Elena couldn't sleep.
The storm had passed hours ago, but it left behind a silence so thick it hummed. Somewhere in the Moreau estate, a grandfather clock ticked steadily, each beat reminding her she was now trapped between two lies — one written in ink and the other whispered in blood.
Adrien Moreau. Alive.
Lucas's face haunted her thoughts. The way his jaw tightened when she said Adrien's name, the way his eyes flashed like a man at war with himself. She didn't believe his half-hearted denial. She couldn't. The way he avoided her gaze told her more than any words could.
She sat up in bed, kicking off the silk sheets. She needed air — not just the kind the windows offered, but the kind that came with answers.
Moving quietly, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped into the hallway. The manor at night felt like another world: dimly lit, shadows stretching across polished floors, portraits of cold-eyed ancestors watching her pass. It wasn't the luxury that unnerved her — it was the sense that this house had secrets stitched into its very walls.
At the far end of the corridor, a door stood ajar.
The library.
Elena hesitated. She'd only been inside once during a formal dinner, and even then, she had barely dared to step beyond the threshold. Adrien had loved this room — she remembered that much from old family stories and her father's occasional references. If he were still alive, maybe this room held the key to the truth.
She pushed the door open.
The scent of aged leather and tobacco clung to the air. Shelves lined with ancient tomes loomed over her, and a fire still burned low in the hearth. Someone had been here — recently.
She was about to turn away when something glimmered on the desk.
A photograph.
No frame. Just a black-and-white image curled at the edges.
Elena's breath caught. It was unmistakably Adrien — slightly younger, his face thinner, eyes just as sharp as in the portraits. But beside him was a woman Elena didn't recognize. Blonde. Elegant. Laughing with her hand on his chest.
The back of the photo bore a single word in faded ink:
"Forgiven."
"Elena?"
The voice was soft, yet it cracked the stillness like glass.
She turned sharply to find Lucas in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, as if he'd just come from dealing with something urgent — or someone.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, stepping inside.
"Neither should you," she replied, holding up the photo. "Unless you were the one who left this."
Lucas's expression didn't change. But his silence was louder than any confession.
"Who is she?" Elena asked, suddenly more curious about the woman than the man.
Lucas approached, took the photo from her hand, and studied it for a long moment before answering. "Camille Durand. Adrien's fiancée."
Elena froze. "Fiancée? I thought—"
"You thought Adrien died single? Alone?" Lucas's smile was bitter. "He wasn't. Camille disappeared three days after Adrien's supposed death. No body, no note, no explanation. Everyone assumed she fled from grief."
"And you didn't?"
"I knew better." Lucas set the photo back down, not looking at her. "Camille was the reason Adrien died in the first place."
Elena's blood chilled. "What are you saying?"
"That Adrien died because of a betrayal. One that cost us both everything."
A long silence passed. Elena could hear her own heartbeat.
Lucas continued, voice low and sharp. "Your uncle wasn't just a businessman, Elena. He was involved in things you wouldn't understand. Things that didn't end with his death."
"Then explain it to me," she said, stepping closer. "Because right now, I feel like a pawn in a game that started long before I even knew it existed."
Lucas looked up at her. There was something unreadable in his expression — not guilt, not remorse. Perhaps weariness.
"You weren't meant to be part of this," he said. "Your father wanted to protect you. That contract—"
"Is blackmail," she cut in. "It bound me to your family in exchange for silence. But it's failing, Lucas. I know Adrien's alive. I know Camille vanished. And I know you're hiding something bigger than inheritance squabbles."
Lucas's eyes flashed, but instead of denying it, he asked quietly, "What will you do with the truth, if you find it?"
Elena stared at him, then turned and walked out of the room.
---
The next day, Elena made a call.
She still had friends in Paris. Not powerful ones, but clever enough — especially one, Margot, who had once dated a cyber crimes analyst and retained a few digital favors.
"Camille Durand," Elena said, sitting in the back of a cab outside the Moreau estate. "Disappeared seven years ago. I need to know everything. Photos, sightings, aliases, anything. And I need it fast."
Margot whistled softly. "Someone's digging deep. You sure you want this?"
"I'm not sure of anything," Elena replied. "Just find her."
As the line went dead, the cab pulled away from the curb — and someone watched it go from behind tinted glass across the street.
---
Later that afternoon, Elena met with the estate's oldest servant, Madame Violette, under the guise of needing help with wedding arrangements. The woman had served the Moreaus for nearly four decades and had been loyal to Adrien, according to old records.
"Madame Violette," Elena said gently as they sat by the conservatory, "Did Adrien ever speak to you… about leaving?"
The old woman's hands trembled slightly as she folded linens. "He spoke of many things, mademoiselle. Of leaving, yes. But also of returning. Of righting wrongs."
"Did he seem afraid?"
Violette's eyes darted toward the hallway, then back at Elena. "Adrien was not a man who feared many things. But he did fear betrayal. And love."
Elena leaned forward. "Did Camille betray him?"
Violette hesitated. Then, softly: "She loved him. But love alone is never enough to keep a man safe."
Before Elena could ask more, the door creaked open.
Lucas.
He looked between them, then smiled faintly. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Not at all," Elena said, voice neutral.
But as Lucas led her away — his hand lingering a second too long on her back — she could feel the tension coiling between them like a storm waiting to break.
---
That night, Margot called back.
"Elena," her voice crackled over the line. "Camille Durand is alive. She's in Vienna. Changed her name. Working under a false identity. She went underground after Adrien's death — or should I say, faked death. Whatever happened back then, it was planned."
Elena's heart thudded. "Do you have an address?"
"I have better. I have a photo — taken three weeks ago. Guess who she's with?"
Elena didn't answer.
"Adrien Moreau," Margot whispered. "He's alive, Elena. And hiding in plain sight."
---
Elena didn't sleep that night either.
She sat by the window, the stars reflecting faintly in the glass. She thought of her father, of the night he died. The rushed signatures on the contract. The urgency in his eyes when he told her to trust no one.
And now it all made sense.
Adrien wasn't dead.
Camille hadn't vanished.
Lucas hadn't lied — not completely. But he hadn't told the truth, either.
Which meant the real reason for her arranged engagement wasn't inheritance. It was leverage.
But leverage against whom?
Her phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown Number:
You're getting too close. Leave now, or your father won't be the last casualty.
Elena stared at the message.
Then, slowly, she typed a reply.
Elena:
Tell Adrien I'm ready to meet. We have unfinished business.