Chapter 3 The Woman Behind the Door

I didn't sleep.

Not for a single minute.

Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that voice again.

Isabella.

It had been soft, broken, and frighteningly familiar.

I knew my mother's voice. I had spent eighteen years listening to it. I remembered the way she sang while brushing my hair, the way she whispered my name whenever I had nightmares, and the gentle laugh that could make even my worst days feel bearable.

I could never mistake her voice for someone else's.

But my mother was dead.

I had watched them lower her coffin into the ground.

I remembered standing beside my father in a black dress, holding his hand while strangers offered condolences. I remembered the flowers, the prayers, and the unbearable silence that followed us home.

Three years.

For three years, I had lived with the knowledge that I would never hear her voice again.

Until last night.

I sat up in bed and pressed my palms against my temples.

"No," I whispered. "This is impossible."

Perhaps grief was finally making me lose my mind.

Perhaps the darkness had played tricks on me.

But I remembered the locked doors. I remembered the woman's sobs. Most importantly, I remembered Adrian's face when he heard the voice.

He hadn't looked confused.

He hadn't asked who I was talking about.

He had known.

And that meant I wasn't imagining everything.

Someone was inside that room.

Someone who knew my name.

Someone who sounded exactly like my dead mother.

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

I jumped.

"Miss Isabella?"

Mrs. Collins.

I quickly climbed out of bed and opened the door.

The older woman stood outside holding a breakfast tray. Her eyes moved over my face, lingering on the dark circles beneath my eyes.

"You look as though you haven't slept."

"I didn't."

She entered the room and placed the tray on the small table.

"Would you like me to ask the doctor to come?"

"No, thank you."

I closed the door.

Then I turned toward her.

"Mrs. Collins, I need you to tell me the truth."

Her hands became still.

"About what, dear?"

"The east wing."

The color slowly drained from her face.

I watched her carefully.

"You know something about it, don't you?"

She busied herself arranging the breakfast dishes.

"The east wing is closed."

"That isn't an answer."

"It is the only answer I can give you."

"Why is it locked?"

She didn't respond.

I stepped closer.

"There's a woman inside."

Mrs. Collins stopped moving.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she turned toward me with an expression I couldn't understand.

"What did you hear last night?"

My heart began racing.

"So there really is someone in there?"

"Miss Isabella, please."

"Who is she?"

Mrs. Collins looked toward the door as though she expected someone to be listening.

"You must promise me something."

"What?"

"Never go near those doors again."

"Why?"

"Because Mr. Blackwood will not forgive you if you do."

I almost laughed.

"That man has already taken away my freedom. What else can he possibly do to me?"

Mrs. Collins's eyes filled with something resembling pity.

"You have no idea what he is capable of when it comes to protecting the people he loves."

The words caught my attention.

"The people he loves?"

She immediately looked away.

I grabbed her hand.

"Who does he love, Mrs. Collins?"

She gently pulled free.

"I have said too much already."

Before I could stop her, she hurried out of the room.

I stood motionless, staring at the closed door.

There was something deeply wrong with this house.

And I was going to discover what it was.

At nine o'clock, I went downstairs.

Adrian was in the library.

I found him standing beside a large window, speaking on the telephone. His voice was low, but the anger beneath it was unmistakable.

"I don't care what it costs. Find out who has been talking."

He listened for a moment.

"No. I want answers before the end of the day."

He ended the call and placed his phone on the desk.

Then he turned toward me.

His eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you too."

"I asked you a question."

"And I came to ask you one."

He exhaled sharply.

"Isabella, I have work to do."

"So do I."

His expression changed slightly.

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm trying to understand why you have a woman locked inside your house."

Silence.

For several seconds, Adrian didn't move.

Then he slowly walked toward me.

"What did you say?"

I refused to step back.

"You heard me."

His face became frighteningly calm.

"You went back to the east wing."

"No. I heard someone calling for help."

"And you decided to investigate?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Not if I valued my life."

I stared at him.

"Is that supposed to frighten me?"

"No." He stopped a few feet away. "It's supposed to make you understand that your curiosity can have consequences."

I folded my arms.

"Who is she?"

"Nobody you need to concern yourself with."

"She knew my name."

His expression hardened.

"Many people know your name."

"She sounded like my mother."

The words escaped before I could stop them.

For the first time since I had met him, Adrian looked genuinely shaken.

It lasted only a second.

Then he turned away.

"Your mother is dead."

"Stop saying that!"

My voice cracked.

"I know she's dead! I was there when they buried her! But I heard someone last night, and she sounded exactly like her!"

I struggled to control my breathing.

"Do you know what it's like to spend three years wishing you could hear one more word from someone you loved? Do you know what it's like to wake up every morning and remember that the person who made you feel safe is gone?"

Adrian remained silent.

"I heard her voice," I whispered. "And for one second, I felt like I had my mother back."

My eyes filled with tears.

"Then you dragged me away without even explaining what was happening."

He looked at me.

Something changed in his expression, but I couldn't tell what it meant.

"Listen to me carefully, Isabella. Whatever you think you heard last night, forget it."

"I can't."

"You will."

"And if I don't?"

He stepped closer.

"Then you will discover that there are things in this world far worse than being trapped in a mansion."

I stared at him.

"You're a monster."

His jaw tightened.

"Yes."

The simple admission silenced me.

He didn't deny it.

He didn't pretend to be offended.

He simply accepted the word as though it were a title he had carried for years.

Then he walked to the desk and opened a drawer.

He removed a small photograph and held it between his fingers.

