Emma woke up to silence.
Not the comforting kind you find early in the morning, but the eerie sort that makes the air feel too still. The kind of silence that whispers secrets you can't quite hear.
She sat up slowly, blinking against the soft sunlight that filtered through the heavy curtains. The events of the previous day came rushing back: Lila's strange message, Alexander's warning, the unknown number threatening her. Her heart was still unsettled.
A silver tray of breakfast sat on the table by the window. A note beside it read:
"Eat something. I'll be back soon. _A"
She ignored the food and opened her phone. No new messages from Lila. Nothing from her family. Her fingers hovered over her mom's contact before she dropped the phone back on the bed with a sigh.
She couldn't take another cryptic warning. She needed answers not from Alexander, not from text messages but from the house itself. Something told her the mansion was hiding more than its beautiful chandeliers and perfect gardens.
Emma dressed quickly and slipped out of her room. The halls were quieter than usual. Even Marissa wasn't at her usual spot downstairs.
Emma made her way through the house, retracing her steps from the day before. Marble floors echoed under her feet as she passed the library, then the solarium. She pushed open a narrow wooden door tucked beneath the stairs.
The corridor beyond was dim and lined with storage closets, some of them marked with old brass plaques. She felt silly snooping, but curiosity tugged her forward.
At the end of the hall, she found a door slightly ajar. She nudged it open and stepped into a small sitting room. Dust danced in the slivers of light cutting through the drapes. The wallpaper peeled at the corners, and a faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.
A piano stood in the corner, its keys covered in a thin layer of dust.
She ran a finger over the surface.
"You found her room."
Emma turned with a start. Alexander stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets.
"Her?" she asked.
"My mother. This was her private space. No one comes here anymore."
Emma looked around, suddenly feeling like she was trespassing. "I didn't mean"
"It's okay," he said, stepping inside. "She used to sit right there." He motioned to the window seat. "Sometimes she'd read, sometimes she'd just stare outside, like she was waiting for something."
Emma watched him carefully. There was a softness in his voice she didn't expect.
"Did you love her?" she asked.
He nodded. "Very much. She had this warmth about her. Even when everything else in this house was cold."
Emma sat on the armrest of a faded chair. "What happened to her?"
Alexander was quiet for a moment. Then, "She died young. Sudden. Heart condition, they said."
She tilted her head. "You don't believe that?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore."
Silence settled between them. Not heavy thoughtful.
"I'm sorry," Emma said softly.
He looked at her then, really looked. "You remind me of her. Not in looks. In the way you ask questions. In how you don't pretend everything is okay when it isn't."
Emma smiled faintly. "So I'm not crazy for thinking something's off around here?"
His lips lifted in a crooked smile. "You're not crazy. But there are things you're better off not knowing. At least for now."
She stood up. "See, that's where you lose me. You can't keep saying that and expect me to just smile and nod."
Alexander ran a hand through his hair. "Emma, I brought you into this world thinking I could control what reached you. That I could keep the chaos outside. But it's already found its way in."
She stepped closer, close enough to smell the faint scent of cedar on his shirt. "Then stop treating me like I'm breakable. Just be honest with me."
Their eyes locked. He looked like he was wrestling with a dozen thoughts.
Finally, he said, "Come with me."
He led her through a hallway she hadn't seen before, into a study hidden behind a false panel in the wall. Shelves lined with dusty books and antique objects surrounded a long oak desk. The space felt lived in, but private like a part of him she wasn't meant to see.
"This was my father's," Alexander explained. "After he died, I kept it just as it was."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a faded folder. Inside were photographs, letters, and notes all surrounding something called the Blackwood Foundation.
"What is this?" Emma asked, flipping through the papers.
"A charitable fund," Alexander said. "At least that's what the world thinks. But it's more than that. My father used it to track people, fund quiet investigations, hide things."
"Hide what?" she whispered.
He paused. "Mistakes. Secrets. Deals no one should have agreed to."
Emma's hands trembled slightly. "Are we in danger?"
Alexander hesitated. "Not yet. But eyes are on us. Since we got married, things have shifted. Someone out there doesn't like it."
"Why?"
"I don't know. But they're trying to shake the foundation. And the fastest way to do that is through you."
Emma stared at him. "So I'm bait?"
"No." He stepped closer, his voice low and steady. "You're my wife. And like it or not, we're in this together now. I just want to keep you safe."
The words lingered in the air between them. Not quite romantic, but intimate. Like a truce.
Emma nodded slowly. "Then you have to stop keeping me in the dark."
He gave her a half smile. "Deal."
They walked back toward her room together. As they reached her door, he paused.
"There's something else you should know," he said. "That number that messaged you? It's not random. It's tied to a burner phone registered near the harbor."
Emma frowned. "The harbor?"
He nodded. "It's where my father's last known meeting took place before he died. I think this has something to do with that night."
"Shouldn't we go there?" she asked.
"Soon. But not without backup. Not yet."
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Did you ever want a normal life?"
Alexander looked at her, something soft in his expression. "Every day."
And then he surprised her.
He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, and the air between them thickened. Her heart beat faster.
"Goodnight, Emma," he said quietly.
She looked up at him. "Goodnight, Alexander."
As he walked away, Emma leaned against the door, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with emotions she didn't know how to name.
She didn't know if she was falling for him, or just tangled up in the mystery of him.
But she knew one thing for sure.
She couldn't turn back now.