Logan had always prided himself on his self-control, but lately, it seemed to be slipping away like a shadow. Anita had become a constant presence in his mind, a figure who occupied his thoughts day and night. He found himself drawn to her in an exhilarating and unsettling way with a magnetic pull. There were moments when he worried that this growing obsession might lead him to cross the boundaries they had both agreed to respect. It wasn't just physical attraction, though there was certainly that; it was something deeper, something more insistent as if an invisible thread connected them.
At times, this connection felt pure and natural, like the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees surrounding Harrow Hall. When he thought of Anita in those moments, it was with a sense of warmth and peace, as if the very earth beneath his feet was whispering that this was right, that they were meant to find solace in one another. He recalled how her laughter would ring out across the garden, or her eyes would soften when she talked about her plans for Hall’s future. In these moments, Logan felt a profound sense of contentment, a belief that he could build something real and lasting with Anita, something as enduring as the ancient charter oaks that dotted the estate.
But then there were other times, darker times when that connection felt like a vice tightening around his chest. It was as if the Hall itself, with its long history of secrets and sorrow, was feeding into his emotions, twisting them into something almost evil. He would catch himself brooding over her in the quiet of the night, unable to sleep, his thoughts spiraling into a dark abyss. It was as though the shadows of the past were reaching out to him, whispering that Anita was his in a way that went beyond love, beyond affection—something possessive and consuming. Those were the moments when Hall’s influence felt strongest when he wondered if he was truly in control of his feelings or if something more sinister was at play.
Logan shook his head, trying to dispel the unease that clung to him like a second skin. He knew he needed to distance himself to regain his clarity of mind. Anita had enough on her plate without him complicating things further. She was trying to restore Harrow Hall to its former glory, and Vanessa’s vindictive interference with the local businesses had only made her job harder. Contractors and suppliers were suddenly unavailable, and those who agreed to work seemed nervous, as if they feared falling into a trap. Logan hated to think that his past with Vanessa was now casting a shadow over Anita’s work, but it was clear that his ex was determined to make things difficult.
The more Logan thought about it, the more he realized that the best way to help Anita might be to keep his distance for a while. He could see how much she was struggling, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her. She didn’t need the added pressure of his presence, especially when he wasn’t sure if he could fully trust himself around her. The last thing he wanted was to push her away by coming on too strong and by allowing his emotions to overtake his judgment.
And so, Logan decided to pull back. It wasn’t easy—every instinct in him wanted to be near her, offer his support, and share in her burdens—but he knew it was the right thing to do. He started working more time on the far grounds, tending to the orchards and gardens, and keeping himself busy with tasks that required his full attention. It was therapeutic in a way, losing himself in the physical labor, feeling the earth beneath his hands, the sun on his back. It reminded him of the simpler things in life, the things that had always brought him peace.
Still, even as he worked, his thoughts would stray to Anita. He would imagine her walking through the gardens, her hands brushing against the flowers, her face lit up with that determined expression she wore when she was deep in thought. He would picture her sitting on the porch swing, sipping tea as she pored over restoration plans, her brow furrowed in concentration. He wondered if she ever thought of him as often as he thought of her if she felt the same strange pull that he did.
He had to remind himself that Anita was different from Vanessa. She wasn’t someone who would manipulate or control, who would use her emotions as a weapon. She had her own wounds and grief, and she was trying to navigate through them with a grace that Logan deeply admired. He didn’t want to be the one to disrupt that, to impose his own turmoil on her when she was already carrying so much.
The days passed slowly, each blending into the next as Logan immersed himself in his work. He spoke with Anita only when necessary, keeping their interactions brief and to the point. It was difficult, especially when she would look at him with those clear, searching eyes as if she knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. But Logan held firm, knowing that his resolve was necessary for both of their sakes.
The Hall seemed to loom larger in the evenings as he retreated to his home, its presence almost oppressive, as if it was watching him, judging him. There were moments when he could almost feel it breathing, the very walls pulsing with a life of their own.
He didn’t like its hold over him, the way it amplified his emotions, turning his thoughts into something twisted and unnatural. He had heard the stories, of course—stories of how the Hall had driven people to madness, how it had a way of getting inside your head and distorting your reality. Logan had only half believed those tales, but now, after everything he had experienced, he knew there was some truth.
