Chapter 2 Welcome to Hell

The gates opened slowly as the black car approached.

I pressed my forehead against the cold window, staring at the enormous iron gates decorated with strange, twisted designs. Beyond them stood a mansion so large it looked more like a castle than a home.

Blackwood Manor.

My prison.

The house stood on a hill surrounded by towering trees, with pale lights illuminating its stone walls. There were no neighboring houses, no shops, and no signs of life beyond the property.

Whoever lived here had deliberately chosen isolation.

And I was about to become part of his world.

The car stopped in front of the entrance.

Before I could reach for the door handle, the driver stepped out and opened it for me.

"Welcome to Blackwood Manor, Miss," he said politely.

I climbed out, clutching my small handbag.

Adrian emerged from the other side of the car, adjusting his expensive wristwatch.

He didn't look at me.

"Take her luggage upstairs," he instructed the driver.

"Yes, sir."

I followed Adrian through the enormous entrance doors, trying not to let my fear show.

The interior was breathtaking.

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting golden light across the polished marble floor. Paintings lined the walls, and a grand staircase curved toward the upper floors.

Everything looked expensive.

Everything looked perfect.

Yet the house felt strangely lifeless.

There were no family photographs. No flowers on the tables. No cheerful sounds coming from the kitchen.

It was beautiful, but it didn't feel like a home.

It felt like a place where people came to disappear.

"Mr. Blackwood."

A middle-aged woman hurried toward us from the hallway. She wore a dark dress and had her gray hair neatly arranged in a bun.

She glanced at me, then quickly lowered her eyes.

"Your guest has arrived," she said.

"She's not a guest, Mrs. Collins."

The woman's expression changed.

"Of course, sir."

Adrian removed his jacket and handed it to her.

"Show her to the west bedroom. Make sure she has everything she needs."

"Yes, sir."

He started walking away.

"Wait!"

He stopped but didn't turn around.

I tightened my fingers around my handbag.

"What happens tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"You said I would live here for a year. What exactly do you expect me to do?"

He finally turned.

"Nothing."

I frowned.

"Nothing?"

"You'll have a room, food, clothing, and whatever else you require. You won't need to work."

"And in exchange?"

His eyes settled on my face.

"In exchange, you'll stay here."

I stared at him.

"That's it?"

"For now."

There was something about those last two words that made my stomach tighten.

"For now?" I repeated.

Adrian's expression remained unreadable.

"Good night, Isabella."

He walked away before I could ask another question.

I watched him disappear through a door at the end of the hallway.

Then I turned toward Mrs. Collins.

"Is he always like that?"

She looked startled.

"Like what, dear?"

"Like he has the entire world under his shoe."

For a moment, I thought she might smile.

Instead, she glanced toward the door Adrian had disappeared through.

"Mr. Blackwood is a complicated man."

"That's one way to put it."

She lowered her voice.

"Please, Miss Isabella. If you want to make your stay here easier, don't provoke him."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Does he hit people?"

Her eyes widened.

"No! Good heavens, no."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Mrs. Collins looked at me for a long moment.

"Some men don't need to raise their hands to make you afraid of them."

Before I could respond, she turned and began leading me upstairs.

I followed her along a wide corridor decorated with dark paintings and antique mirrors.

We passed several doors before reaching one at the far end.

"This is your room," she announced.

She opened the door.

I stepped inside and stopped.

The bedroom was larger than the entire downstairs living room of my father's house. A king-sized bed stood in the center, covered in white sheets. Tall windows overlooked the gardens, and a sitting area occupied one corner.

There was even a walk-in closet.

"This is mine?"

"Yes, dear."

I turned toward her.

"Why would he give me such a room?"

Mrs. Collins looked confused.

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Because I didn't come here on holiday."

Her expression softened.

"No, you didn't."

For the first time since arriving, I felt a small flicker of comfort.

Mrs. Collins seemed different from the others. She didn't look at me with disgust or treat me as though I were a problem that needed solving.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

She nodded.

"Your luggage will be brought up shortly. Dinner will be served at seven."

She moved toward the door, then paused.

"One more thing, Miss Isabella."

I looked at her.

"Yes?"

"Whatever you hear at night, please stay in your room."

A chill traveled down my spine.

"What do you mean?"

She swallowed.

"This house is very old. The walls make strange noises sometimes."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she left and quietly closed the door.

I stood alone in the enormous bedroom.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Then I walked to the window and looked outside.

The gardens stretched across the property, disappearing into a dark forest. Farther away, I could see another section of the mansion connected to the main building by a long stone corridor.

The east wing.

Even from this distance, it looked abandoned.

Most of its windows were dark, and thick vines climbed the outer walls.

I remembered Adrian's first rule.

Never enter the east wing.

I wondered what he was hiding there.

At seven o'clock, a maid came to escort me downstairs.

I had changed into a simple blue dress and tied my hair into a ponytail. I refused to dress up for a man who had treated my life like a business transaction.

The dining room was enormous.

A long table occupied its center, surrounded by more chairs than I could count.

Yet only one place had been set.

Adrian sat at the head of the table, reading something on his phone.

He looked up when I entered.

"You're late."

I glanced at the clock.

"It is exactly seven."

"Then you're on time."

I pulled out the chair opposite him.

"Do you always speak in riddles?"

"Only when people ask unnecessary questions."

I sat down.

A maid appeared almost immediately, placing a plate of food in front of me.

I wasn't hungry, but I forced myself to pick up my fork.

Adrian continued reading his phone.

The silence became unbearable.

