Chapter 4: The Secrets Begin to Unfold

"Some things are better left unknown, Eliza."  

The words Maximilian had said to me a few nights ago echoed in my mind, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off—something deeper than the surface of our arranged marriage. It was as though shadows were lurking in the corners of his life, ones that he wasn’t ready to expose, no matter how much I longed to understand him.  

It had been nearly a week since the night I overheard Maximilian’s phone conversation. I couldn’t get the sharpness in his voice out of my head, or the raw emotion he had briefly revealed. I still wasn’t sure whether he was talking about me or someone else, but it gnawed at me—made me more curious about the man I was now bound to, for better or worse.  

Maximilian, for all his coldness, was a man of extremes. He made it clear that our marriage was about business and only business. Yet, the more time I spent under this roof, the more his contradictions became evident. The more I began to feel like a pawn in a game I didn’t fully understand.  

One evening, as I wandered through the vast expanse of his penthouse, I found myself drawn to the study. Maximilian had been away on business again, leaving me alone with nothing but my thoughts. I had already familiarized myself with every corner of the place, but today there was something different—something beckoning me to explore.  

I stood before the heavy oak door of the study, hesitating. Maximilian had made it clear that the study was off-limits, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important hidden within. Curiosity pushed me forward, and with a glance over my shoulder to ensure I was alone, I turned the doorknob and stepped inside.  

The room was pristine, like everything else in this penthouse. But as I moved deeper into the study, a sense of discomfort filled the air—almost as if I was intruding on a space that wasn’t meant for me. I had never been in here before, and the air felt thick with history.  

My eyes were immediately drawn to the desk. Maximilian’s empire was laid out before me—sleek technology, stacks of paperwork, and a row of books that looked far too polished to have ever been touched. But it was the locked drawers that caught my attention. They were unusual, a stark contrast to the rest of the room. There was something about them that felt secretive, concealed.  

My fingers itched with the desire to uncover what lay within, but I resisted the temptation. Instead, my gaze shifted to the walls. Portraits and photographs, some of which I recognized from Maximilian’s public appearances, lined the space. But then something caught my eye—an old photograph, tucked away in the corner of the shelf behind a frame.  

I pulled it out, my breath catching in my throat.  

The woman in the photo looked so much like me. Her hair was a shade lighter, her features softer, but the resemblance was undeniable. She was standing next to Maximilian, both smiling at the camera. It was an image from a time long before our marriage, one that seemed to suggest a relationship far different from the cold, calculated one we now shared.  

The photo trembled slightly in my hands as a shiver ran down my spine. Who was this woman? Why did she look so much like me? The questions began to flood my mind—questions I was afraid to ask, yet couldn’t ignore.  

Suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. Panic surged through me, and I quickly shoved the photo back into its place, but not quickly enough.  

The door to the study opened, and Maximilian stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, and I struggled to steady my breath.  

“What are you doing in here?” His voice was low, dangerous.  

“I… I was just—” I began, but the words felt trapped in my throat. I was caught, and I knew it.  

Maximilian’s eyes flickered to the photo, and then to me. His jaw clenched. “Put that down,” he snapped. His tone was colder than I had ever heard it before, laced with fury.  

I couldn’t move. My fingers clenched around the photo as if it were a lifeline. It was as though the answers I sought were right there, within my grasp, and I wasn’t willing to let go.  

“Who is she?” I asked before I could stop myself, my voice trembling but determined.  

For a moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes—raw pain. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make my heart skip a beat.  

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the mask returned. Maximilian’s expression hardened, and the warmth drained from his eyes. He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming.  

“If you value your life,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “you’ll stop asking questions.”  

My breath caught in my throat. There was something in his voice—something so commanding, so filled with unspoken threat—that I couldn’t move. I stood there, frozen, holding the photograph as if it were a delicate piece of glass, my fingers aching with the pressure.  

Maximilian’s gaze was unyielding as he took a step closer, his frame towering over me. For a brief moment, I felt small—insignificant even—as if everything I thought I knew about him had been thrown into question.  

And yet, in that brief moment, I also saw something else—a flicker of vulnerability beneath the ice.  

But it vanished just as quickly as it had come.  

“I told you not to ask questions, Eliza,” he repeated, his voice colder this time.  

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. The room felt like it was closing in on me, and I had no idea what to do, or what to say. Every instinct told me to leave—to retreat into the safety of my own world—but something inside me resisted.  

What was the truth? Who was the woman in the photo, and why did Maximilian react the way he did?  

I wanted answers. I needed answers.  

But as Maximilian’s eyes bored into mine, I realized one painful truth: getting those answers might cost me more than I was willing to pay.  

“Put it down,” he ordered again, this time with finality.  

Reluctantly, I set the photo back in its place, my fingers lingering on its edge for a moment longer than necessary. I didn’t know if I could trust Maximilian—hell, I didn’t even know if I could trust myself. But one thing was clear: the secrets he kept, the ones he fought to protect, were far darker and deeper than I could have imagined.  

As I turned to leave, Maximilian’s voice stopped me.  

“Go to your room, Eliza.”  

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Without another glance at him, I walked out of the study, my mind racing.  

The questions lingered in the air, unanswered and unspoken. And though I had no idea where this path would lead, one thing was certain: the shadows of Maximilian’s past were starting to creep into our present, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for the truth.  

But I would find out, no matter the cost.  

“Maximilian Grey had secrets—and I was determined to uncover them, no matter what.”