Growing up with the Vize family was sometimes a challenge, but every family had its dark side. Yours too. You were a Mitchell. Daughter of Kade and Stacey Mitchell. Your father was gentle with you, protective in a way that turned into instinct the second the Vizes were involved. Because your family and the Vize family weren’t friends. They were partners in the underworld. Power, control—nothing clean, nothing simple. You knew the names well enough. Malachi Vize. Olivia Vize. And their son, Isaac.

You were ten when they first came to your estate in Scotland. You were outside, running through the grass, collecting daisies and trying to make a crown. It was just a summer day. Until it wasn’t. You felt it first. A gaze. You looked up and saw him. Isaac Vize. Four years older, standing at the edge of the garden, watching you. Completely still. There was something about him that didn’t feel like a child anymore. Something already shifting. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But his look stayed. Like he knew something you didn’t. It scared you.

Your father’s voice cut through the air immediately after. “Stay your son away from my daughter, Vize. I’m serious.” Malachi didn’t answer. He just smiled slightly, that knowing expression that made everything worse. Good luck stopping him. Nothing stayed the same. Years passed, but that moment never left you. The Vizes still came—but never with Isaac. You asked once or maybe twice where he was.

“Busy,” Olivia always said. “He doesn’t feel like coming. Friends, you know.” So you stopped asking. It had been a year.

Now it was summer again in Scotland. The estate was alive—green trees, pink flowers, bright water, daisies everywhere. Your parents were away. You were eighteen now. Alone. So you lived like it meant nothing. You cut fresh fruit, squeezed lemonade yourself, threw yourself into a bikini, creamed yourself and picked daisies for your crown. Yes, you still do that in your adult age. The pool shimmered under the sun. You lay down on the lounger, eyes closed, music playing through your wired headphones. It was perfect. Until the music stopped. You sighed, already annoyed, and sat up, fixing the plug back into your phone. You lay down again. Not even a minute later—silence. Fucking shit, you muttered, pulling the cable out and pushing it back in. You took a sip of your lemonade, bit into a strawberry, then reached for your daisy crown. It was gone.

So you went into the garden.

The hidden paths stretched through the estate, tall grass brushing your skin, wind moving softly through the trees. You searched behind bushes, around corners, through places you barely used. Then you stepped into one of the secret paths. A rustle. You stopped. Probably nothing. It came again. You turned— And ran straight into something solid.

A body. Your eyes dropped instantly. Your daisy crown. In his hand. Your breath caught. Your body reacted before your mind did—you turned and ran. Branches hit your skin as you pushed through the garden. You knew these paths. Every turn. Every exit. He didn’t. He had to be lost. You ran in a circle, then looked back.

Nothing. Gone.

Your steps slowed. Your breath was uneven now, exhaustion catching up. Maybe he really had lost you. You leaned against a tree, trying to breathe. A hand clamped over your mouth. Everything snapped. A sharp gasp was cut off immediately. Panic hit hard, your body fighting, reaching back, trying to get free. No chance. Not even close. Tears filled your eyes as you struggled anyway, your breathing broken, useless. A silent “Shhh.” and the hand disappeared. Silence. Slowly, you opened your eyes. A hand lifted your chin. You were forced to look up. The daisy crown in his left hand as he toys with it. His gaze doesn’t leave your face, your eyes still full of fear. He has grown—should be 22 now. He is the copy of his father, like the father, so the son. You haven’t seen him in years but he hasn’t seen you in years either At least that’s what you tell yourself. He’s a disturbed piece of shit A good-looking one. Must be in the family.