SHADOW OF THE HEIRESS

Charlotte sat in the big Hargrove dining room, staring at the gigantic and fantastic chandelier above. It was shining lovely with light, as always, but tonight, its brightness went cold. Evelyn, seated at the head of the table, looked every bit the perfect heiress, composed, confident, and radiant.

"You should be the one to handle tomorrow's press conference," Mr. Hargrove said with a smile, cutting into his food. "It's time the world sees the rightful face of the Hargrove family."

Charlotte's grip on her fork tightened. She barely tasted her food as she forced herself to smile politely. The Hargroves had been her family for as long as she could remember, but with Evelyn's return, their relationship toward her had turned to frozen interest in her.

"Of course, Father," Evelyn said with a lovely smile. She glanced at Charlotte, her expression unreadable. "I wouldn't want to step on Charlotte's toes, though."

Charlotte looked up sharply, discovering the false sweetness in her tone. "I never said I wanted to handle the press conference," she replied evenly.

"Good," Evelyn said, her smile widening. "It's probably for the best."

The conversation continued, but Charlotte used are means to put it out, feeling like an outsider in the home she'd once considered her own.

The days that followed brought more changes. Evelyn quickly took over responsibilities that had once been entrusted to Charlotte. Meetings with the estate's staff, decisions about charities, and even redecorating the east wing—Evelyn was involved in it all.

Charlotte tried to brush it off. It's natural, she told herself. She's the real Hargrove daughter. I should be happy for her.

But as the days passed, the small differences grew harder to ignore. Mrs. Hargrove no longer sought her opinion on family matters, and Mr. Hargrove barely acknowledged her presence at dinner. Even the staff, who had always been kind to her, seemed to avoid her gaze when Evelyn was nearby.

The only person who seemed unaffected was Jack. He appeared out of nowhere, as usual, leaning against a doorway or appearing in a shadowed corner of the estate. "Feeling a little out of place?" he asked one evening, his voice low and smooth.

"What do you think?" Charlotte snapped, immediately regretting her tone.

Jack nodded. "It's not your fault, you know. Evelyn has been waiting for this her whole life."

Charlotte frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jack's expression darkened. "Let's just say there's more to Evelyn's return than a happy family reunion." Before she could ask further questions, he walked away, leaving her with more questions inside her.

Unable to sleep, Charlotte found her mind wandering back to the hidden room she had discovered days earlier. The dusty journal still lay where she had left it, its leather cover cracked due to old age.

She opened it carefully, the pages were flexible under her fingers. Most of the writing was illegible, written in a language she didn't recognize. But one section caught her eye—an entry written in English.

The chosen must bear the mark of the Hargrove legacy. Through the sacrifice, prosperity will be ensured. Without it, ruin will fall upon us all.

Charlotte's chest tightened. "The chosen?" she whispered aloud. Her thoughts ran back to the scar on Evelyn's arm and the strange symbol she'd seen in her dreams.

Could Evelyn be the "chosen one"? And if so, what did that mean for her?

She turned another page and gasped. A drawing of an altar was sketched there, with figures surrounding it in scary poses. At the center was a person lying on the ground and not moving, their face hidden. under the image was a single word: Sacrifice.

Her hands kept shaking as she closed the journal. "This can't be real," she uttered. But deep down, she knew it was. Everything about the Hargrove estate had felt wrong since Evelyn's return, and now she had proof that something serious was happening.

Charlotte couldn't remove the unease that followed her after reading the journal. Her interactions with Evelyn became more distant, each conversation filled with unspoken tension. Evelyn's words often carried double meanings, and Charlotte found herself questioning everything.

That night, as the estate went silent, Charlotte remained awake in her room. The shadows on her walls seemed to shift, as if alive. She tried to get her eyes shut, trying to calm her disturbing thoughts.

A small creak sound of a door echoed from the hallway and drew her attention. She jumped out of bed and looked through the small space in her door.

Evelyn, dressed in a dark cloth, moved silently down the hall.

Charlotte's heart pounded. Where is she going at this hour?

She grabbed her robe and followed without thinking of the danger. Evelyn's footsteps were soft without sound but it was with a purpose, leading her down the big staircase and toward the back of the estate. Charlotte kept her distance, careful not to make a sound.

Evelyn sneaked through a side door, disappearing into the darkness. Charlotte hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open and stepping outside.

The cold night air was felt by her soft skin as she followed Evelyn across the lawn. The moonlight made long shadows, and every rustling leaf made her jump. She followed Evelyn to the edge of the woods, where the trees looked like dark security guards.

Evelyn stopped suddenly, looking over her shoulder. Charlotte hid behind a tree, her breath seized in her throat. When she dared to look again, Evelyn was gone.

Confused, Charlotte stepped forward, looking through the area. A small glow caught her eye—a lantern shining deeper into the woods. She hurried after it, careful to keep her footsteps light.

She followed the lantern to a clearing where a group of clothed figures stood in a circle. At the center was Evelyn, her head bowed.

Charlotte's stomach turned. What is this?

She walked closer, hiding behind a tree at the beginning of the clearing. The figures began to chant in a low, ancient language, their voices went into a haunting melody. Evelyn raised her arms, and Charlotte saw the scar on her arm shining faintly.

The chanting became louder and the energy between them also became more intense, the air around the environment was blowing like a wind. Charlotte's heart went off as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Suddenly, one of the figures turned sharply, as if noticing her presence. Charlotte froze, her breath seized totally. The figure's hood fell back, revealing a rugged face with eyes that burned like charcoal.

The figure raised a hand, and the chanting stopped. Evelyn turned with her expression a mix of shock and anger as her eyes locked onto Charlotte's hiding place.

"Charlotte," Evelyn shouted with a sharp voice. "What are you doing here?"

Before Charlotte could answer, the ground beneath her feet shook. The figures began to murmur, their voices filled with panic. Evelyn turned back to the circle, her face pale.

A blinding light came out from the center of the clearing, and a very loud roar filled the air. Charlotte stumbled backward, covering her eyes.

When the light went off, the clearing was empty. The cloaked figures, Evelyn, and even the glowing scar had vanished, leaving Charlotte alone in the darkness.

But the ground where they had stood was burnt, the symbol from the journal burned into the earth.

Charlotte's breathing became slow as she stared at the mark, and her mind filled with questions. Whatever was happening was bigger than she could have imagined—and she was right in the middle of it.