The next morning, Elena didn't leave her bed right away. She lay still, watching the gray light bleed through the curtains. Her eyes were open, but her mind wasn't in the room. It was in the tunnel. In the shadows. With Noah. With the women in the photographs. With the version of herself she didn't recognize anymore. A stranger. A wife in a gilded prison.
She sat up slowly and reached under her pillow for the notes again. Their corners were soft now, folded, smudged from so many sleepless nights. She added the new one—the one Elara gave her.
The mirror hides him.
They weren't warnings anymore. They were fuel. She'd been chosen, yes. But not for love. Not for companionship. Liam had chosen her because she fit a pattern—a type. And now, she had no choice but to break it.
She dressed quietly. No breakfast. No smiles. The only thing she needed today was the key. The key to Noah's chains. The key to her freedom. And maybe—if she was lucky—the key to tearing Liam apart.
The mansion's upper floor was nearly always empty during the day. Liam handled business in his west wing office. The staff never lingered near his personal quarters. That left only one place for her to check first.
His study.
She moved like a shadow down the marble halls, every step measured. She didn't bother knocking. She'd learned that people like Liam only respected boldness. The door opened with a soft creak. Empty. She slipped inside.
The study was as cold as ever. Dark wood. Black leather. Walls lined with books no one had read. A whiskey decanter half-full on the desk. Two ashtrays. Papers. Locked drawers.
She went to the desk first, searching beneath folders and behind files. She opened the bottom cabinet. Nothing.
Then her eyes landed on a small framed photo behind the lamp.
A girl.
Smiling, radiant, no older than twenty. Red dress. Curly brown hair. Arms around Liam's neck.
She flipped it over. One word scratched into the backing:
Annabelle.
The name sent a chill down her spine. Was this one of the others? Another bride? Another missing woman?
She placed the photo back carefully and stood. Her eyes moved to the bookshelf behind the desk. One of the shelves looked… off. The line wasn't straight. The wood jutted out just slightly—like it had been opened before.
She pressed it.
Click.
The panel slid back. A small wall safe revealed itself. She stared at it. There was a keypad. And no clue what the code could be.
That afternoon, Liam returned.
She pretended to nap while he showered. Pretended not to flinch when he brushed his fingers across her shoulder. At dinner, he studied her longer than usual.
"You're quiet today," he said.
She met his eyes. "Thinking."
"About what?"
She held his stare. "About freedom."
A corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smirk. "That's a dangerous thing to think about."
She forced a smile. "Only if you're afraid I might leave."
He leaned forward, his voice lower. "Leaving me isn't what should worry you, Elena. It's what happens when people try."
She didn't blink. "What happened to Annabelle?"
The fork froze halfway to his mouth. He set it down slowly. "Where did you hear that name?"
Elena's breath caught. "It was on a photo. In your study."
His expression darkened. "I told you never to go in there."
She didn't flinch. "And you never told me the truth."
Liam stood without a word. The scrape of his chair echoed like thunder.
"Elena," he said calmly, "come with me."
Her heartbeat spiked, but she nodded. He didn't touch her. Just walked ahead, expecting her to follow.
She did. Down the hall. Through the west wing. To a door she'd never seen before—plain, black, no handle. He placed his hand against a panel beside it. A quiet beep, then the door slid open. Inside… a staircase.
She followed him down into the cold.
The basement was darker than the tunnels. The air smelled of rust and stone and old secrets. Liam stopped before a heavy wooden door and turned to her.
"You wanted to know about Annabelle," he said. "Now you will."
He opened the door.
Inside was a single lightbulb. A metal chair. Chains bolted into the floor. A white wall smeared with something brown-red. And in the corner… a dress. Red, torn at the shoulder. Bloodstained, still folded, like it had been set there as a reminder.
Elena couldn't breathe.
"Annabelle was weak," Liam said behind her. "She thought she could control me."
"What did you do to her?"
He stepped beside her. "I taught her how wrong she was."
Elena turned, tears burning her eyes. "You killed her."
Liam stared at the dress, his voice suddenly soft. "She begged me to let her go."
She took a shaky step back. "You're a monster."
He didn't deny it. Instead, he looked at her with something she hadn't seen before—not anger, not lust, but possession.
"You're still here because you're smarter than her. But don't push me."
She turned and ran up the stairs.
He didn't follow.
Not yet.
That night, Elena didn't cry. She waited.
Midnight came. She opened the mirror and entered the passage again. She followed the twists and turns by instinct now. Her fear was gone. Replaced by something stronger.
Determination.
She reached Noah's cell. He looked worse. Pale. Slouched. Barely conscious.
"Noah," she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open.
"I found her," she said. "Annabelle."
His eyes darkened. "He killed her."
"Yes. And if I don't act soon, I'm next."
She held up a bobby pin.
Noah blinked. "You're going to pick the lock?"
"I've never done it before," she admitted, kneeling beside the chains, "but there's a first time for everything."
It took twenty minutes. Her hands were shaking. The pin bent twice. She nearly cried out in frustration.
But then—click.
The chain fell away from his right wrist. Then the left.
He slumped forward. She caught him, pulling his arm over her shoulder.
"We have to go," she said. "Now."
But behind them, footsteps. Fast. Heavy.
"No—" Noah gasped. "Too late—"
The door to the Quiet Room slammed open. A guard stood in the doorway—not just any guard. The scarred man from Liam's office. Gun in hand.
"Move," he barked.
Elena froze.
Noah reached for something—a rusted pipe from the ground. He threw it.
The guard ducked. The shot fired.
Noah shoved Elena behind him. The bullet grazed his side. He groaned and staggered.
The guard raised the gun again.
But this time, Elena moved.
She grabbed the pipe and swung.
It connected with the man's wrist. The gun dropped. Noah dove for it.
One shot.
Right through the guard's chest.
He dropped like dead weight.
Elena stared, breathless.
Noah looked at her, blood dripping from his side.
"We need to move," he said. "He won't be the last."
Elena nodded.
They disappeared into the dark together.
Running for their lives…