Chapter 8: A House That Doesn't Feel Like Home

The first thing I noticed about Alexander Blackwood's home was that it looked more like a palace than a place where someone actually lived.

The black iron gates opened slowly as our car approached. Two security guards stood on either side, dressed in dark suits with earpieces tucked behind their ears. Cameras followed the vehicle as it passed through the entrance.

Beyond the gates stretched a long driveway lined with tall trees and carefully trimmed bushes. A fountain stood in the middle of a circular garden, sending water into the air with a soft, steady sound.

I pressed my forehead against the car window.

The mansion appeared ahead of us, enormous and beautiful. Its pale stone walls rose beneath a dark grey roof, with tall windows that reflected the cloudy afternoon sky. Wide steps led to a grand entrance framed by two white columns.

I swallowed.

“Do people actually live here?” I asked.

Alexander didn't look up from his phone.

“Yes.”

“More than one person?”

“Amelia.”

“What?”

“Try not to ask questions just because you're uncomfortable.”

I turned towards him.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was supposed to be impressed in silence.”

He slipped his phone into his pocket.

“You'll get used to it.”

I wasn't sure I wanted to.

The car stopped in front of the entrance. Before I could reach for the handle, a security guard opened my door.

“Welcome, Miss Carter.”

I stepped out, holding my handbag close. Another car arrived behind us, carrying the few belongings I had chosen to bring from my apartment.

My old suitcase looked painfully small beside the expensive cars and perfect gardens.

Alexander walked ahead without waiting.

I followed him up the steps and through the enormous front doors.

The entrance hall took my breath away.

Polished marble floors stretched beneath a sparkling chandelier. A wide staircase curved towards the upper floor, its dark wooden railing shining under the warm lights. Expensive paintings covered the walls, and a large arrangement of white flowers stood on a table near the entrance.

Everything looked perfect.

Not a single object seemed out of place.

A woman in her fifties approached us. She wore a neat navy dress, and her dark hair was pulled into a bun.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Collins.”

Her eyes moved towards me.

“This must be Miss Carter.”

“Yes,” Alexander replied. “She'll be staying here.”

Mrs. Collins smiled politely.

“Welcome to the house, Miss Carter. I'm Margaret Collins. I manage the household.”

“Thank you. It's nice to meet you.”

She nodded, but her eyes briefly moved to my suitcase.

I knew what she was thinking.

I didn't look like someone who belonged in a house like this.

A young man appeared from the hallway and collected my luggage.

“Please take Miss Carter's things to the east guest suite,” Alexander instructed.

I turned towards him.

“Guest suite?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you said I would have my own room.”

“You do.”

“Then why are you calling it a guest suite?”

“Because that's what it is.”

I stared at him.

“Do you always have an answer for everything?”

“Usually.”

Mrs. Collins lowered her head, hiding her expression.

Alexander continued walking.

“Come. I'll show you around.”

We passed through a wide sitting room with cream-coloured sofas, a glass coffee table, and tall windows overlooking the garden. Beyond it was a dining room with a long wooden table that could easily seat fourteen people.

I stopped near the doorway.

“Do you eat here every day?”

“When I have time.”

“Alone?”

“Sometimes.”

I looked at the enormous table.

“That must be a very lonely dinner.”

He gave me a sideways glance.

“It's a table, Amelia. Not a social experiment.”

I rolled my eyes and followed him.

The kitchen was almost as large as the apartment I shared with my mother and Daniel. Shiny silver appliances covered one wall, while a wide island stood in the middle.

Two women were preparing food. They stopped when Alexander entered.

“Mr. Blackwood,” one greeted him.

“Good afternoon. This is Amelia Carter. She'll be staying with us. Make sure she has whatever she needs.”

The women exchanged a quick look.

“Of course, sir,” the older one replied.

I smiled at them.

“Hello.”

They returned my greeting, though their curiosity was clear.

I wondered how much Alexander had told them about me.

Probably nothing.

We continued through the house. There was a private study, a small gym, a library with shelves reaching almost to the ceiling, and a glass corridor leading to an indoor swimming pool.

At the back, enormous windows opened onto a beautiful garden. Beyond the lawn stood a swimming pool surrounded by white chairs and tall green hedges.

For a moment, I forgot my discomfort.

It was beautiful.

Then I remembered that I wasn't here on holiday.

I was here because someone had threatened my family, broken into my home, and possibly connected my father's past to a dangerous secret.

The beauty of the mansion couldn't change that.

“Your room is upstairs,” Alexander said.

We climbed the staircase and walked down a quiet hallway. Soft lights glowed along the walls. Several doors stood on either side, all closed.

He stopped at the last door on the right and opened it.

“This is yours.”

I stepped inside.

The room was enormous.

A king-sized bed stood in the centre, covered with white sheets and soft grey pillows. A large window overlooked the gardens, while a sitting area occupied one corner. There was a dressing room, a private bathroom with a deep bathtub, and a small desk beside the window.

