The train ride back to campus was quiet, save for the low hum of metal gliding over track. I stared out the window, the blur of trees and towns rushing past like memories I didn't want to remember.
Ariana sat across from me, pretending to scroll through her phone. I knew she was watching me through the reflection in the window, waiting for me to break the silence. But there was nothing left to say. Not yet.
Not until I figured out what the hell Vincent meant.
"Some important things your dear father left behind."
His words clawed at the back of my mind like a splinter I couldn't dig out. Important things. What could be so important that Vincent, of all people, wanted to be the one to tell me?
I clenched my jaw. It had to be about the estate. Maybe some account. A forgotten property. Something financial.
But no—his face. That *smirk.* That wasn't the face of a man talking about money.
That was the face of someone who knew a secret.
And wanted me to suffer for it.
---
Back at my dorm, I collapsed onto the bed without even taking my shoes off. Ariana set my bags down and walked to the mini-fridge, tossing me a cold bottle of water.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
I nodded, but it was a lie. We both knew it.
"I just need to study," I muttered, opening my laptop. "Exams tomorrow."
Ariana hesitated. "Do you think we should tell someone about him? Vincent?"
I paused.
I had considered it. A hundred times. But what would I say?
"Hi, my creepy uncle gives me the chills and looks at my best friend like she's prey. Oh, and he also talks in riddles about my dead father's secrets."
No one would take that seriously . Vincent wasn't even technically a guardian—just a leftover piece of my parents' life I couldn't quite shake off.
"No one would believe me," I said finally. "Not without proof."
Ariana sighed. "Then let's find some."
---
The opportunity came that same night.
I couldn't sleep. I kept hearing Vincent's voice in my head, the way he said my name like a curse. At 3:54 a.m., I got up and opened the folder I'd brought home from the funeral—the one with estate paperwork, old letters, and some of my dad's journals.
I hadn't gone through it properly. Until now.
There, near the bottom, was something I hadn't noticed before: a plain white envelope with my name written in my dad's handwriting.
**Zoey — for when you're ready.**
I stared at it for a long time.
My hands were shaking as I opened it.
Inside was a single key taped to a note. The handwriting was rushed, uneven. Nothing like the neat scrawl I knew from birthday cards and fridge reminders.
---
**Zoey,**
**If you're reading this, it means I'm already gone. I'm sorry. I wanted more time. I wanted to explain this to you myself.**
**There are things you don't know about me. About our family. About what I did to protect us.**
**Go to the study. Bottom drawer, right side of the desk. Use this key.**
**Be careful who you trust. Especially Vincent.**
**I never meant to leave this to you. But now, you need to know the truth.**
**Dad**
---
I read the letter three times before I moved.
The study. The one room in the house I hadn't gone back into since the funeral. Since everything changed.
And now I had to go back. Alone. But that would be after my exams. I still needed to pass my exams to make my parents proud of me
---
Three days later,
The house creaked like it was holding its breath when I stepped inside . I hadn't told Ariana about the letter , l wanted to keep it private and not to make her worry . I needed to do this on my own.
The air inside was stale. Dust had already begun to settle in places we used to walk through daily. The study door was closed, same as always.
I unlocked it with trembling fingers and stepped inside.
It was exactly how Dad had left it. Books piled high, papers scattered, his favorite fountain pen still resting beside the leather chair. The room smelled like cedar and ink and some lingering trace of him that made my throat close up.
I walked to the desk, heart pounding.
Bottom drawer. Right side.
The key slid in with a soft *click.* The drawer opened—stiffly, like it hadn't been used in years.
Inside was a thick file folder, yellowed at the edges. On top: a photo of my dad. Smiling. Arm around someone I didn't recognize.
And beside it—documents.
Contracts.
Letters.
A name I didn't recognize repeated over and over.
**"The Marrow Group."**
And one more letter, folded and addressed in all caps:
**CONFIDENTIAL – FOR ZOEY ONLY**
---
"Looking for something?"
The voice made my blood run cold.
I turned sharply.
Vincent stood in the doorway, a cigarette already burning between his fingers.
"You really are your father's daughter," he said, stepping into the room. "Curious. Reckless. Stupid."
I grabbed the file and held it against my chest. "How did you get in here?"
"Spare key," he said with a shrug. "This *used* to be my brother's house, remember?"
His eyes darted to the folder in my hands. His smile faded.
"You found it, didn't you?" he muttered, stepping closer. "You *weren't* supposed to find it."
"I think I was," I said, voice hardening. "He left it for me."
Vincent's jaw tightened. "Then you really have no idea what you're getting into."
I backed toward the door. "Maybe not. But I know enough to keep this away from *you.*"
He lunged—but I was faster. I shoved past him and ran down the hallway, clutching the folder like my life depended on it.
Because maybe now… it did.
---
To be continued.