Alexander left for the office without another word, his cold silence heavier than any shout. I stayed in the dining room, my hands still trembling from the confrontation.
I decided to clear my head by walking in the mansion's private gardens. But as I passed the main entrance hall, I noticed a small, cream-colored envelope lying on the floor, just beneath the mail slot. There was no stamp, no return address. Only my name written in sharp, elegant handwriting: Elena.
I took it to my room and locked the door before opening it. Inside was a single piece of paper with a message that made my blood run cold.
"Don't trust his memories. Isabella wasn't the saint he portrays. If you want to stay alive, find the blue diary hidden in the library. Page 42 will tell you the truth he's trying to replace."
My breath hitched. Someone inside this house—or someone watching it—knew I wasn't just a fiancée. And they knew about Isabella.
Was Alexander lying to me? Was this "replacement" thing a trap for something much darker?
I spent the afternoon in the massive library, pretending to read while searching for the blue diary. My heart skipped a beat when I finally spotted it, tucked behind a thick book on corporate law.
Just as my fingers touched the spine, the library door creaked open.
"Searching for something, Elena?"
It was Victoria. She was standing there with her silver cane, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You've been in here for hours. A bride should be busy with her guest list, not dusty old books."
I slid the diary deeper into the shelf, forcing a calm smile. "I was just looking for some poetry, Victoria. Alexander said Isabella loved it."
"Isabella loved power, child," Victoria snapped, her voice like cracking ice. "Don't ever forget that. Now, come. The jeweler is here. It's time to pick your shackles.