ve planned.”

The butler’s expression contorted further. As a non-human, his reactions were… unique.

Oleander, however, was unfazed when her attention turned to him.

“If you go running back to rally your little barbaric antagonizers, just remember—‘Shades’ have their own punishments for those who break entente.”

A shudder ran through Frederick’s form before he vanished in a wisp of smoke.

Provoking the not-so-present patriarch any further probably wasn’t a good idea. So with that final warning, she exited the room.

As she walked through the dimly lit corridor, she felt the weight of countless eyes upon her. Some belonged to the mindless—humans reduced to mere puppets, their eyes glazed, their movements robotic, devoid of thought or expression.

But others… others were watching her with intent. Their gazes sharp, their postures alert.

Shades.

Exiting the mansion, she was met with a strange sight—Isla, fretting about, eyes darting everywhere. “M-MISS?! MIIISS! Where did you go?! Oh my god, I’m getting old… I swear I just saw her disappear before my very eyes! Huhu…”

(Ah, shit.)

Oleander quickly tapped her nanny’s shoulder. Isla turned around, looking frazzled—until her eyes met Oleander’s glowing ones. “Oh, Miss! I was admiring the flowers.” Isla sounded out, “Did your conversation go well? The patriarch has been missing you since you left.”

Oleander smiled good-naturedly and linked arms with her. “It went fine. Anyway, can I stay up and watch Baby’s Day Out with you? I miss the times when we used to watch movies together.”

As they walked off, their conversation drifted into the distance.

Meanwhile, far above, in a locked room on the sixth floor, the true Winford sat alone. A grand mural of every generation of Blackhearts stretched across the wall before him.

“Frederick,” he murmured, voice low and thoughtful. “Bring me a glass of gin.”

Friedrich, a little concerned, went to fulfill the order.

He opened his eyes and coughed lightly, wiping away the faint taste of metal from his lips. His grey eyes, deep in thought…