He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his distance, though. The more time he spent away from Anita, the more he realized how deeply he cared for her. It wasn’t just infatuation; it was something far more profound. He wanted to protect her, be there for her in every way possible, and help her find happiness in a place that had seen so much sorrow.
***
Anita stepped into the cool, air-conditioned interior of the local bank, a sense of determination set in her stride. She had spent the past week meticulously gathering every piece of paperwork necessary to be added to the Harrow Hall Legacy accounts, and now, with her documents neatly organized in a leather portfolio, she was ready to complete this task.
As she approached the reception desk, she noticed a gruff security guard with a name tag that said Atkins watching her with unusual suspicion. He was a large, burly man, standing tall and imposing near the entrance.
A young woman at the reception greeted Anita with a professional smile. "Good morning, ma'am. How can I assist you today?"
"I'm here to be added to the Harrow Hall Legacy accounts," Anita replied confidently. "Mr. Charlton has looked everything over and said I have all the necessary paperwork."
The receptionist's eyebrows rose, recognition in her eyes at the mention of the Hall. "Of course, ma'am. Please have a seat for a moment, and I'll get someone to assist you."
Anita nodded and took a seat in the waiting area. She watched the receptionist make a phone call, speaking in hushed tones. Atkins' eyes never left her, his presence a constant reminder of the bank's scrutiny. Within minutes, a young banker appeared, his nervous demeanor evident despite his attempt at a welcoming smile.
"Mrs. Harrow? I'm David. If you'll follow me, we can take care of everything in my office."
Anita followed David through the labyrinthine corridors of the bank, finally arriving at a small, sparsely furnished office. She took a seat across from him, placing her portfolio on the desk between them.
David's eyes widened slightly as he scanned through the documents Anita presented. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "It seems everything is in order, but there are a few additional identification documents we'll need to complete the process."
Anita's brow furrowed. "Additional identification documents? I've already provided my passport, driver's license, and several utility bills. What more could you possibly need?"
David hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harrow, but we require a secondary form of identification, such as a certified birth certificate, as well as a notarized statement of identity from a local official who has known you for at least three years. Then there is the necessity of a statement from a financial official familiar with your banking for the past ten years as well as a financial portfolio dating at least seven years."
Anita's eyes narrowed. She had been through enough banking procedures to know this was definitely not standard policy. "Who mandated these additional requirements?"
David shifted again, glancing towards the door as if expecting someone to walk in. “These are very special accounts—”
“—yes, I am aware of that. However, I am also aware that all of these documents from the law office give me absolute right over those accounts.”
David stared down at his desk. "These stipulations come from my manager, Vanessa Briggs. She's very particular about high-value accounts."
“All high-value accounts or these accounts in particular?”
David glanced up at her. His face paled, but he didn’t respond.
Anita felt a surge of irritation but managed to keep her voice calm. "I see. Thank you for letting me know, David. I will obtain the documents you need and return as soon as possible."
As she left the office, she could feel Atkins' eyes boring into her back. His disdain was almost palpable. Ignoring him, she walked briskly out of the bank and, as soon as she got to her car, called Doreen in California, explaining the situation. Doreen promised to hustle and overnight the necessary documents. Anita hung up, feeling a sense of resolve. She would not let Atkins, David, Vanessa, or anyone else at the bank intimidate her. She was determined to secure her rightful place in the Harrow Hall Legacy accounts.
***
Late the next morning, Anita returned to the bank, additional identification documents in hand. As she entered, she noticed the gruff security guard, Atkins, glaring at her from his post near the entrance.
David's eyes widened in surprise when he saw her. "You managed to get everything so quickly?"
"I did," Anita replied coolly, handing over the documents. "I trust this will suffice."
David examined the papers, his nervousness returning. "Actually, Mrs. Harrow, it appears we also need a recent medical bill or insurance statement."
Anita's patience snapped. "This is absurd. I demand to speak to the president of the bank."
David paled, clearly distressed. "Please, Mrs. Harrow, there's no need for that."
But Anita was already on her feet, her portfolio clutched tightly in her hand. As she marched to the receptionist, she caught Atkins' disapproving scowl. Ignoring him, she demanded an immediate meeting with the president. Within minutes, she was escorted to a large, opulent office.
The bank president, a distinguished man in his sixties, rose to greet her. "Mrs. Harrow, what seems to be the problem?"
