Chapter 2 Shadows Of the Past

The room was thick with silence.

Amelia stood in Ethan's study, her pulse thrumming against her ribs. The scent of aged whiskey and old books clung to the air, and the fireplace crackled behind Ethan, casting flickering shadows along the walls. His words hung between them like a challenge.

"Help me uncover the truth."

She exhaled, rubbing her fingers together, a habit she'd never broken when she was deep in thought. She should have left. She should have turned on her heel, walked back through the grand halls of Blackwood Manor, and driven as far away as possible.

But instead, she squared her shoulders.

"Show me," she said.

Ethan studied her for a beat, his gray eyes searching hers. Then, without another word, he turned and strode toward a cabinet against the far wall. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked it, revealing a collection of old files, photographs, and brittle newspaper clippings. He pulled out a single, leather-bound journal and handed it to her.

"This was my father's."

Amelia hesitated before taking it. The leather was cool against her palms, the spine cracked with age. She flipped it open, scanning the first few entries.

July 17, 2002 There is unrest within the family. Whispers in the hall. I don't trust Vivian. Not anymore.

She frowned. "Your mother?"

Ethan nodded, his gaze hardening. "Keep reading."

Amelia flipped through the pages, scanning Robert Sinclair's careful, slanted handwriting. The further she read, the more the tension in her stomach coiled. There were notes about unaccounted money, threatening letters, and finally-

September 2, 2002 If anything happens to me, it wasn't an accident.

Her breath caught. She looked up sharply. "He knew?"

Ethan's jaw was tight. "He suspected."

Amelia turned another page, but the entries stopped. The remaining pages were blank. She pressed her fingers to them, as if she could will the missing words into existence. "This can't be all of it."

"It's not." Ethan took a step closer, his voice dropping. "A few months ago, I found this hidden in my father's private study. But I know there's more. There has to be."

Amelia closed the journal, gripping it tightly. "You're telling me your father predicted his own death, and the police didn't investigate?"

Ethan let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "This is the Sinclair family, Amelia. We don't just sweep things under the rug-we burn them."

A shiver ran down her spine.

She glanced back down at the journal, her mind racing. If Robert Sinclair had been silenced, then someone in this house-someone still alive-had ensured the truth never surfaced.

And if she started digging, she could be next.

---

The Sinclairs' Dinner

An hour later, Amelia found herself seated at a grand dining table, surrounded by people who felt more like ghosts than flesh and blood.

Vivian Sinclair sat at the head of the table, her spine straight, her expression unreadable. Even in her fifties, she was a woman of striking beauty, her icy blue eyes sharp enough to cut through steel.

Across from Amelia sat Sebastian Sinclair, Ethan's uncle. He was a man of quiet menace, his presence a silent warning. Next to him was Margot Sinclair, Sebastian's wife, whose carefully painted smile did little to hide the tension in her eyes.

And at the far end sat Ethan, his fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass, watching Amelia closely.

The meal was exquisite-roasted lamb, honey-glazed carrots, and aged wine served in delicate crystal glasses. But Amelia barely touched her plate. The weight of the journal burned in her mind, pressing against her every thought.

"Amelia," Vivian's voice broke the silence. It was smooth, practiced, the kind of voice that belonged to someone who was used to being obeyed. "It's been a long time."

Amelia swallowed. "It has."

Vivian tilted her head, studying her the way a predator studies its prey. "And what brings you back to Blackwood Manor?"

Amelia forced a polite smile. "Curiosity."

Vivian's lips curled ever so slightly. "Curiosity can be a dangerous thing."

There it was-the warning, wrapped in silk.

Beside her, Ethan let out a quiet chuckle, swirling his wine. "You say that as if it's a threat, Mother."

Vivian didn't look at him. "It's a lesson."

Amelia's fingers tightened around her fork. She knew this game. She had played it before-with corrupt politicians, with criminals who smiled through their lies. Vivian Sinclair was no different.

So she lifted her glass, meeting Vivian's gaze head-on. "Then I suppose I have a lot to learn."

A flicker of amusement crossed Vivian's face before she returned to her meal.

But Amelia had won this round.

---

Secrets in the Dark

That night, Amelia couldn't sleep.

The manor was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that felt thick, suffocating. The shadows along the walls seemed to move, stretching toward her like unseen hands.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind spinning. If anything happens to me, it wasn't an accident.

She had read hundreds of crime cases, uncovered dozens of hidden truths, but this was different. This wasn't just a story.

This was real.

A creak in the hallway snapped her out of her thoughts.

She stiffened, holding her breath. The sound was soft, almost careful-as if someone was trying not to be heard.

Slowly, she slid out of bed, her bare feet brushing against the cold wooden floor. The air was thick with the scent of old books and something faintly metallic.

She reached for the door, pressing her fingers against the wood. Another creak. Closer this time.

Her pulse pounded.

Was someone outside her room?

She exhaled slowly, her muscles tensing. If she flung the door open, would she find nothing but an empty hallway? Or would she find someone waiting for her?

She took a breath-then another.

Then, suddenly-

A hand clamped over her mouth.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, panic flaring in her chest, but before she could react, a familiar voice whispered against her ear-low, urgent.

"Shh. It's me."

Ethan.

Amelia exhaled, her body still rigid, but her panic eased enough to register his warmth behind her. His hand fell away from her mouth, but his other stayed on her waist, anchoring her in place.

She turned, glaring at him. "What the hell, Ethan?"

He didn't let go. His grip was firm but not harsh, his thumb brushing against the curve of her hip as if to steady her. "Someone was in the hall."

Her breath hitched. "Did you see who?"

He shook his head, his voice quieter now. "No. But I heard them."

For a moment, they just stood there, too close, too aware of the tension between them. His breath was warm against her cheek, his body lined up against hers in the dim glow of moonlight streaming through the window.

Amelia swallowed hard. She should step back.

She didn't.

Ethan's fingers curled slightly against her waist. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second before he tore his eyes away, his expression unreadable.

"We need to find out who else knows about the journal," he said, his voice lower now, rougher.

Amelia nodded, ignoring the way her skin still burned where he had touched her. "Then let's find out."

Ethan studied her for a long moment, then released her, stepping back.

The space between them felt colder.

But Amelia didn't dwell on it.

Because somewhere in this house, someone was watching them.

And the next time, they might not be so lucky.

---