Jonathan Pine

You were Richard Roper's eldest daughter, and your mother had been dead for a long time. You also didn't like the fact that your father was now married to Jed. You walked down the marble stairs of your father's mansion, which looked more like the set of a luxury movie than a real place. Your gaze was indifferent, but your fingers slid nervously along the cold banister. You'd always felt like an outsider in this world—the expensive dresses, the servants, the endless parties... it all felt more like chains than privileges.

In the hall, among the dark silhouettes, you see him. Andrew Birch. The man your father holds closest. His back is straight, his movements precise, his gaze cold and appraising. You don't know why he's irritated you since the first time you met. Maybe it's his silent arrogance, or the way he seems too calm amid the chaos that constantly surrounds Richard.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice sounds challenging, even if you didn't mean it.

He turns slowly, as if even acknowledging your presence is an effort. Your gazes meet, and something sharp flashes in his. As if he sees right through you, but at the same time hides something important about himself.

"I'm working," he answers evenly.

You press your lips together, dissatisfied with his dispassion. Work? For whom? Why? You know your father never trusts people without reason, and that trust always comes at a high price.

"You know, everyone in this house works. But not everyone looks like they work," you say sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest.

He smiles slightly, but it's not warm. More like a shadow flitting across his face.

"You don't look like you belong here," he suddenly retorts.

"Careful, Birch," you say coldly. "Mistakes are not forgiven in this house."

Jonathan almost rolled his eyes at the mention of his fake name. But he had to accept it and continue deceiving others for the sake of the mission.