Chapter Three: The Locked Room

Serena’s POV

The key turned with a reluctant click.

For a moment, neither Adrian nor I moved.

The room smelled of dust, old leather, and something faintly familiar—my father’s cologne. I had not smelled it in years, but memory brought it back so clearly that my throat tightened.

His desk stood beneath the window. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books I had never been allowed to touch. A photograph of my father and me sat beside a brass clock that had stopped at 2:17.

I walked towards it slowly.

In the photograph, I was eight years old, sitting on his shoulders and laughing. He was smiling up at me, one hand holding my ankle to keep me steady.

That version of my father had always been the one I wanted to remember.

The man who disappeared behind closed doors and spoke in whispers was harder to understand.

“Did you know him well?” I asked Adrian.

“Well enough.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is the only one I have.”

I turned towards him. “You seem to know an awful lot about my family for someone who claims this is just business.”

Adrian removed his jacket and draped it over a chair.

“Your father and mine were partners. They trusted each other.”

“Then why did my father die alone?”

The question escaped before I could stop it.

Adrian’s expression changed, but only slightly.

“I don’t know.”

I searched his face for a lie and found nothing obvious.

That did not mean I believed him.

I began opening the desk drawers. Most contained ordinary papers, old receipts, and letters. The bottom drawer was locked.

“Another key?” I muttered.

Adrian crouched beside the desk and examined the lock.

“Move.”

“Excuse me?”

“Unless you know how to open it.”

“I know how to open my mouth. Usually, that’s enough to annoy people into doing what I want.”

To my surprise, he laughed.

It was brief, almost unwilling, but it changed his face. For the first time, he looked less like a man carved from ice and more like someone my age.

Then he stood.

“Keep talking, and we’ll be here until morning.”

He produced a small tool from his pocket and worked on the lock. A moment later, it clicked open.

Inside lay a thick envelope, a photograph, and a small silver key attached to a faded ribbon.

I picked up the envelope.

My name was written on it in my father’s handwriting.

For Serena. Only when the time is right.

My hands began to shake.

Adrian stepped closer but did not touch me.

“Would you like me to leave?”

I looked at him, surprised by the question.

For once, he was giving me a choice.

“No,” I whispered. “Stay.”

I opened the envelope.

The letter was short.

My darling Serena,

If you are reading this, then I have failed to protect you from the life I tried so desperately to keep away from you.

There are things about my past that I should have told you. I was afraid that knowing the truth would place a target on your back. I now fear that my silence may have done exactly that.

Trust no agreement made in my name until you understand what it was meant to protect.

The Blackwoods are not your enemies simply because people fear them. But neither are they innocent.

Look for the silver key. It will lead you to the truth.

Whatever happens, remember that you are not a debt to be paid.

You are my daughter.

And you deserve to be free.

I lowered the letter.

For several seconds, the room seemed to disappear around me.

My father had known.

He had known that one day someone might try to use me as part of an agreement, and he had left me a warning without telling me how to escape it.

I wiped my eyes angrily.

“Your father knew about this letter,” I said.

Adrian looked at the paper.

“I don’t know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I will not pretend to know things I don’t.”

I wanted to argue, but the honesty in his voice stopped me.

I picked up the silver key.

“What does it open?”

Before he could answer, we heard a crash downstairs.

Then a woman’s scream.

“Evelyn?” I shouted.

I rushed towards the door, but Adrian caught my arm.

“Stay behind me.”

“Let go!”

“Serena, listen to me.”

Something in his voice made me stop.

It was no longer cold or irritated.

It was alert.

Protective.

Dangerously serious.

He moved into the hallway, drawing a gun from beneath his shirt. I stared at it, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“What is happening?” I whispered.

He did not answer.

A shadow moved at the far end of the corridor.

Then came three sharp knocks against the front door.

Adrian’s phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen, and for the first time since I had met him, his face lost every trace of composure.

“What is it?” I asked.

He turned the screen towards me.

A photograph showed the silver key in my hand, taken only moments earlier.

Beneath it was a message.

Give us the key, or the girl dies before the wedding.

I looked up at Adrian.

“Who sent that?”

His jaw tightened.

“Someone who knows exactly what your father was hiding.”

Another crash sounded downstairs.

Adrian stepped in front of me, his gun raised towards the corridor.

“Stay close,” he ordered.

And as the lights went out, I realised the marriage agreement was no longer the most frightening thing about my future.

Someone was already trying to make sure I never reached the wedding day.