The boys exchanged a look, but said nothing more.
Not far from the kitchen entrance stood Mama Agnes, the mansion’s longtime cook. She was an older woman with a strong presence, soft eyes, and the quiet authority of someone who had seen more than she ever said. She had worked in the household longer than many people could remember.
As she passed the gate with a basket of groceries, she noticed Elijah pull something from his pocket. It was an old photograph. The paper looked worn and faded, as if it had been touched too many times. Elijah stared at it for only a second before slipping it quickly back into his pocket, but Mama Agnes had seen enough to stiffen.
“Elijah,” she said quietly.
He looked up at once. “Mama Agnes.”
She lowered her voice. “Old fire still burns, doesn’t it?”
Elijah’s expression turned guarded. “Some things do not die.”
Before she could answer, the sound of heels cut through the front steps. Bianca Vale had arrived again. She entered the courtyard with expensive sunglasses, sharp perfume, and that polished smile that never reached her eyes. This time she went straight to Vanessa, who had just ended her call near the front terrace.
“The gala must be flawless,” Bianca said. “Every corner, every face, every worker.”
Vanessa folded her arms. “It will be.”
Bianca’s eyes slid briefly toward the staff. “Then do not allow weakness around you. Rich people notice everything, especially weakness.”
Elijah lowered his gaze and returned to opening the side gate, but Jordan noticed something. Elijah’s hand was not steady.
A light rain began in the afternoon when the school car returned. The twins jumped out under the covered entrance, but Elijah hurried from the gate anyway, carrying an umbrella toward them.
“Careful,” he said. “The ground is slippery.”
Before he reached them, his steps slowed.
Jallen saw it first. “Elijah.”
Elijah stopped for one second, pressing a hand lightly against the gatepost as if the world had tilted. Then he straightened almost immediately.
“I’m fine,” he said.
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But he did not look fine.
That evening, after homework, Jordan wandered downstairs to return a book. As he passed the open security post near the gate, his eyes landed on Elijah’s wrist. There was an old bracelet there, simple, faded, almost hidden beneath his sleeve. But carved into the inside were two letters: JJ.
Just then, Mama Agnes stepped into the passage and saw it too. Her face changed at once. She looked at Elijah, and when she spoke, her voice was low and heavy.
“One day, truth stops waiting.”
Elijah said nothing.
Much later that night, when the mansion had gone quiet and the lights were low, the gate area fell still. A weak breeze moved through the trees. From the upstairs landing, Jordan happened to glance down toward the front entrance again. He saw Elijah leaning against the wall near his post, looking faint. Then, in a voice so soft it almost disappeared into the night, Elijah whispered:
“I promised I would stay near my boys.”
Jordan froze. His heart began to pound. Had Elijah just called them his boys?
The next afternoon, the words Jordan had heard the night before still would not leave him.
I promised I would stay near my boys.
He had wanted to ask Elijah what he meant. He had wanted to tell Jallen everything the moment they reached school. But the day had passed in a blur of lessons, whispers, and growing unease. And by the time the twins returned home, something else had already gone terribly wrong.
As soon as the car rolled through the Hart Mansion gate, Jallen frowned. “Elijah isn’t standing up.”
Jordan looked quickly toward the security post. Elijah was there, but he was not the same as usual. The quiet gateman, who always stood alert by the entrance, was now slumped in his chair, his head resting awkwardly against the wall. His face looked pale. His eyes were closed. One hand hung weakly by his side.
The boys hurried out of the car.
“Elijah,” Jordan called.
No answer.
Jallen stepped closer. “Elijah, can you hear us?”
This time Elijah moved slightly, but only barely. He looked exhausted, as if even opening his eyes would take too much strength.
Jordan turned to his brother at once. “We have to tell Mom.”
The twins ran inside together, their polished shoes tapping quickly across the shining floor as they crossed the wide entrance hall.
Inside Vanessa’s private sitting room, the air already felt tense. Vanessa Hart stood near the window with a phone in one hand and anger on her face. Her voice was low but cold, the kind of cold that made people nearby speak carefully. Across from her sat Bianca Vale, elegant and composed, watching with narrowed eyes as if she enjoyed every storm she did not have to clean up.
Vanessa ended the call sharply. “Unbelievable.”
“Mother,” Jallen said quickly. “It’s Elijah.”
Vanessa turned. “What about him?”
“He’s outside,” Jordan said. “He looks really sick.”
“He was sleeping at the gate,” Jallen added. “But not like normal. He looks weak.”
Bianca lifted one perfect brow. “Sleeping while on duty?”
Jordan shook his head. “No, that’s not what we mean.”
But Vanessa’s expression had already hardened.
“At this time,” Bianca said softly, rising from her chair, “with the gala one week away, that is not exhaustion. That is negligence.”
“Please listen,” Jallen said.
Vanessa did not. She strode past them in her heels, each step sharp against the marble floor. Bianca followed with quiet interest. The twins hurried after them, their hearts pounding.
By the time they reached the gate, two gardeners had paused their work. The driver stood nearby. A delivery man waited with boxes by the entrance. All of them turned as Vanessa approached.
“Elijah.”