I couldn't see the picture clearly.

But when he looked at it, something in his face softened.

It was the first time I had seen him look at anything with tenderness.

"Do you know why your father owed me so much money?" he asked.

I frowned.

"What?"

"Your father didn't lose thirty million dollars through a bad business deal."

I stared at him.

"Then what happened?"

"He borrowed the money to bury a secret."

My stomach dropped.

"What secret?"

Adrian turned the photograph over and placed it on the desk.

"Ask your father what really happened to your mother."

I shook my head.

"He told me she died in a car accident."

"That's what he told everyone."

A cold sensation spread through my body.

"What are you saying?"

Adrian looked directly into my eyes.

"I'm saying your mother didn't die the way you think she did."

I couldn't speak.

The room seemed to tilt around me.

"No," I whispered. "You're lying."

"Believe whatever you want."

"Why would my father lie about something like that?"

"Because the truth would destroy him."

I gripped the edge of the desk.

"Tell me what happened."

"No."

"Please."

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

I hated how desperate I sounded.

Adrian watched me for a long moment.

Then he picked up the photograph and slipped it back into the drawer.

"When the time comes, you'll know."

"And until then?"

"Stay away from the east wing."

He opened the library door.

"Our conversation is over."

I walked past him, my mind racing.

I had come looking for answers.

Instead, I had discovered that the man who bought my freedom knew more about my mother's death than my own father did.

And he was determined to keep me in the dark.

But there was one thing Adrian didn't understand.

I had spent three years mourning a woman I believed I knew everything about.

Now I was beginning to suspect that I had never known the truth at all.

That afternoon, I found a quiet corner of the gardens and sat beneath a large tree.

I needed air.

I needed distance from the mansion, from Adrian, and from the secrets that seemed to cling to every wall.

Most of all, I needed to think.

My father had lied to me.

I couldn't understand why, but Adrian's words had planted a terrible doubt in my mind.

What if my mother's death hadn't been an accident?

What if someone had deliberately taken her away from me?

And what if the answer was hidden somewhere inside Blackwood Manor?

I closed my eyes.

A shadow fell across the grass beside me.

"You shouldn't sit out here alone."

I opened my eyes.

A young man stood in front of me, dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a small scar above his left eyebrow.

Unlike Adrian, he looked approachable.

Almost friendly.

"Why?" I asked.

He smiled faintly.

"Because my brother doesn't like people wandering around his property unsupervised."

I stood immediately.

"Your brother?"

"Adrian."

My stomach tightened.

I hadn't known Adrian had a brother.

"I'm Daniel Blackwood."

He extended his hand.

I hesitated before accepting it.

"Isabella."

"I know."

I withdrew my hand.

"Of course you do. Apparently, everyone in this place knows who I am."

Daniel's smile faded.

"Has he told you anything?"

"Who?"

"Adrian."

"About what?"

He studied my face.

Then his eyes shifted toward the mansion.

"Nothing, I see."

I felt a sudden urge to grab his arm.

"Daniel, I need your help."

He looked surprised.

"With what?"

"The east wing."

His entire expression changed.

The warmth disappeared from his eyes.

"Who told you about that?"

"No one. I heard someone inside last night."

Daniel stared at me.

Then he stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"Listen to me, Isabella. Whatever you heard, forget it."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?"

"Because some doors are locked for a reason."

I swallowed.

"Is there a woman inside?"

Daniel looked toward the mansion again.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he gave me an answer I would remember for the rest of my life.

"There used to be."

My heart stopped.

"Used to be?"

He nodded slowly.

"Before my brother became the man he is today, someone disappeared from this house."

"Who?"

Daniel looked directly at me.

"His wife."

I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.

"Adrian was married?"

"Yes."

"What happened to her?"

Daniel's face grew pale.

"Nobody knows."

I stared at him.

"Nobody?"

He shook his head.

"She disappeared five years ago. No body. No explanation. Just gone."

I thought of the locked doors.

The woman's voice.

The way Adrian had looked when I mentioned my mother.

Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me since the previous night.

"Daniel, is his wife dead?"

He opened his mouth to answer.

But before he could speak, a cold voice sounded behind us.

"That's enough, Daniel."

We both turned.

Adrian stood several feet away, his expression darker than I had ever seen it.

Daniel immediately stepped back.

"Brother"

"Go inside."

"Adrian, I was only"

"NOW."

Daniel looked at me apologetically before walking toward the house.

I remained beneath the tree.

Adrian approached me slowly.

"Have I not made myself clear about asking questions?"

I lifted my chin.

"You can't keep me ignorant forever."

He stopped in front of me.

"No," he said quietly. "But I can keep you alive long enough to regret discovering the truth."

My heart pounded.

"Is your wife dead?"

His face became unreadable.

For several seconds, I thought he wouldn't answer.

Then he leaned toward me.

"My wife is the reason this house has never known peace."

He straightened.

"And if you value your life, Isabella, you'll stop trying to discover what happened to her."

He turned and walked away.

I watched him disappear into the mansion.

The wind moved through the trees, carrying the faint scent of rain.

I should have been frightened enough to give up.

But I wasn't.

Because Adrian Blackwood had just confirmed the one thing I needed to know.

The east wing wasn't simply hiding a woman.

It was hiding a tragedy.

And somehow, that tragedy was connected to my mother.

I looked toward the dark windows of the east wing.

For the first time since arriving at Blackwood Manor, I made a decision.

I would find out what happened to Adrian's wife.

I would discover the truth about my mother.

And no monster not even Adrian Blackwoodwould stop me.