Chapter 7: The Murders mark

Elsie

I had to get out of the attic. Staying there felt like waiting for the next attack. I dressed and grabbed my cleaning supplies. I needed to move around the house, to watch, to find the opportunity to start searching.

I worked quickly, trying to stay invisible. The house was quiet with Malcolm back, but the silence felt dangerous. My ultimate target was the place everyone feared: the forbidden room.

I’ve searched Aiden’s room thoroughly, and found nothing. They wouldn’t leave such damming evidence in their bedrooms or in sight. If they hadn’t destroyed it, then it hidden in places no one was allowed access.

That door was at the end of the second-floor landing. It was heavy, dark wood, and radiated a cold, absolute silence. No staff went near it. The rule was clear: strictly out of bounds for anyone. It was Malcolm Lancaster's fortress of secrets, where the evidence of his crimes, financial or otherwise, had to be hidden.

I began dusting the long table near the door, forcing my hands to move steadily.

"Still working, Elsie?"

I spun around. Aiden was standing twenty feet down the hallway. He looked cold, serious, and completely different from his usual teasing self. He started walking toward me, slow and deliberate.

"I need to finish the upstairs," I said, trying to sound steady.

"No, you don't," he countered, stopping a few feet away. His eyes were intense. "You need to understand something."

He took the duster right out of my hand. "That little show this morning," he said, grinning, his voice low. "It was meant to remind you of your position. Did it work?"

"It reminded me I work for a family of childish bullies," I shot back, the words sharp with real hatred now.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Watch your mouth. You think you're safe here because my father is home? He hates messy staff more than he hates us."

He glanced sharply at the forbidden door behind me, then back at my face. "You stick to your mop. You try to play games up here, and you won't just lose your job. You'll disappear."

This was a serious threat. He was protecting the house, maybe even the secrets behind that door.

"I'm not playing games," I insisted.

"Yes, you are," he murmured, taking a step closer. "You're playing with fire. You wasted time in his room talking. I saw you with Caleb earlier."

My blood ran cold. "I don't know what you mean."

“Caleb Lancaster doesn't play," Aiden said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl. "He breaks. And he likes to break the things I find interesting."

He tossed the duster onto the table and walked away without another word. The message was clear: stay in my lane, or face the combined consequences of two dangerous men.

I waited five minutes, then forced myself to continue my work, heading downstairs. I found Malcolm in the massive library, already working. The whole room smelled of old paper and cigars.

"Elsie," Malcolm's voice was deep and steady. He had absolute power. He didn't look up from the large ledger on his desk. "I need fresh coffee. And then you will clean this room. Thoroughly."

I made his coffee and came back. He finally looked up. His eyes were cold, assessing, the eyes of a judge and a crime-cover-up artist.

"The previous staff," he began, taking a sip, "left because they were careless. They gossiped, they took liberties, they became... unreliable."

He set the cup down. "We can't have unreliable people here, can we, Elsie? This house is private. It demands discretion. It demands loyalty."

"I understand, sir." I held his gaze.

"Good." He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Elsie. My sons. Have you noticed any... disruptions since my return? Any unusual activity in the house?"

This was the test. He was checking if I was a loyal staff member or a potential informant.

"The house has been very quiet, sir," I lied smoothly. "I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary."

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face. "I see. You seem like a sensible young woman. Keep it that way. In this house, sensible people last."

The threat was implicit: Stay sensible, or I will deal with you. I turned away, the hatred for the man who bought Clarita's silence burning in my gut.

I waited until midnight. The house was swallowed by silence. I slipped out of the attic, moving like a ghost. The golden button was heavy in my pocket. I had to get into the forbidden room. I had to find where the evidence or the files were kept.

I reached the second-floor landing. The forbidden door loomed. It was silent, smooth, and utterly impregnable. I didn't have a key, and I knew the simple lock-picking I'd practiced wouldn't work on whatever secure system Malcolm had installed here.

I pulled the small pin from my hair and started carefully examining the frame, looking for a weak point, a screw, anything that would indicate an electronic panel. I had to see if I could find a trace of the button's crest, a logo, anything that proved this was the room.

My fingers were running along the cold wood, pressing lightly, searching for a latch that wasn't there. I was completely focused on the silence of the door, listening for any sign of a mechanism.

A soft, controlled cough broke the silence.

I froze. Every muscle in my body seized up.

I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. The air behind me had suddenly chilled, and the presence was immense and utterly still.

"I asked for silence, Elsie. Not for midnight gymnastics."

It was Jacob. His voice was low, absolutely devoid of the mocking tone he used during their games. This was pure power.

I slowly turned, my heart trying to beat its way out of my throat. He was standing maybe ten feet away, a shadow emerging from the darkness of the main hall. He was watching me with those sharp, cold eyes.

I immediately hid my hand behind my back, where the small pin and the golden button were now clenched tight.

"I... I was checking the temperature, sir," I stammered, the lie pathetic and thin. "Sometimes the upstairs thermostat jams. It's too hot in my room."

Jacob took a slow step closer, his gaze sweeping over the forbidden door, then back to my face. He didn't move fast, but the air felt charged, like a predator circling.

"Checking the thermostat," he repeated, the two words heavy with disbelief. "On a door that no one is allowed to touch. And you're doing this at midnight."

He took another step, closing the distance. "Let's be direct, Elsie. My father has many enemies. We have competitors who would pay a fortune to know what's behind that door. Are you working for them?"

My mind raced. Spy. That's what he thinks. It was a corporate problem, not a personal one. That was a safer accusation to deal with.

"No, sir. I would never," I whispered, trying to project total fear and innocence. "I just... I'm a good employee. I heard the house manager say the upstairs climate control has been a nightmare. I was trying to... fix it before Mr. Lancaster noticed."

The lie was pitiful, transparent, and absolutely useless.

Jacob simply stood there, analyzing me, the silence stretching out until I felt sick with panic. He didn't buy it for a second.

He finally spoke, his voice dropping to a dangerous, possessive murmur that was just for me.

"A spy, an employee, a thief... it doesn't matter what you tell my father. What matters is what you tell me."

He took the final step, his towering shadow enveloping me. He reached out, not for my hands, but slowly, deliberately, for my face. His thumb traced the sharp line of my jaw, forcing me to look up into his piercing eyes.

"You weren't checking the temperature, Elsie. You were looking for something that will consume you. And you've been looking for it ever since you got into this house. Now, tell me what you really want to steal from this family."