Anita quickly explained the situation, detailing the unreasonable demands made by David at the behest of his manager, Vanessa. The president listened attentively, his expression growing grimmer by the minute.
"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Harrow," he said finally. "I assure you, this is not our standard policy. You have my deepest apologies. Please, let me take care of this personally."
He pressed a button on his desk, summoning David. When the young banker entered, he looked as though he was about to face a firing squad. "David, Mrs. Harrow has informed me of the difficulties she has encountered. Is it true that these additional requirements came from Vanessa?"
David nodded, clearly terrified. "Yes, sir. She insisted on it."
The president turned back to Anita, his expression contrite. "Mrs. Harrow, please rest assured that your paperwork will be processed immediately."
Anita felt a pang of sympathy for David. "Sir, if I may," she interjected. "David was only following instructions. I don't believe he should be punished for this."
The president nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. Thank you for your understanding, Mrs. Harrow. David, you're dismissed for now. I'll speak with Vanessa personally."
David left the office, looking immensely relieved. Anita could see Atkins outside the office through the glass door, his stern gaze still fixed on her. The president picked up the phone, summoning Vanessa. Moments later, the tall, impeccably dressed woman entered the room with an air of authority.
"Vanessa, we need to discuss your handling of the Harrow Hall Legacy accounts," the president began, his tone icy.
Vanessa's eyes flicked to Anita, a calculating look in her eyes. "Of course, sir. There must have been some miscommunication. I only wanted to ensure the utmost security for such a prestigious account."
"Security is one thing, but making unreasonable demands is another," the president retorted. "Mrs. Harrow has been subjected to unnecessary stress and inconvenience. I expect better judgment in the future."
Vanessa's demeanor shifted, a charming smile replacing her earlier coolness. "I understand completely, sir. It won't happen again."
Anita watched, knowing Vanessa was adept at using her charm to diffuse situations. Despite the president's stern words, it was clear Vanessa would face no real consequences. As the meeting concluded, Vanessa’s smile never faltered.
"I apologize for any inconvenience...Mrs. Harrow. I hope we can move forward without any further issues."
Anita maintained her own smile, equally polite but with a steely edge.
As they left the president's office and turned in separate directions, the tension between the women was palpable. Anita knew Vanessa saw her as a threat, and she hoped Vanessa realized that Anita wouldn't back down. She was determined to ensure that next time Vanessa wouldn't escape unscathed. As Anita exited, she couldn't help but notice Atkins' narrowed eyes following her every move. She gave him a curt nod, knowing she had one more adversary within the bank's walls.
***
Anita stood at the grand entrance of Harrow Hall, a place that had become both sanctuary and enigma. The morning sun cast a soft glow over the sprawling estate, highlighting the gardens and the ivy-covered façade. She took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Today marked the beginning of her ambitious project to renovate Harrow Hall, to breathe new life into its ancient walls while uncovering the secrets it held.
With a clipboard in hand, Anita began her inspection of the exterior. The stone walls, though sturdy, showed signs of age and neglect. Cracks snaked up from the foundation, and the once-grand windows were clouded with years of grime. She made a note to contact a stonemason and a window specialist, imagining the hall restored to its former glory with sunlight streaming through sparkling panes.
Her thoughts drifted to the history of Harrow Hall, a place steeped in mystery and tragedy. She had pieced together stories from old journals, local legends, and her own unsettling, unending dreams. The Harrow family had been prominent landowners, known for their wealth and influence since colonial times. However, their legacy was marred by whispers of dark rituals, ghostly apparitions, and a series of unexplained disappearances.
Anita’s own research had revealed that several members of the Harrow family and many townspeople had vanished without a trace over the decades. These disappearances were often attributed to the Harrow family, but no bodies were ever found on the grounds despite numerous searches allowed through the years. She couldn't shake the sense that the past was alive within the walls of the Hall, that the spirits of those who had lived—and died—there were trying to communicate with her.
Moving to the interior, Anita’s steps echoed through the grand foyer. The hall’s opulence was still evident despite the dust and decay. Marble floors, intricate woodwork, and towering ceilings hinted at a time when Harrow Hall was the epitome of elegance. But now, it was a shadow of its former self. She imagined refurbishing the space, restoring the wood to its rich luster and the marble to its original gleam. She envisioned chandeliers sparkling once more and the air filled with the warmth of a roaring fireplace.
