A raw, burning guilt churned in Lena’s stomach. The stack of bills, paid for by Julian’s money, sat heavy on her conscience. Each receipt was a fresh reminder of the deal she’d struck with the devil. Her great-grandparents’ betrayal, the loss of their land—it all felt like an ancient curse, now catching up to her. Every corner of the estate seemed to whisper secrets, echoing the Maxwells' long shadow. Leaving the dusty bakery files had been a struggle. The weight of that century-old injustice pressed down. How could she face Julian, knowing what she now knew? He found her in the conservatory, staring blankly at an orchid. Sunlight streamed through the glass, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. Julian’s presence was a sudden, cool shadow. "Lost in thought, Lena?" His voice was smooth, almost too casual. Lena flinched, her shoulders tightening. She turned slowly, offering a weak smile. "Just admiring the flowers. They're beautiful." "Indeed. Though I suspect your mind is on something far less delicate." He moved closer, his dark suit a stark contrast to the vibrant greens. "You've been... distant, since your little discovery at the bakery." Her breath hitched. Had he been watching her? Had he known she'd find something? "Discovery?" Lena feigned confusion, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I was just tidying up old records. Nothing significant." Julian merely raised an eyebrow. A small, knowing smirk played on his lips. "Old records can be quite illuminating. History has a way of repeating itself, wouldn't you agree?" He stepped closer, invading her personal space. Lena instinctively took a step back, bumping into a potted fern. Its fronds tickled her arm. "Tell me, Lena," he continued, his gaze unwavering, "what do you do for fun? When you're not working, I mean. Any hobbies? Interests?" The abrupt shift in topic caught her off guard. It felt disingenuous. A trap. "I... I don't have much free time," she stammered. "The bakery keeps me busy. And then there's... other things." "Other things?" His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting her. "A young woman like yourself, so dedicated. It's admirable. But everyone needs an outlet." Her mind raced. What did he want to know? Was he trying to find weaknesses? Leverage? The memory of Leo, his pale face in the hospital bed, flashed before her eyes. "I enjoy reading," she offered, choosing the safest, most generic answer. "Sometimes, when I have a moment." "Reading." Julian nodded slowly, as if weighing the word. "Fascinating. Any particular genre? Or do you prefer to broaden your horizons?" His questions felt less like polite conversation and more like an interrogation. Each one was a carefully placed brick, building a wall around her, or perhaps, searching for a weak point. "Historical fiction, mostly," she lied, picturing the dusty romance novels her grandmother used to read. "I like to learn about the past." "Ah, the past." He chuckled softly, a low, unsettling sound. "Always lurking, isn't it? Waiting to surprise us. So, historical fiction. Do you ever dabble in local history? Perhaps the stories of your own family?" Lena's blood ran cold. He knew. He had to. The knowledge of the Thorne family, the Maxwells, the land—it must have been a part of his family's records. He was toying with her. Her palms grew sweaty. "Not really. My family history is rather... uneventful." "Uneventful?" Julian's voice hardened slightly, losing its earlier playful edge. "I find that hard to believe, Lena. Everyone has a story. Especially families with roots as deep as yours in this town." He watched her, a predator studying its prey. Lena felt exposed, every nerve ending screaming. She wanted to bolt, to run and never look back. But the money, the bills, Leo’s recovery—they held her captive. "What about your weekends, Lena?" He pressed on, undeterred by her discomfort. "Do you visit family? Friends? Or do you simply retreat into your books?" His gaze was unsettlingly direct. It was as if he was trying to picture her life outside the estate, piece by piece, building a profile. He was looking for gaps, for inconsistencies. "I... I sometimes visit my grandmother," she managed, the lie barely holding together. Leo’s condition meant she spent most of her limited free time at the hospital, or frantically working. "Your grandmother." Julian paused. "A kind woman, I presume? Does she live nearby? Perhaps in the old part of town?" He was fishing. He was trying to pinpoint her connections, her support system. Lena felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cool conservatory air. "She's... she's not well," Lena said, trying to make her voice sound firm. "I don't burden her with my problems. We mostly just talk." Julian's smile returned, though it didn't reach his eyes. It was a cold, calculating expression. "Of course. Family matters are often best kept private. Though, sometimes, a fresh perspective can be quite... clarifying." He took another step, closing the distance she’d tried to maintain. His hand reached out, not to touch her, but to pluck a wilting petal from the orchid she'd been staring at earlier. He crushed it between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm just curious, Lena," he purred, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "About the person beyond the diligent employee. What makes you tick? What are your true ambitions?" His questions were no longer casual. They were pointed. Each word felt like a probe, seeking out the raw, exposed nerves of her life. He wasn't trying to make conversation. He was gathering intelligence. Lena’s throat tightened. His seemingly casual inquiries about her ‘hobbies’ and ‘weekend plans’ felt less like friendly curiosity and more like carefully placed traps, designed to expose her secrets. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that he wasn't just interested in her past. He was interested in her present, and perhaps, even more unsettlingly, her future.

Chapter 32: Probing Questions