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Chapter 13
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2025-05-16 18:09:06Morning arrived with a brittle silence. The kind that clung to Isla's skin like a second layer of unease. Despite the letter and the shadowy figure near the trees the night before, she tried to maintain some sense of normalcy. But the coffee tasted off. The walls of their sanctuary felt closer. Her thoughts were louder.
Christopher had already taken a call from an old contact in legal affairs. The trust was real, verified, and older than expected. It had been created almost ten years ago, when Isla was still a teenager. Why Aurelia had chosen her—even then—was a mystery that only deepened the longer she stared at the legal documents.
“What if Aurelia knew something about my mother?” Isla asked over breakfast. “Something she never told me?”
Christopher looked up from his laptop, expression unreadable. “You think she felt responsible for your mother’s death?”
“I think she carried guilt,” she replied. “That letter—she sounded... fragile. Desperate. And if Ethan was threatening her—”
“Then the trust was her way of protecting you,” Christopher finished. “Or at least, giving you something when she couldn’t protect you herself.”
Silence sat between them again.
Then Christopher stood. “We need to go back.”
Her eyes widened. “To the estate?”
He nodded. “Just for a day. If someone’s watching us here, we might find out why by going back to where it started.”
Every cell in Isla's body screamed no, but another part—smaller, buried, curious—whispered yes.
---They drove in silence, the landscape blurring past. When they reached the Deveraux estate, Isla could barely breathe.
The gates were rusted, the once-pristine hedges overgrown. The place looked haunted—abandoned by time, but still pulsing with memory. Isla stepped out of the car and stared up at the darkened windows.
The door was surprisingly unlocked. Christopher entered first.
Everything was as they left it. Aurelia’s study was sealed shut, just as they'd ordered after her death. But now, there were scratch marks near the lock. Someone had tried to break in.
“Someone’s been here,” Christopher said grimly.
They moved carefully. Dust clung to every surface. The shadows stretched unnaturally long. As they entered the living room, Isla froze.
On the grand piano sat a single white envelope.
Her name was written in black ink.
She opened it slowly. Inside was a photograph.
It was a photo of her mother—smiling, sitting beside Aurelia.
There was something written on the back, in Aurelia’s unmistakable cursive.
“Forgive me. We chose differently. One of us survived. The other loved.”
Her legs gave out and she fell into the velvet armchair. The memories she'd buried clawed at her—images of her mother’s laughter, the day she vanished, the cold silence that followed.
“What does it mean?” Christopher asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Isla whispered. “But I think Aurelia and my mother had more than just friendship. Something deeper.”
He nodded. “Then this trust, this entire inheritance—it’s not just money. It’s a breadcrumb trail. She’s guiding you to something.”
“Or warning me.”
Before he could respond, there was a soft creak upstairs.
They both turned.
Another creak. Then a soft shuffle.
Someone was in the house.
Christopher grabbed the poker from the fireplace and motioned for Isla to stay behind him. They moved slowly, carefully, up the winding staircase. The air thickened. The scent of something burned clung to the hallway.
At the end of the corridor, Aurelia’s bedroom door was ajar.
Christopher pushed it open.
The room was empty—except for one thing.
A burned book lay in the middle of the bed, ashes scattered around it. Isla stepped closer, frowning. The cover had been mostly destroyed, but one word remained legible:
“Confession.”
Inside, the pages had been charred, but one remained half-intact. On it was scrawled:
“The one who came before you never left. She waits beneath the ashes.”
A cold chill crawled up Isla’s spine.
“What the hell does that mean?” she whispered.
Before Christopher could answer, a soft ticking noise caught their attention.
He turned toward the armoire—and froze.
Nestled on the floor behind it was a small box. Metallic. Locked.
And ticking.
He stepped back immediately. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Isla didn’t argue. They rushed down the stairs and back to the car, hearts pounding.
As Christopher pulled onto the main road, Isla stared at the house behind them.
“We’re in the middle of something,” she said softly. “Something she tried to stop.”
Christopher nodded. “And someone else is trying to finish.”
As the estate disappeared behind the curve of the road, Isla knew with absolute certainty:
Aurelia’s secrets weren’t just hidden—they were protected.
And now, they were being hunted.
---
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