CHAPTER TWELVE

Arianna’s POV

The hallway was dark when I slipped out of the guest room. The walls whispered with silence, the kind that hummed just loud enough to unsettle. I tiptoed past the grand staircase, careful not to let the wood creak beneath my feet. The echo of Evan’s father’s voice still rang in my ears—low, guarded, and far too serious.

“Just make sure she doesn’t find out anything.”

Find out what?

My pulse thudded with every step. Something about this house felt… familiar, though I’d never been here before. The long hallway to the left was lined with portraits—faded faces in heavy gold frames. Some bore the same sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes as Evan carried. Legacy, I assumed. But a few of the women… I paused at one. Something about her expression, the curve of her smile, chilled me.

She looked like me.

I blinked and shook my head. Maybe it was just a trick of the dim light.

I made my way down the corridor, slipping into the study Evan had stormed out of earlier. The door creaked softly as I pushed it open, then clicked shut behind me. The room smelled like old books and tobacco. Dark leather chairs and shelves that stretched up to the ceiling gave it the feel of a secret.

I turned on a small desk lamp, the golden glow brushing over a row of neatly aligned documents. But it was the shelf tucked into the corner behind a paneled column that caught my attention.

A photo album. It was real. Leather-bound and thick with age.

I pulled it down carefully, dust sticking to my fingertips. The pages crackled as I opened it. The first few were what you’d expect—Evan as a boy, holding trophies, grinning with missing teeth. His mother was younger, radiant, her hand always resting on his shoulder.

Then I flipped further.

A black-and-white photo slid out. I bent to catch it before it hit the ground.

My breath caught.

The woman in the picture… she looked like me. Not sort of or maybe. And definitely not in the abstract way you sometimes resemble strangers.

This woman could have been my twin. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same faint cleft in her chin, I’ve always tried to hide it with foundation.

And standing beside her?

Evan’s father.

Much younger. His arm draped over her shoulder.

I stared for a long moment, heart racing. My fingers trembled as I turned the photo over. Then, I wondered why this felt so important.

I tucked the photo into my waistband, pressing it against my skin like it could anchor me to reality.

There was a knock—sharp, deliberate. I jumped and nearly dropped the album.

Before I could respond, the door opened.

Evan’s father stood in the threshold, his expression a complete reversal from the charm he’d worn earlier. His gaze went to the album in my hands, then locked onto mine with a chilling stillness.

“You shouldn't be in here,” he said coldly.

“I—I couldn’t sleep. I was just looking for a book,” I lied.

He stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him. “You’re a guest. Not family. That means there are boundaries. Do you understand that?”

I nodded, even as my heart pounded against my ribcage.

He held out his hand. “The album.”

I hesitated.

“Now.”

With shaking fingers, I handed it over. He didn’t look inside. He just clutched it tightly, like he already knew what I’d seen.

“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, Arianna,” he said softly, voice low and measured. “Some stories are better left buried. Especially the ones that aren’t yours to tell.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left standing in the heavy silence, the outline of that photo still burning against my hip.

Morning arrived with a strange kind of stillness. Evan was nowhere to be found, and I didn’t bother asking anyone where he went.

At breakfast, his mother greeted me with a softness I didn’t expect.

“You didn’t eat much last night. I made your favorite. Blueberry scones,” she said, sliding a plate toward me.

“My favorite?” I asked cautiously.

She blinked. “Oh—Evan mentioned it, I suppose.”

I took a bite, the tart flavor of blueberry catching on my tongue. They were just like the ones my aunt used to bake when I was younger. Not similar. Identical.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Do I remind you of someone?” I asked her suddenly.

She paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “Just… something I saw in the hallway. One of the photos.”

She reached across the table and took my hand gently. “You don’t have to be afraid here. I know Evan is... complicated. But you’re safe. I’ll make sure of that.”

Her tone was too soft. Too deliberate.

And her hand trembled just slightly when she let go.

****

Later that afternoon, I found myself wandering through the garden. The sun was soft and golden, and for a moment, I could almost pretend this wasn’t all a mess.

But the photo burned in my mind.

I needed answers.

I walked the perimeter of the garden until I found the back porch that led toward what looked like a second guest house. I crept around the corner and spotted Martha, the housekeeper, watering a line of plants.

“Martha,” I called gently.

She looked up, startled.

“I was wondering…” I tried to find the right words. “That photo of Evan’s father and the woman standing with him, do you know who she was?”

Her hands stilled. “You shouldn’t be asking about that.”

“So you do know,” I pushed.

Martha looked around, then motioned for me to follow her behind the garden wall. When we were out of sight, she whispered, “That woman… she wasn’t just someone Mr. Gates used to know. She was special, protected, and off-limits.”

“To Evan?”

“No. To everyone.”

“Why?”

Martha’s eyes darted back toward the main house. “Because her story could destroy everything they’ve built. And I think you already know why she looks like you.”

My blood ran cold.

“You’re not just his wife, Arianna. You're something more,” she continued, and soon walked away from me.

As I walked back to the main house, my legs felt weak, and the sun no longer felt warm, it was just blinding. The closer I got to the front door, the more I could feel my world shifting.

And everything I knew about myself, about Evan, about this arrangement... didn't feel like it was just about marriage anymore. And I had a feeling that this family hadn’t brought me here to love me.

Rather, they’d brought me here to keep me silent.