The Black Inheritance: The Vestalis Game

"I'm Angela, and I'm eight," Angela said quietly, finding the courage to speak as she followed the twins into the mansion.

"We know, we know," Eleanor replied with a confident smile. "I'm Eleanor, the older twin, and this is my brother, Evander."

"Hey," Evander greeted with a casual nod.

Eleanor looked her over with an almost curious tilt of her head. "Well, well, aren't you a pretty little thing? You've got blonde hair just like us."

"I do," Angela said, brushing a hand over her uneven hair. "Your house is really nice. I've always wished to have one like this."

"You do now," Eleanor said, turning on her heel. "This is your new home. Come on—we'll show you your room."

Angela followed the twins through the grand hallways, her small footsteps echoing behind theirs. The walls were lined with tall windows, heavy drapes, and paintings that seemed too old and too serious for children.

They reached the second floor and stopped in front of a tall white door with silver handles.

"Here's your room," Evander said, pushing it open.

"I hope you like the decorations," Eleanor added, a flicker of pride in her voice. "We chose them ourselves."

Angela stepped inside, eyes widening. The room was large—larger than the dorm she'd shared with five other girls at the orphanage. The bed was covered in soft pastel linens, with fairy lights strung above and a window seat overlooking the garden. On the dresser sat a tiny tray with sweets and a vase of fresh flowers.

She didn't know what to say. It was more than she had ever dreamed of.

_______________________________________________

"Enjoy your first night here." Those were the last words Angela heard from Eleanor and Evander before she went to bed in her very first room, or at least she thought so.

She had just begun to drift into a hazy sleep when a soft creak stirred her. Her eyes fluttered open. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the fairy lights above. She sat up slowly, instinct already buzzing in her chest like a trapped bee.

The door was ajar.

Angela slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the room, every movement careful. She gently pulled the door open wider. The hallway beyond was empty. She was about to retreat when she noticed a shadow move—too quickly, too deliberately to be the wind.

Footsteps. She followed. Down the hall, around a corner, and through a silent corridor where the carpet muffled every sound, Angela moved like she was still back at the orphanage, sneaking past curfew. Only this time, it wasn't a matter of rules, it was survival.

She stopped at a half-open door. Through the gap, she saw the twins. They were in what looked like a study, standing in front of a man tied to a chair. Angela's heart skipped. The man was gagged, bloody, and barely conscious. Eleanor stood beside him, holding a glinting knife, twirling it between her fingers like a toy. Evander leaned against the desk, expression unreadable.

"He was following us again," Eleanor said. "Father said we could handle it however we wanted."

Evander glanced toward the door. Angela froze. He didn't say anything, just gave the faintest smirk. Then, without turning his head, he said, "You can come in, Angela."

Her stomach dropped. She hadn't made a sound. How did he—?

She pushed the door open, stepping inside. Neither twin looked surprised.