My heart stopped as the screen lit up with a video.
My father, seated at a dimly lit table, an envelope sliding into his hand.
"What do you want from me?" I demanded, my voice cracking.
"Oh, Tiffany." Nathaniel’s smirk deepened. "I don’t want anything. I just enjoy watching you squirm."
My fists clenched. Anger surged through me, drowning the fear for a moment.
"You think this will break me?"
"Break you?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "No, my dear. This is merely a preview."
His words were like daggers, each one digging deeper. But amidst the pain, a flicker of resolve ignited.
"You’ll regret this," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me.
"We’ll see."
Nathaniel slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned, his retreating figure radiating triumph.
The garden fell silent, I allowed a single tear to fall.
He had won this round.
"You want war, Nathaniel?" I whispered to the empty night. "Then war it is."
"Do you believe in curses, Tiffany?"
Nathaniel’s voice slithered through the silence, dark and ominous, as we stood in the cavernous hall of his ancestral estate. His question hung in the air, heavy and foreboding.