Chapter 4: The Disappeared

"What happened to Mr. Chen?"

The question slipped out before Vivian could stop it. She was sitting across from Damian at breakfast, the morning light streaming through the tall windows. He looked up from his newspaper, one eyebrow raised.

"Who?"

"Mr. Chen. My internship supervisor. From three years ago." She kept her voice light, casual. "I was thinking about him the other day. He was so kind to me. He said I had talent." She paused. "Then he just... disappeared."

Damian's expression didn't change. "I don't recall anyone by that name."

"You met him. You came to the office once. He told you I was doing excellent work." She watched his face carefully. "I tried to reach him after I left the internship, but no one answered. The office was closed. It was like he never existed."

Damian set down his newspaper, folding it neatly. His silver-grey eyes met hers, calm and unreadable. "People come and go, Vivian. That's the nature of life. People move, change jobs, lose touch. It's nothing to dwell on."

"He didn't move," she said softly. "He disappeared. Just like Mrs. Patterson, my art teacher. Just like Daniel, the boy I was friends with in high school. Just like everyone I've ever been close to."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and cold. Damian's expression remained pleasant, but she saw the flicker in his eyes. A warning. A reminder.

"Vivian," he said, his voice soft and patient, "you have a tendency to become attached to people. It's a weakness, I know. I've tried to protect you from it." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "Those people weren't good for you. They would have held you back. You have everything you need here."

She pulled her hand away.

---

The conversation haunted her for the rest of the day.

Vivian walked through the mansion's gardens, her mind turning over his words. People come and go. Those people weren't good for you. She'd heard variations of that line her entire life, every time someone she cared about vanished.

Mr. Chen, the internship supervisor who'd praised her work. He'd been kind, encouraging, a father figure she'd never had. He'd told her she had a future outside the estate. Then he disappeared.

Mrs. Patterson, her art teacher. She'd noticed Vivian's talent, and encouraged her to apply to art school. She'd even offered to write a recommendation letter. Then she'd vanished.

Daniel, the boy she'd dated briefly in high school. He'd been sweet, gentle, respectful. He'd asked her about her life, about her brother, about her past. He'd said something didn't add up. Then he'd vanished.

And she'd never questioned it. She'd believed Damian when he said they'd moved away, changed jobs, lost interest. She'd believed him because she'd had no reason not to.

But now she had every reason.

She sat on a bench in the rose garden, the letter from the attic hidden in her pocket. The faded words echoed in her mind: My dearest daughter, I hope this letter finds you safe...

Her mother was out there, somewhere. Her real mother. And Damian had kept them apart for years.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over the keypad. She didn't know who to call, who to trust, who could help her escape. The people who'd tried to help her before had all disappeared.

What would happen to anyone who helped her now?

She closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath. She'd made a decision last night. She wasn't going to let fear control her anymore. She was going to find out the truth, no matter the cost.

---

That afternoon, she made her way to the west wing. The library was there, dusty and forgotten, filled with old records and documents. Damian rarely came here. It was the one place in the mansion where she could search without being watched.

She pulled out old yearbooks, staff directories, and business records. She searched for Mr. Chen, for Mrs. Patterson, for Daniel. Every trace of them had been erased.

But she found something else.

A file, hidden behind a loose panel in the wall. Inside were photographs—dozens of them, all of young women. They looked like her. Same dark hair, same features, same age. Some smiled at the camera, others stared blankly. There were no names attached, no labels, no dates.

Vivian's breath caught in her throat. She flipped through the photographs, her fingers trembling. Each face was different, but they all shared something. A resemblance. A ghostly echo of the girl she'd seen in that photograph of Emilia.

She didn't know who these women were. But she knew one thing: Damian was collecting girls who looked like her.

She reached the bottom of the pile and found an empty space, a gap in the collection. One photograph was missing. The slot where it should have been was empty, the paper beneath it slightly darker, as if something had been removed recently.

Her blood ran cold. Someone had taken one. Or someone was watching her.

She tucked the file back into its hiding place, her heart pounding. She had to get out of the library, back to her room, before anyone noticed she'd been here.

But as she turned toward the door, she heard it. A soft footstep in the corridor outside. The creak of a floorboard. Then silence.

Someone was out there.