The mansion was too quiet.
Too still.
Even with guards posted outside, Isabelle couldn't shake the feeling that someone or something was still watching her.
She hadn't told Sebastian how frightened she really was last night. When he'd wrapped his arms around her, promising she was safe, she'd almost believed him. But safety wasn't the same as freedom.
And Isabelle Lane was tired of feeling like a prisoner in every man's version of protection.
Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, spilling gold across the marble floors. The air smelled faintly of cedar and coffee. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear Liam's voice giving quiet orders to the staff.
Sebastian was gone out "handling things," as Liam had told her.
Which, in Sebastian's language, probably meant intimidation, power plays, and veiled threats.
She'd asked where he went. Liam's jaw had tightened. "It's better if you don't know, ma'am."
That had been enough to ignite the spark of anger she'd been holding back.
Now, hours later, she found herself wandering the east corridor the part of the mansion no one seemed to enter.
It was beautiful in a cold, haunting way. The walls were lined with old portraits stern men and graceful women who all had the same sharp, unforgettable eyes as Sebastian. His lineage was written in oil and gold.
She paused before one painting in particular: a woman in a crimson dress, sitting beside a piano, her gaze soft and sad.
The brass plate beneath it read:
Evelyn Kane, 1986–2018
Isabelle's breath caught. She recognized the name from one of the articles she'd read long ago Sebastian's fiancée. The one who'd died in what the tabloids called a "tragic accident."
But the way Sebastian had reacted whenever anyone mentioned her it hadn't sounded like an accident.
Her hand brushed the frame. Dust clung to her fingers.
Something inside her whispered that the truth about Evelyn's death and the shadows surrounding it was still buried in this house.
She turned a corner and stopped.
A door. Heavy oak. A different from the others reinforced, locked with a keypad.
She hadn't noticed it before.
A strange pull drew her closer. She typed a few random numbers, knowing it wouldn't open. Still, she needed to try.
The keypad blinked red: ACCESS DENIED.
"Figures," she muttered.
But as she leaned closer, she noticed something odd. The faint smell of burnt metal like something electrical had been tampered with recently.
And faintly, from behind the door.
A sound.
A faint, rhythmic click.
Her pulse quickened. She crouched down, pressing her ear against the wood. The sound stopped. Then something thudded, like a chair being moved.
Someone was inside.
She jumped back as Liam's voice echoed down the hall. "Miss Lane? You shouldn't be here."
She straightened instantly, heart pounding. "I was just exploring."
His expression didn't change. "This part of the house is off limits."
"Why? What's behind that door?"
"Private archives."
She raised an eyebrow. "Archives that make noise?"
He didn't answer.
When she took a step forward, he subtly moved to block her. The air between them shifted polite, but tense.
"You're protecting something," she said softly.
His jaw flexed. "I'm protecting you."
She almost laughed. "That's what everyone says right before they lie to me."
By the time she reached her room again, her nerves were a storm.
She didn't want to believe Sebastian was hiding something. But deep down, she already knew he was.
That door wasn't just a locked room.
It was a secret.
And secrets were the one thing Sebastian Kane could never resist keeping.
Hours later, when he returned, she was waiting.
He looked tired, his tie loosened, the shadows under his eyes darker than usual. Yet even weary, he radiated control the kind that filled every inch of a room without effort.
"Rough day?" she asked, arms crossed.
His eyes softened when he saw her. "You could say that."
"Did you find who was watching me?"
He hesitated. "Not yet."
She caught the flicker in his gaze too brief for anyone else to notice, but she did. The look of a man hiding a truth behind half a lie.
"You're keeping things from me again."
He sighed. "Isabelle"
"No," she interrupted. "You don't get to decide what I can or can't handle. I'm not a secret you can lock behind a door."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You went to the east wing."
It wasn't a question.
"I did." She met his gaze head-on. "And I heard something."
He said nothing for a long moment. Then, quietly:
"You shouldn't have been there."
"Why? Because you're afraid I'll find out something real about you? About her?"
His whole body went still.
"Evelyn," she whispered. "The woman in the red dress. Who was she to you, really?"
For the first time since she'd met him, Sebastian looked genuinely shaken.
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "She was someone I couldn't save."
"From what?" Isabelle pressed.
He didn't answer.
When he finally looked at her again, his expression was a mixture of guilt and grief so raw it stole her breath.
"You think you want the truth," he said quietly. "But when you hear it, you'll never look at me the same way again."
She took a step toward him anyway. "Then let me decide that."
He exhaled sharply, torn between his instincts to protect her and the part of him that craved her trust.
But before he could speak, his phone buzzed. He checked it and his face darkened.
"Sebastian?" she asked carefully.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Change of plans. You're not staying here tonight."
"What? Why?"
He crossed the room in two long strides, his hands gripping her shoulders, eyes burning with intensity. "Because whoever's been watching you just broke into the security perimeter."
Her blood ran cold.
He wasn't lying this time.
But as he led her out of the room, one thought refused to leave her mind
Whatever secret lay behind that locked door
It was tied to the danger outside.
And maybe to the man she was starting to fall in love with.