As she wandered through the vast rooms, Anita’s thoughts turned to Logan. Since their dinner at his parents’ house, he had been somewhat distant. At first, she attributed it to the sheer amount of work required to tame the grounds. Logan was often outside, hacking away at the dense foliage, repairing fences, and tending to the gardens. He seemed absorbed in his tasks, barely taking a break to join her for meals or conversations. While she admired his dedication, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his distance than just hard work.
In the drawing-room, Anita paused by the large bay window that overlooked the gardens. She watched Logan from afar, his figure hunched over a wheelbarrow, his movements mechanical and purposeful. He had been her rock, steady and reliable since she arrived in Harrowsburg, but lately, she felt there was a gulf opening between them. She wondered if he was purposely adding distance, and if so, why. Had the house, with all its dark history and eerie atmosphere, begun to affect him as it had her?
Shaking off her concerns for the moment, Anita focused on the task at hand. The drawing room needed extensive work. The wallpaper was peeling, and the ceiling had water damage from a long-neglected leak. She jotted down notes about finding a restoration specialist for the wallpaper and a contractor to repair the roof. Her mind was a whirl of fabric swatches, paint samples, and furniture catalogs, but beneath it, all was a growing sense of unease.
Anita moved on to the library, her favorite room despite its current state of disarray. Dusty shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that had seen better days. The air was thick with the scent of aged paper and wood. She could almost hear the whispers of the past, the hushed conversations of the Harrow family as they sat by the fire, lost in their books or perhaps plotting their next move. The library held many secrets, and she was determined to uncover them.
She had already found several journals and letters hidden among the books, documents that hinted at the darker side of the Harrow legacy. There were references to secret meetings, coded messages, and cryptic symbols that matched the carvings on the mahogany table in her dreams. The more she read, the more she felt drawn into the web of the Harrow family’s past, a past that seemed to bleed into the present.
Despite the chilling revelations, Anita was resolute in her mission. She wanted to honor the history of Harrow Hall while making it her own. She envisioned the library as a cozy retreat, with comfortable chairs, restored bookshelves, and perhaps a new fireplace. It would be a place of learning and reflection, a sanctuary from the haunted memories that lingered in the shadows.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chill that swept through the room. The temperature seemed to drop inexplicably, and the flickering light from the single bulb overhead cast long, dancing shadows. Anita shivered, feeling the unmistakable presence of something—or someone—watching her. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the dimly lit room, but there was no one there. The feeling lingered, a reminder that Harrow Hall was far from an ordinary house.
Determined not to let fear dictate her actions, Anita moved on to the dining room. The long table was once the site of lavish dinners and family gatherings. The cleaning crews she had hired to work double shifts had cleared the Hall of most of its cobwebs, grime, and dust from the carpets and major surfaces. She imagined the table fully restored, the silverware gleaming, the crystal glasses sparkling under the light of a chandelier. She could almost hear the echoes of laughter and conversation, but those echoes were overshadowed by the darker whispers of the past.
As she made her way through the rest of the house, Anita’s mind was a jumble of renovation plans and historical puzzles. She wanted to bring life back to Harrow Hall, but she also felt a responsibility to understand the events that had transpired within its walls. The disappearances, the rituals, the ghostly apparitions – they were all pieces of a larger puzzle, one that she was determined to solve.
Later that evening, as Anita sat in her temporary study surrounded by blueprints and historical texts, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The house seemed to creak and groan around her, as if it were alive and aware of her presence. She glanced out the window and saw Logan working tirelessly, his figure silhouetted against the fading light. She missed their easy conversations and the sense of partnership that had started to burgeon. The distance between them was growing, and she feared it might have something to do with the house and its dark influence.
Despite her concerns, Anita was resolute. Harrow Hall was a place of mystery and history, but it was also her home now. She would face whatever challenges came her way, whether they were supernatural or simply the trials of renovation. She would uncover the secrets of the past and build a future within these walls. And perhaps, in doing so, she could bridge the gap that had formed between her and Logan.
***
**Vanessa**
Hey Logan, I have some important information I need to share with you.
**Logan**
What could you possibly have to say to me?
**Vanessa**
A lot if you would just listen. You used to be good at that. It was my favorite thing about you.
**Logan**
Come off it V.
**Vanessa**
I miss you. Don’t even miss me a little bit?
**Logan**
No.
**Vanessa**
Well, that’s disappointing.