"Can I ask you something?"

"No."

I blinked.

"No?"

"You can ask. I simply might not answer."

I placed my fork down.

"Why did you choose me?"

For the first time, he stopped what he was doing.

"What?"

"Out of all the people in the world, why me? You could have taken my father's house, his company, or every expensive thing he owns. Why did you insist on taking me?"

Adrian put his phone aside.

"Your father offered you."

My throat tightened.

"And you accepted?"

"Yes."

"Without even meeting me?"

"I knew enough."

The answer unsettled me more than it should have.

"What does that mean?"

He leaned back in his chair.

"It means your father and I have known about each other for a very long time."

"Because of business?"

His silence was brief, but I noticed it.

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Finish your dinner, Isabella."

I stared at him.

"You know what? You can keep your food."

I pushed my plate away.

Adrian's eyes narrowed.

"Don't be childish."

"Don't tell me what to do."

The maid standing beside the wall looked as though she wanted to vanish into it.

Adrian slowly folded his hands.

"You seem to believe that defiance will change your circumstances."

"And you seem to believe that money gives you the right to control everyone."

"It often does."

"Not me."

He studied me for a moment.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

It was a quiet sound, almost unfamiliar, as though he rarely allowed himself to make it.

"You remind me of someone."

I frowned.

"Who?"

His amusement disappeared.

"No one."

He stood up.

"Mrs. Collins will show you the library tomorrow. You may use the swimming pool, the gardens, and the gym. You're free to move around the main house."

I raised an eyebrow.

"How generous."

He ignored my sarcasm.

"But remember the rules."

He started toward the door.

"Adrian."

He stopped.

It was the first time I had called him by his first name.

I wasn't sure why I had done it.

Perhaps I wanted to see whether he would react.

He turned slowly.

"What?"

I hesitated.

"Did you know my mother?"

For a fraction of a second, something changed in his face.

It was so quick that I might have imagined it.

Then his expression hardened.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because when my father signed that contract, he looked terrified. And you looked like you already knew what was going to happen."

Adrian said nothing.

"My mother died three years ago," I continued. "But nobody in my family ever talks about her death. Whenever I ask my father what happened that night, he changes the subject."

Adrian's jaw tightened.

"Your mother is dead, Isabella."

"I know she's dead!"

My voice echoed through the dining room.

"That doesn't mean I should stop asking questions about her."

For several seconds, he stared at me.

Then he approached the table and leaned down until his face was level with mine.

"Listen carefully. Your mother's death is not something you want to investigate."

My heart began pounding.

"Why?"

"Because some truths are more dangerous than lies."

I swallowed.

"Are you threatening me?"

"No."

His gaze shifted toward the dark windows.

"I'm warning you."

He straightened and walked away.

This time, I didn't call him back.

I sat at the table long after he had left, replaying every word in my mind.

Adrian Blackwood knew something about my mother.

And whatever it was, he was determined to keep me from discovering it.

That night, sleep refused to come.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about my father, my mother's death, and the strange man who now controlled my future.

At some point after midnight, I heard a noise.

A faint metallic sound.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

I sat up.

The sound came from somewhere outside my bedroom.

I listened carefully.

There it was again.

Clink.

Clink.

Then silence.

I glanced at the clock.

12:47 a.m.

Remembering Mrs. Collins's warning, I pulled the blanket over my legs and tried to ignore it.

Perhaps she had been right about the old walls.

Then I heard something else.

A woman's voice.

It was faint, almost swallowed by the distance, but unmistakably human.

"Please..."

I froze.

The voice came again.

"Please... let me out."

I climbed out of bed.

My heart was beating so loudly that I could hear it in my ears.

I moved toward the bedroom door and slowly opened it.

The corridor was empty.

A dim light glowed at the far end.

I stepped outside.

"Hello?" I whispered.

No answer.

I should have returned to my room.

I knew that.

But something about the woman's voice pulled me forward.

I followed the sound down the corridor, past the staircase, and toward the back of the mansion.

The air grew colder as I walked.

At the end of the hallway, I discovered a narrow passage I hadn't noticed earlier. It led toward a set of tall double doors.

The east wing.

I stopped.

A heavy lock secured the doors from the outside.

My breath caught in my throat.

From the other side came a soft, broken sob.

"Please..."

I moved closer.

"Who's there?"

The crying stopped.

For several seconds, there was no sound at all.

Then a woman whispered something that made the blood drain from my face.

"Isabella?"

I stumbled backward.

How did she know my name?

Before I could answer, a hand clamped around my wrist.

I screamed.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

Adrian.

He stood behind me, his face transformed by an anger I hadn't seen before.

His grip wasn't painful, but his eyes were terrifying.

"I heard someone crying!" I gasped. "There's someone in there!"

His expression changed.

For one brief moment, I saw something beneath the anger.

Fear.

Then it disappeared.

"Go back to your room."

"But-"

"NOW!"

I had never heard anyone speak with such force.

I turned and ran.

I didn't stop until I reached my bedroom. I slammed the door shut and locked it, leaning against it as I struggled to catch my breath.

My wrist trembled where he had held it.

But that wasn't what frightened me most.

It was the voice behind the locked doors.

The woman had known my name.

And when she spoke again from somewhere deep inside my memory, I realized why her voice had sounded so familiar.

It was the same voice that used to sing me to sleep when I was a little girl.

My mother's voice.

I covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

My mother was dead.

I had seen her buried.

So who-or what-was locked inside the east wing?

And why had Adrian Blackwood looked terrified when I heard her?