Fresh flowers stood on the bedside table.

I slowly turned around.

“This is my room?”

“Yes.”

“It's bigger than my entire apartment.”

“Your apartment was small.”

I looked at him.

“You say things like that as if money makes everything simple.”

He glanced at my suitcase, which had been placed beside the wardrobe.

“Mrs. Collins will arrange anything else you need.”

“I don't need anything else.”

“Most people would disagree.”

“Most people aren't me.”

He walked towards the window and checked the garden below.

“Security has been increased. There are cameras outside the house, and every entrance is monitored. Don't open the door to anyone you don't recognize.”

I nodded.

“Can I walk around the garden?”

“With security.”

“Can I sit by the pool?”

“Yes.”

“Can I use the library?”

“Yes.”

“Can I breathe without someone reporting it to you?”

He turned.

“Don't push your luck.”

I folded my arms.

“I'm not asking for much.”

“I'm trying to keep you alive.”

“And I'm trying to feel like a human being while you do it.”

His expression tightened, but he didn't argue.

Instead, he pointed towards a door near the dressing room.

“That leads to the private sitting area. You can use it whenever you want.”

I looked at the door.

“And the other rooms?”

“Some are private.”

“Private because they're yours?”

“Some belong to other members of my family.”

I remembered the photograph in his office.

Evelyn.

“Does Evelyn have a room here?”

His eyes shifted to mine.

“Why are you asking?”

“Because you seemed very uncomfortable when I mentioned her.”

“Stay out of things that don't concern you.”

There it was again.

His favourite way of ending a conversation.

I walked towards the bed and placed my handbag on it.

“I'll unpack later. I'd like some time alone.”

Alexander looked at me for a moment.

“Dinner is at seven.”

“I'll come if I'm hungry.”

“You'll come.”

I turned sharply.

“Are you serious?”

“It's important that the household knows your routine.”

“Then tell them my routine includes making my own decisions.”

He gave me a long, unreadable look.

“Seven o'clock, Amelia.”

Then he walked out.

The door closed behind him.

I stood still, staring at it.

A few seconds later, I heard his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

I let out a slow breath.

The silence in the room was almost frightening.

I walked towards the window. From there, I could see the gardens, the fountain, and a section of the high wall surrounding the property.

A security guard stood near the entrance.

Another walked along the garden path.

Even the birds seemed out of place in such a carefully controlled environment.

I opened my suitcase.

Inside were a few dresses, jeans, two pairs of shoes, some toiletries, and a small framed photograph of my mother and Daniel. I placed the photograph on the bedside table.

It looked strangely out of place beside the expensive flowers.

I picked it up again.

In the photograph, Daniel was laughing, and my mother was smiling despite the tiredness in her eyes.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

I had left behind our little apartment, the noisy neighbours, the broken kitchen tap, and the familiar smell of my mother's cooking.

I missed all of it.

This mansion had everything money could buy, but nothing felt like mine.

After a while, I decided to explore the floor.

I stepped into the hallway and walked past several closed doors. At the far end, I noticed a narrow staircase leading to another section of the house.

I remembered Alexander saying that some rooms were private.

I should have returned to my bedroom.

Instead, I followed the hallway.

At the end stood a dark wooden door with an old brass handle. Unlike the other doors, it had no nameplate. A small security keypad had been fitted beside it.

I reached towards the handle.

Locked.

I leaned closer and noticed a small brass plate beneath the keypad.

E. BLACKWOOD

My stomach tightened.

Evelyn.

I stepped back.

Why would a room in Alexander's mansion carry her name?

Before I could think of another question, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Miss Carter?”

I turned.

Mrs. Collins stood several feet away, holding a folded towel.

Her polite expression had disappeared.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I was just looking around.”

She glanced at the locked door.

“You shouldn't be here.”

Her voice was quiet, but there was something uneasy in it.

“Who is Evelyn Blackwood?”

Mrs. Collins tightened her grip on the towel.

For a moment, I thought she might answer.

Then she looked towards the staircase, as if checking whether someone was coming.

“Please return to your room, Miss Carter.”

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Blackwood doesn't like people asking about that room.”

I stared at her.

Before I could ask another question, a voice came from behind us.

“Mrs. Collins.”

Alexander stood at the end of the hallway.

His face was calm, but his eyes were fixed on me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I looked at the locked door, then back at him.

“Trying to understand the house I'm living in.”

He walked towards us, his expression growing darker.

“Then start by remembering that some doors are locked for a reason.”

I held his gaze.

“And what exactly are you hiding behind this one?”

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he stepped between me and the door.

“Evelyn's room is not yours to enter.”

The way he said her name made my skin prickle.

Because beneath his anger, I heard something I hadn't expected.

Grief.

And as Alexander reached for the keypad, I noticed something carved into the wooden frame beside it.

A date.

15 YEARS AGO.