I stared at the messages until the screen dimmed, hoping they would disappear if I looked away long enough, but they remained exactly where they were, each word settling deeper into my mind. Don't unpack. You won't survive living in that house. Ask Adrian what happened to the woman who lived in the east wing. He'll lie to you. My first instinct was to call the number back, but when I tapped it, the call failed immediately. I tried again with the same result. Whoever had sent the messages had made sure they couldn't be traced. I placed my phone on the bed and took a slow breath, reminding myself that anonymous warnings were easy to send. Anyone could have done it. A journalist. Someone trying to scare me. One of Adrian's business rivals. Yet one question refused to leave my mind. Who was the woman in the east wing?
A knock at my bedroom door interrupted my thoughts.
"Dinner will be served in ten minutes, Miss Marlowe," the housekeeper said politely before disappearing down the hallway.
I glanced once more at the phone before slipping it into my pocket. If someone wanted me frightened, I refused to give them that satisfaction.
The dining room was larger than my childhood home, with a table long enough to seat twenty people, although only Adrian and I sat at opposite ends that evening. Crystal glasses reflected the soft glow of the chandeliers while the staff moved silently around us, serving course after course without interrupting the uncomfortable silence.
"You haven't eaten," Adrian observed after several minutes.
"I'm not very hungry."
"You should eat anyway."
His voice wasn't unkind, but it wasn't warm either. It sounded like an instruction. I picked up my fork.
"The charity gala is tomorrow evening," he continued.
"You'll meet several investors, government officials, and members of the press. Smile when necessary. Speak carefully. If you don't know the answer to a question, let me handle it."
"I can speak for myself."
"I know you can."
His calm response caught me off guard.
"I simply don't want the media turning one careless sentence into tomorrow's headlines."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
I ignored the remark.
"Who lived in the east wing?"
For the first time that evening, Adrian stopped eating. It lasted only a second, but I noticed.
"What makes you ask that?"
"So someone did."
He set his knife down carefully.
"The east wing has been closed for years."
"That wasn't my question."
"No."
His expression revealed nothing.
"There are parts of the past that serve no purpose revisiting."
"Then why close it?"
"Because I decided to."
His answer felt rehearsed. I wanted to push harder, but something in his eyes warned me not to. The rest of dinner passed with very little conversation.
Later that night, unable to sleep, I wandered onto the balcony outside my room. The estate stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight, peaceful on the surface, but my thoughts kept returning to the messages. My eyes drifted toward the old stone building beyond the gardens, then farther left, where another section of the mansion disappeared into darkness. The east wing.
Every window was black except one. A faint light flickered behind a curtain. I frowned.
Adrian had said the wing was closed. So who had turned on the light? Without thinking, I slipped on a coat and quietly left my room. The hallways were silent. Most of the staff had gone to bed. Keeping close to the walls, I followed the signs until I reached a corridor blocked by a heavy velvet rope.
PRIVATE. NO ENTRY.
I hesitated only a moment before stepping over it. The air immediately felt colder. Dust covered the wooden floor, yet as I walked farther into the corridor, I noticed something strange. Fresh footprints. Someone had been here recently. My heartbeat quickened as I followed them toward the last door at the end of the hallway. The faint light I had seen from outside was slipping through the gap beneath it. I reached for the brass doorknob.
Before my fingers touched it, a voice spoke quietly behind me.
"I wouldn't open that door if I were you."
I spun around. An elderly woman stood several steps away, dressed in the staff uniform, watching me with frightened eyes.
Before I could ask who she was, she whispered something that made every hair on my arms stand up.
"She never left that room."
And then the light beneath the door suddenly went out.