Chapter 7: The Locked Door

The storm broke just after midnight.

Thunder rolled over the mansion like an omen, followed by sharp flashes of lightning that lit up Ariella’s room in bursts of pale white. She sat on the edge of the bed, wide awake, clutching the anonymous message she'd scribbled onto a notepad.

Don’t trust the woman in red.

Elise.

There was no doubt. She always wore crimson, like blood was part of her wardrobe. Always elegant, always watching.

Ariella paced.

Lucien hadn’t returned home since morning. No calls. No explanation. Not that she expected one. He vanished and reappeared like a ghost in this house. And every time he did, she couldn’t tell whether to feel relief or dread.

A sudden bang echoed from downstairs.

Ariella jumped.

Her heart pounded as she tiptoed toward the bedroom door. She eased it open and peeked into the hallway. Darkness greeted her. No guards. No Elise.

Just shadows.

Her bare feet barely made a sound against the cold marble floor as she moved toward the east wing—where Lucien’s office was. The one room always locked. The one place she had never been allowed near.

Earlier that week, she had spotted Lucien slipping inside with a black folder under his arm. And she’d seen Elise watching him with eyes like a hawk—possessive, calculating.

Something was hidden in there.

She paused in front of the tall wooden door, her hand hovering over the knob. Locked, as expected.

But beside the doorframe, barely visible in the darkness, was a keypad.

Ariella’s breath caught. She had never noticed it before.

Three digits.

Her mind raced. A code. What would Lucien use?

His birthday? No—too obvious.

Her father’s death?

She hesitated.

Then typed: 513.

May 13th. The day her world ended.

A soft click echoed as the lock disengaged.

Her blood froze.

The door creaked open an inch. She pushed it wider and stepped inside, every nerve on edge.

The office was pristine, yet strangely cold. Walls lined with dark bookshelves. A sleek black desk. A single painting above it—a woman in a crimson gown with her face turned away.

Elise?

She approached the desk, her fingers brushing across the smooth surface until she found a drawer. Locked. But the top one wasn’t.

Inside was a file labeled A. Cruz.

Her hand trembled as she pulled it out and flipped it open.

There were photos—of her. Of her brother. Surveillance shots. One showed her sitting by her father’s grave. Another was from her university dorm.

Tears pricked her eyes.

Lucien had been watching her. Long before the marriage.

And at the very bottom—a letter, yellowed and folded. Her father’s handwriting. A note addressed to Lucien.

“I’ve kept my promise. But if anything happens to me, protect my children. Especially Ariella. You owe me that much.”

Ariella gasped.

She nearly dropped the letter as footsteps echoed behind her.

She spun around.

Lucien stood in the doorway, soaked from the rain, his eyes locked on the file in her hands.

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

Ariella’s throat went dry. “You knew my father.”

“I did more than know him,” Lucien said quietly, stepping into the room. “I trusted him. And he trusted me with you.”

Lightning flashed again, illuminating his face.

But the storm outside was nothing compared to the storm now brewing between them.

Ariella’s fingers tightened around the letter. “So it’s true,” she whispered. “You were close to my father.”

Lucien didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why let me believe you were the reason he disappeared? That you killed him?”

His jaw tightened. Rain dripped from his hair and coat, pooling at his feet, but he made no move to step closer. “Because the truth wouldn’t have saved you,” he said. “Not then. You were too angry. Too broken. You needed someone to blame.”

“And you were willing to become that person?”

His silence was answer enough.

Ariella swallowed hard. The room felt smaller now, like the walls were closing in. “You made me marry you,” she said, voice trembling. “You used my father’s debt to trap me.”

“I did,” Lucien admitted, “because it was the only way I could keep you safe.”

She blinked, stunned. “Safe from who?”

“Elise.”

Ariella’s heart stuttered. “What are you talking about?”

Lucien stepped further into the room, now close enough for her to see the haunted look in his eyes. “Your father got involved in things he shouldn’t have. Dangerous people. Elise was one of them. She wanted something from him—information. He refused. And when he vanished… it wasn’t by my hand.”

Ariella stared at him, mind spinning. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” He nodded toward the folder in her hands. “You’ve seen the surveillance. I’ve been watching you for years, yes—but not to hurt you. To protect you. Elise has always been after you. After your bloodline.”

“My bloodline?”

Before he could answer, the door behind him creaked again.

Elise stood in the shadows, wrapped in her signature red, her expression unreadable.

“You were never supposed to find out this way,” she said, voice as smooth as velvet and twice as chilling.

Ariella’s heart pounded in her chest. The woman’s gaze slid past Lucien and landed directly on her.

“Elise—” Lucien warned, but she raised a hand.

“It’s too late, Lucien. She’s already starting to remember.”

Ariella’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean remember?”

“You should ask your mother,” Elise said with a cold smile. “Oh, wait. That might be difficult.”

Lucien lunged toward her, but Elise was already gone, slipping into the shadows like a ghost.

Ariella backed against the desk, the folder still clutched to her chest. Her legs felt weak, her mind screaming with questions.

“My mother?” she whispered. “What does she have to do with this?”

Lucien turned to her slowly. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“There’s a reason you were never told the full truth, Ariella. About your father. About your family.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Because somehow, she already knew—

Everything was far worse than she imagined.