**Logan**
What’s disappointing is the awful things you said to Anita at the hardware store and the way you’ve been meddling with contractors for the estate. You’re way out of line. There's nothing you can tell me that I need to hear anymore.
**Vanessa**
Logan, this is serious. It has to do with old Hyacinth Harrow and Vic. You need to hear this.
**Logan**
Whatever it is, Vanessa, I don't care. Our relationship is over, and there's nothing you can say that will change that.
**Vanessa**
Are you sleeping with Anita?
**Logan**
What happens between Anita and me is absolutely none of your business.
**Vanessa**
I'm not trying to interfere with your personal life. This is about the estate and some information that could impact both you and Anita.
**Logan**
I find that hard to believe. You've done nothing but cause trouble since we broke up. Why should I trust you now?
**Vanessa**
Because this isn't about us. Like I said, it's about Hyacinth and Vic. It's something you absolutely need to know. If you don't agree to see me, I'll find Anita and tell her. And believe me, the news will probably hurt her if it comes from me.
**Logan**
You really know how to twist the knife, don't you? Fine. Where and when?
**Vanessa**
How about the diner on Main Street? Tomorrow afternoon at 2.
**Logan**
Alright. But this better be real V.
**Vanessa**
I'll see you tomorrow, Logan. You won't regret it.
**Logan**
We’ll see about that.
**Vanessa**
Goodnight, Logan. I’ll be missing you. all. night. long.
***
Anita stood in the main dining room of Harrow Hall, a faint smile playing on her lips as she examined the side tables she was refinishing. The wood was rich and dark, with intricate carvings that spoke of a bygone era of craftsmanship. She had spent the morning carefully sanding and applying the first coat of varnish, the air thick with the scent of the chemicals. Now, as the sun streamed in through the large windows, she debated whether she should attempt to refinish the exquisite buffet that stood at the far end of the room.
It had been a magnificent piece with a surface adorned with delicate inlays and ornate handles. It had seen better days. Now the wood was scratched and dulled by years of neglect. Anita felt a pang of hesitation—was it too great a piece to be maligned by her amateur hands? She stretched her arms above her head, trying to shake off the uncertainty.
Checking her phone again, hoping to have a call back from a local mason that she had contacted last week, her gaze caught something in the reflection of the buffet’s polished surface. She froze, her breath catching in her throat. There, in the reflection seated at the dining table behind her, was the doll in mourning clothes from the attic.
Anita whipped around, her heart pounding. The chair was empty. She blinked, her mind racing to rationalize what she had seen. It must have been the varnish fumes, she thought, shaking her head. The chemicals were playing tricks on her eyes.
She turned back to the table, but her breath caught in her throat once more. The doll was now sitting on top of the matching side table, its glassy eyes staring directly at her. She let out a short, startled scream, dropping the cloth she had been holding. The doll’s presence was impossible to ignore—it was as if it had appeared out of thin air.
Anita picked up the doll, its porcelain skin surprisingly warm to the touch. Cloaked in a somber black cape, it exuded a gothic air of mystery and foreboding. Its pale face was framed by a bonnet that cast shadows over its eerily serene features, lending an aura of secretive melancholy. The meticulous craftsmanship of its attire, detailed with dark lace and brocade, added to the haunting elegance that surrounded it. Its eyes, dark and deep, seemed to follow you with an unspoken knowledge, a silent witness to unspeakable secrets buried within the folds of its antique garment.
Anita’s mind raced, trying to make sense of how it had gotten there. Logan wasn’t planning to come in today; it was the weekend. She distinctly remembered their work on the trunk in the attic to replace the worn hinges and shut the lid securely on the eerie dolls.
"It had to have been Logan," she muttered to herself, her voice shaking slightly. "Only he knew where they were and how much they bothered me. But why would he do something so cruel?"
Determined to solve the mystery, she marched up to the attic, the doll still clutched in her hand. When she reached the top, she found the trunk open not by the hinges as they had done, but by the lock. All four dolls were gone. A chill ran down her spine. Someone had deliberately moved the dolls.
She placed the doll from the dining room back into the trunk and set off to find the others. As she searched through the mansion, anger simmered beneath her confusion. This was out of character for Logan; he had always been respectful and kind. Why would he do something like this?
