chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Hidden Room

Elena barely slept that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the gunshot at the old Moretti property, the envelope at Damian's feet, and the warning written across it.

Someone was watching her.

Someone knew about her marriage.

And, more importantly, someone seemed to know things about her father that she had never been told.

By morning, Elena had made a decision.

She needed answers.

She left her bedroom quietly and walked through the second floor of the mansion while the house was still unusually quiet. Damian had spent most of the night in his office with his men, and she had no intention of waiting for him to decide what she was allowed to know.

She stopped when she reached the western corridor.

The west wing.

The one place Damian had specifically forbidden her from entering.

Elena looked toward the staircase behind her.

Nobody was there.

She slowly pushed the door open.

The corridor beyond was darker than the rest of the mansion, with heavy curtains covering the windows and old paintings hanging along the walls. Dust covered several pieces of furniture, but something about the place told her it had not been completely abandoned.

She walked farther inside.

At the end of the hallway stood a large wooden door.

It was locked.

Elena tried the handle.

Nothing.

She was about to turn around when she noticed a small metal key lying on a nearby table.

Her heart began to beat faster.

She picked it up.

It fit perfectly.

The lock clicked.

The room beyond was small, but unlike the rest of the wing, it was carefully preserved. There was a desk, several locked cabinets, and a wall covered with photographs and documents.

Elena stepped inside.

Then she saw him.

Her father.

Victor Carter.

There were photographs of him everywhere.

Some showed him standing beside Damian's father. Others showed him entering the Moretti estate years before Elena had ever known this place existed.

She moved closer to the wall.

Her fingers trembled as she picked up one photograph.

Victor was standing beside a woman Elena had never seen before.

On the back of the photograph was a date.

Twenty-five years ago.

Elena frowned.

Something about the woman looked strangely familiar.

Before she could examine the picture more closely, she heard footsteps outside.

She quickly put the photograph back.

The door opened.

Damian stood there.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes immediately moved around the room before settling on her.

“What are you doing here?”

Elena swallowed.

“You tell me.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“I told you never to enter this wing.”

“And you never told me why.”

His silence was answer enough.

Elena pointed toward the wall.

“My father was here.”

“Yes.”

The simple answer stunned her.

“You knew?”

“I knew he had been here.”

“For how long?”

Damian looked away.

“Years.”

Elena's anger rose.

“You knew my father was connected to your family, you knew someone was hunting me, and you still expected me to sit quietly in that mansion while you decided what I deserved to know?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“No. You were trying to control me.”

Damian's expression hardened.

“You don't understand what you're dealing with.”

“Then explain it.”

He remained silent.

Elena stepped closer.

“Who is that woman?”

Damian's eyes immediately moved toward the photograph she had been holding.

For the first time, something resembling shock crossed his face.

“Where did you find that?”

“Here.”

He took the photograph from her hand.

His fingers tightened around it.

“Her name was Isabella.”

“Who was she?”

Damian looked at Elena for several seconds before answering.

“She was connected to your father.”

“How?”

“I don't know.”

Elena stared at him.

“You're lying.”

His eyes darkened.

“I don't lie to you.”

“You've been hiding things from me since the night we met.”

Before Damian could respond, Elena noticed something beneath the desk.

A small black box.

She crouched and pulled it out.

Damian immediately moved toward her.

“Don't.”

But she had already opened it.

Inside was an old silver necklace.

Elena froze.

She knew that necklace.

Her mother had worn it in the only photograph Elena had ever possessed of her.

She slowly lifted it with trembling fingers.

“Where did you get this?”

Damian stared at the necklace.

His face had gone completely still.

Then he looked at Elena.

“That belonged to your mother.”

Elena's breath caught.

“My mother?”

Damian nodded.

“She gave it to my father the night she disappeared.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Elena stared at him, unable to speak.

Her mother had never simply died.

There was a story behind her disappearance.

And Damian Moretti had just revealed that his family had been part of it all along.