Silent Oaths (The Whitmore Legacy #2)
1. Theodore
1
THEODORE
I ’ve always preferred watching from below.
You learn more from the shadows than you ever will in the light.
Seated on a leather chair in the basement, I lean forward, my gaze fixed on the wall of screens.
My eyes glance between the flickering images as the cameras shift to the front of the property, where the first guests arrive for the Whitmore family’s infamous Halloween party.
Through the footage, I watch as headlights slice through the thickening fog clinging over the driveway. The iron gate opens, and costumed figures step cautiously onto the grounds, casting long, ghostly shadows under the orange glow of the lanterns. Some of them pause, looking around with hesitant expressions, as if they can sense a more nefarious undercurrent.
On one of the monitors, I spot my adoptive father in the grand entryway, his polished smile directed at each new guest. There’s a calculated warmth in his greeting, his handshake firm, his eyes assessing. For a moment, it feels as though he’s looking straight at me through the monitor, and a chill runs down my spine. I shift in my seat, my fingers tapping restlessly against the armrests.
I watch as the visitors drift deeper into the house, unaware of what lies beneath its perfect, polished surface. Down here, surrounded by silence, I feel as if I’m part of the mansion itself, bound to its secrets, watching as the night unfolds.
For as long as I can remember, my father has hosted these parties. When I was younger, I had no idea what was involved. We were never allowed to stay long enough to know.
Like clockwork, he’d send us to the smaller guest house on the property with our keeper, Ms . Deering . My adoptive brothers and I weren’t strangers to that house—we often hid there when we needed to escape the mansion’s stuffy atmosphere, where everything inside felt cold, monotone, and lifeless.
When the Whitmores adopted us, we didn’t have a place to call home. So , in a way, I should feel grateful. However , there was always something sinister about this place, a feeling that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up when the halls were too quiet.
Early on, we learned not to question things, though I would often catch myself clenching my fists, trying to keep my thoughts buried.
There were ominous meetings between my father and the men he entertained, whispered exchanges between my parents and the house staff, and forbidden rooms we were never allowed to enter. And then, of course, there was this very area in the basement, filled with monitors displaying footage of every corner of the house, save for the living quarters.
Slowly , my brothers and I started uncovering the truth, and in turn, our father began involving us more in the family legacy.
I remember the first time he took me aside.
“ You are not just my son,” he told me. “ You are a tool to ensure the Whitmore name survives, thrives, and grows. You are a piece in this family’s legacy, and every choice you make is a choice for the family. It is the only thing that matters.”
He said it with such conviction, as if it was a truth I should have known from the day I arrived, but those words dug in deep. They reminded me I had never been allowed to be anything more than an extension of his will. He didn’t raise us to think for ourselves, to question what we were being taught. He raised us to obey.
As the eldest, I was assigned the role of heir, my brothers as my seconds, even though I never wanted the responsibility.
Each time he talked about it, I felt a heavy weight settle on my shoulders, a tightness in my chest that grew with each passing day.
But he promised power.
Power … a tantalizing allure that whispers sweet nothings to the soul. It is a seductive little thing—intoxicating, like the richest wine, seeping into the veins and igniting a primal hunger. It’s a force that taps into a person’s deepest needs for control and security.
I wanted it, wanted to hold it, feel the sense of control, a chance to mold the world to my will and decide my own fate.
As always, the members of Vanguard will attend the Halloween party, each required to wear the same eerie white mask—my brothers and me included. The mask covers only half our faces, and though I’ve never understood its purpose, my father insists it’s tradition.
Vanguard is a sanctuary for the city’s wealthiest and most influential men—socialites, politicians, business tycoons, and the like. It’s a place of privilege, an inner circle where only a select few are permitted. Membership is strictly by invitation, and each potential inductee is subjected to an exhaustive investigation to ensure they meet the club’s exacting standards.
It’s a fucking joke.
I pick up my mask from the desk, tracing its sleek surface with my fingertips. One day, these masks will represent more than the Whitmore legacy and Vanguard . My brothers and I will redefine it.
For us, the experience was far different. The rigorous screening didn’t apply to us; the family name alone served as our admission. As Whitmores , we weren’t invited so much as forced, inheriting memberships like a curse.
Though we aren’t truly Whitmores , not by blood. Each of us came from different families, plucked from different pasts and thrust together under the same roof. We share a name, not a lineage, bound not by love or loyalty but by the heritage forced upon us.
Setting the mask down, I look back at the screens.
More guests arrive, and I immediately notice the imbalance—far more women than men. Knowing what happens in some of these rooms, I can already sense the predatory gleam in my father’s associates’ eyes.
They always present themselves as proper businessmen, but I know the truth. They’re predators—the worst kind. They make their own rules, ignoring any semblance of societal norms. With unlimited funds and the whole town of Ebonridge in their pockets, it’s no wonder they get away with murder.
Literally .
It’s not that I don’t consider myself a predator, but I don’t feast on innocent women the way they do.
I can’t deny the darkness within me, even if it’s not the same twisted hunger as my father.
As I glance around the room, adjusting the cuffs of my fitted, three-piece suit and feeling the reassuring weight of the blade in its holster at my waist, I know I’ve embraced the macabre. This world of darkness and bloodshed has become my own, each kill pushing me further into the shadows I once thought I could avoid. Perhaps one day, I’ll suffer the same fate as those I hunt.
I take a slow sip of my Macallan , the smoky warmth sliding down my throat, and then I swivel in the chair, facing the long hallway to the door, and I release a slow exhale.
It’s time to play my part.
Before I get up to leave, I glance at the monitors one last time. On one of the screens showing the living room, I catch sight of a woman I’ve never seen at our estate. A blonde bombshell—the stereotypical Barbie type.
Something about her seems off. She’s not relaxed; there’s tension in her posture, a nervous glance as she scans the area, like she’s looking for something—or someone. She looks uncomfortable, as if she doesn’t want to be here, but something keeps her rooted to the spot, like she’s on a mission she can’t back out of. She’s alone, but I doubt she came by herself.
I lean closer, studying the woman, trying to decipher her intentions when, suddenly, someone else steps into the frame.
They take my breath away.
Brunette , long, wavy hair, bronze skin, and a chest that’s impossible to ignore. She radiates mischief, and I can feel my cock twitch as she smiles from ear to ear while talking to her friend. For the occasion, she’s dressed as a mermaid, and I can’t take my eyes off her.
A siren—captivating, irresistible, with an enchanting presence that seeps through the screen.
I suddenly need to know everything about her.
The way she looks is more than enough to make my pulse quicken.
I’ve spent enough years observing people around me to know when someone is hiding something, and this woman definitely is.
She might be exactly what I’ve been searching for.
As I step out of the basement, I leave the door cracked. If that blonde is looking for answers, I’ll make sure she finds something she’ll never forget.