As she moved through the grand hallways, she began to notice other things out of place. The top hat she had set aside in the foyer was now perched on one of the dolls in the library, giving it a disturbingly jaunty appearance. With an almost angelic countenance, the doll's cherubic face was a chilling juxtaposition to the eerie stillness it exuded. Its big, blue eyes were unnervingly lifelike, staring into an unknown void, as if they could suddenly blink and reveal a hidden soul. The delicate lace dress, immaculate and white, seemed oddly pristine, contrasting with the unsettling aura that surrounded the doll. Its golden curls framed a face that seemed to silently scream, a frozen mask of innocence forever trapped in a nightmarish tableau.
“What the hell is going on?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the vast silence of the house.
She continued her search, the unsettling feeling growing with each step. In one of the guest bedrooms, she found one more doll, leaning over Melusine’s photo album from the attic as if engrossed in its contents. The sight was eerie, its tiny hands resting on the pages, its eyes fixed on the images.
The doll was draped in a gown that once spoke of grandeur now tarnished by time. Its porcelain face, pale and pristine, bore an unsettlingly perfect expression, as if trapped in a perpetual moment of poised anticipation. The elaborate curls of its hair framed a visage that felt almost too human, and its glassy eyes reflected a haunting emptiness. The elaborate attire, reminiscent of bygone eras, suggested stories of opulence and decline, leaving an unsettling feeling of a past that refused to fade away.
Anita picked up the doll, her hands trembling. The photographs of Melusine stared back at her from the album on the bed. She quickly closed the album and gathered the two dolls, feeling warmed porcelain against her skin.
She could hear something now, faint and distant at first, but growing steadily louder—the sound of bagpipes. The mournful, eerie tune filled the air, sending a wave of unease through her. It was unintelligible at first, a background noise that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Anita hurried back to the attic, replacing the two additional dolls in the trunk. She slammed the lid shut, her heart pounding in her chest. She then grabbed the photo album and headed to her room, locking it in her suitcase. She felt she needed to keep it safe, away from whatever strange force was at work in the house.
The bagpipes continued to play, their sound now echoing through the halls with an unsettling clarity. Anita followed the noise, her fear mounting with each step. She descended into the wine cellar, the cool, damp air wrapping around her like a shroud.
There, in the corner of the cellar, she found an old-time radio. It was blasting the frightening music, the bagpipes wailing a tune that seeped into her very bones. The radio was not hooked up to a power source and its inside wiring was pulled out. Tools were strewn about as if someone had been interrupted in the act of fixing it.
The fourth doll, the oldest made of straw, sat next to the radio. With lifeless eyes and a tattered dress, she exuded an air of forgotten despair. The fabric of its clothes, yellowed with age, was marked by small, meticulous stitches that hinted at long-forgotten hands painstakingly mending its wounds. Its face, barely discernible through the grime of decades, was a haunting canvas of faded features, an eerie testament to the innocence long lost. The doll's wiry hair, thin and brittle, whispered ghostly secrets of abandoned playrooms and the quiet, creeping dread of solitude.
Anita’s breath came in short gasps. This was too much. She left the doll and radio where they sat, turned and ran. Her footsteps echoed in the empty halls. She burst out of the house, the oppressive atmosphere lifting as she stepped into the sunlight. She jumped into her car and her hands shook as she fumbled with the keys.
She drove into town, the Hall’s stone silhouette receding in her rearview mirror. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. Pulling into the parking lot of a small café, Anita took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She needed to clear her head, to think rationally about what to do next. She entered the café, the warmth and chatter of other patrons a welcome contrast to the eerie silence of the mansion.
She ordered a coffee and found a quiet corner to sit and gather her thoughts. The waitress gave her a concerned look as she handed over the steaming cup.
“Rough day?” the waitress asked kindly.
“You have no idea,” Anita replied, managing a weak smile.
As she sipped her coffee, her mind began to clear. She needed to figure out what was happening at Harrow Hall. The incidents with the dolls and the music couldn’t be mere coincidences. There had to be an explanation, something grounded in reality. Anita picked up the menu the waitress had left. Though she wasn’t hungry, she knew she should eat something.
Glancing over the top of the laminated folder toward the back of the restaurant, she spied Logan and Vanessa. They were on opposite sides of a table, looking over some pieces of copy paper. Vanessa was animated, her hands moving expressively as she talked, while Logan sat back, his face serious and attentive. Anita felt a jolt of surprise and an uneasy twist in her stomach. She couldn't hear what they were saying, and it didn’t feel right to move closer.
