The note never left her hand.
Elena sat in bed, wide-eyed, fingers clenched around the paper.
Don't trust your husband.
Four words. Small. Simple. But heavier than anything she'd heard all day.
Who wrote it?
How did they even get in here without making a sound?
And why did it feel like some part of her had already known? Like the truth had been hiding inside her, waiting for confirmation.
She stood. Heart racing. The air felt colder now. Heavier.
Her bare feet moved across the marble floor, silent. She opened the door slowly—no creaks, no alarms. Just silence.
She stepped out.
The hallway was dim, lit by soft floor-level lights. The walls stretched long and empty, like a dream she couldn't wake up from.
Liam told her not to go near the east wing.
She was going anyway.
Every step felt like a risk.
Paintings lined the hall, faces she didn't recognize. Ancestors, maybe. Every pair of eyes followed her. Silent. Judging.
She passed the staircase, turning into a corridor that curved toward the back of the mansion. The air shifted.
Stale. Still. Wrong.
Then she saw it.
A long, black hallway. No lights. No sound. At the end, two heavy double doors. Iron handles. Scratched wood. Old.
The east wing.
She hesitated. Liam's voice echoed in her head.
"Never go near the east wing."
She glanced behind her. No footsteps. No guards. No cameras she could see.
She moved forward.
Her hand gripped the cold handle. It didn't budge.
Locked.
Of course it was.
She stepped back. Heart pounding. What did she think she'd find? A hidden lover? A dungeon? A body?
She didn't know. But now… she had to know.
Then, behind her, a sound.
A door creaked.
She froze. Breath locked in her throat.
She turned. Nothing. Just shadows.
She moved fast. Past the paintings. Down the hallway. Her room. Fumbling with the knob.
She got inside, slammed the door, locked it, backed away like it might swing open again.
Her legs gave out. She slid to the floor, heart racing out of control.
She clutched the note again. This wasn't in her head.
Someone was warning her.
And she'd just tried to step into something not meant to be found.
She looked toward the window
And froze. A shadow moved across the glass, not inside but outside, watching...
She crawled to the window, heart in her throat, yanked the curtain aside.
Nothing, just trees.
But she was sure… someone had been standing there. She backed away slowly.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three short knocks at her door. Not loud. Not rushed.
Just… precise.
She didn't move.
"Elena," a voice said. Male. Not Liam.
Rough. Low. Calm.
"Don't open the door. Just listen to me."
She stayed frozen. Barely breathing.
"You're not safe here. I don't have much time. There are things you don't know—about Liam. About the wing. About why you're really here."
She stepped closer to the door. "Who are you?" she whispered.
No answer.
She waited.
Silence.
She slowly unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Empty hallway.
No one.
No shadows. No sound.
Just the thick, crawling feeling in her chest.
She turned back, then saw it. On the floor.
A scrap of paper.
Not folded. Torn. Rushed handwriting.
He's not who you think.
Her blood ran cold.
She locked the door and backed away, notes clutched in both hands.
Who was this man?
What was Liam hiding?
And why did it feel like she'd just woken up in a nightmare she couldn't escape?
The next morning, she sat at the long dining table.
Polished wood. High ceilings. No conversation.
Liam sat across from her, reading a file like nothing happened.
Casual. Controlled. Cold.
"Elena," he said, still reading.
She flinched. "Yes?"
"Did you sleep?"
She lied. "Yes."
He looked up, eyes sharp. "You left your room."
Her heart skipped.
He leaned back slowly. "I told you never to go near the east wing."
"I didn't—"
He stood.
She stopped breathing.
He walked to her side and leaned in close, his mouth near her ear.
"You're not as quiet as you think."
She turned her head, but he was already walking away.
"Don't make me regret choosing you."
And just like that, he was gone.
That night, she didn't sleep.
The notes stayed under her pillow.
Someone was trying to help her. Someone brave, or stupid enough to go against Liam Blackwood.
She had to find them.
She had to know the truth.
This time, she wasn't waiting.
She grabbed her robe, stuffed the notes into her pocket, and cracked the door open.
The hallway was quiet again.
But not empty.
It felt like someone was watching.
She stepped out. Slow. Careful.
Turned the corner toward the east wing
And froze.
Someone was already there.
A man.
Not Liam.
He stood at the end of the hall, half-shadowed, still.
Watching her.
Before she could speak, he raised a finger to his lips.
Silence.
Then—
He vanished.