Anita froze for a moment, staring over the top of the menu. Her initial shock was followed by a rush of questions. Why were they meeting here? What were they discussing so intently? The scene didn’t immediately strike her as romantic—there was no hand-holding, no leaning in, no intimate gestures. But the fact that they were even together, left Anita feeling unsettled.
She eased down in her seat, trying to remain inconspicuous as she peered around her menu. Vanessa seemed to be asking Logan something, her expression expectant as she waited for his response. Logan didn’t say anything. Instead, he suddenly stood up and strode out of the restaurant, his movements brisk and purposeful. Vanessa hesitated for a moment, then quickly gathered the papers and ran after him. Neither one seemed to notice Anita across the room, for which she was thankful. Her heart raced as she watched them through the main window for a couple of moments before they disappeared around the corner. She debated whether to follow them but decided against it.
She laid down her menu, her mind reeling. It didn't look like Logan and Vanessa were back together as a couple, but what if that was the reason for Logan’s recent distance? She shook her head, trying to dispel the spiraling thoughts. If they were back together, even as friends, he might have shared the information about the dolls with Vanessa. She would have been a more likely culprit than Logan for the terrible trick of placing them around the Hall. And what was on those papers that Logan seemed to strongly dislike?
Anita had no appetite. She finished her coffee, laid a few bills on the table and left the restaurant. As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she nearly ran into Vanessa returning alone. Anita saw a look of concerned alarm cross the blonde’s face, but she shoved it down quickly.
“Anita, what a coincidence,” Vanessa said, her tone dripping with false sweetness.
Anita forced a polite smile. “Vanessa. Yes, quite the surprise.”
Vanessa’s eyes glinted with a mischievous light. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been working tirelessly on Harrow Hall. Must be quite the project.”
“It is,” Anita replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “But it’s coming along.”
Vanessa stepped closer, her smile widening. “I expect you’re utilizing local businesses for the work?”
Anita felt a cold knot form in her stomach. “Yes, I am.”
Vanessa’s smile turned into a smirk. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath on Rob with Mason and Stone. In fact, you might not hear back from Devest’s Plumbing or Myron’s Flooring either.”
Anita’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Vanessa’s expression was one of feigned innocence. “Oh, just that sometimes our local businesses get...persuaded to avoid certain high-risk clients. Especially when those clients are involved with properties that carry certain reputations. It really could hurt their financing.”
Realization dawned on Anita. Vanessa was using her influence at the bank to manipulate local businesses, ensuring they wouldn’t work with her. The implications were infuriating.
“You’re doing this,” Anita said, her voice low and accusatory. “You’re making sure they won’t work with me. Why?”
Vanessa laughed softly. “Harrow Hall is more than just an old Hall, Anita. It’s a legacy. A legacy that people like you don’t deserve to be a part of.”
Anita’s anger flared. “You have no right to interfere with my work. Harrow Hall is my home now, and I will restore it, no matter your interference.”
Vanessa’s eyes hardened. “You’re in over your head, Anita. As for your renovations, without the proper resources, you won’t get very far.”
Anita’s mind raced, thinking of all the phone calls and meetings she had lined up. If Vanessa had her way, all those contacts would be useless. But Anita wasn’t about to back down.
“I’ll find a way,” she said, her voice steely. “You can try to block me, but I will find a way.”
Vanessa’s smirk returned as she waltzed back into the cafe, her step light as the bell above the door rang. “Good luck with that. You’ll need it.”
Anita watched Vanessa's triumphant posture, and fury burned within her, but so did a fierce determination. She wouldn’t let Vanessa’s schemes derail her plans.
As she walked to her car, Anita pulled out her phone and began making a list of alternative contacts. She’d find independent contractors if she had to, people outside of Vanessa’s influence. She’d use social media, local forums, whatever it took to connect with the right people.
Vanessa might have her claws in the local businesses, but Harrow Hall was Anita’s now. She wouldn’t let anyone else, especially Vanessa, dictate its future. The renovation would continue, and the Hall’s secrets would be uncovered. Anita was more determined than ever to succeed, despite the obstacles Vanessa threw in her path.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Anita started her car and drove back to Harrow Hall, her mind already formulating new plans. She’d overcome this challenge like she had so many others. Harrow Hall’s restoration would not be stopped.