Who Was Waiting Upstairs?

The footsteps stopped. I stood at the bottom of the staircase, staring into the darkness above. Adrian was already moving. Stay here, i ignored him. He glanced back at me, irritation flashing across his face. Elena. I’m coming with you. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He took the first step. I followed.

We reached the upper landing. No one was there. Adrian looked toward the hallway. Which room? I pointed. The door at the end. It was slightly open.

He moved ahead, i caught his arm. Wait! He looked at me. I don’t know what’s behind that door. Neither do I. His voice softened. That’s why I’m going first. He pushed the door open, the room was empty. I stared. A bedroom, unused. Dust covered the furniture, but the window was open. The curtains moved gently in the night air. Adrian entered, i followed. Someone had been here. A chair stood beside the window. On the floor were fresh muddy footprints.

Adrian crouched. They’re still wet. I looked toward the open window. Someone escaped. He stood and examined the frame. No damage. They used a key.

My stomach tightened. Who has a key to this room?

Adrian’s expression darkened. Only family. I stared at him. Victoria? Possibly. You don’t sound surprised. I’m not. That answer unsettled me.

Adrian walked toward the desk. There was a small envelope lying on top. My name was written across it again. My fingers went numb. Don’t touch it. Adrian stopped me. Why? Could be dangerous.

I almost smiled. Everything in this house seems dangerous. He didn’t smile back. He picked up the envelope carefully and examined it. No seal, no fingerprints. He opened it. Inside was a photograph. He handed it to me. I looked down.

My breath caught. It was Adrian and me, our wedding day. We were standing beneath the white flowers outside the chapel. I remembered that photograph. It had been taken moments after we exchanged vows. But there was something wrong.

Someone had cut me out of it. Not completely, only half of my body remained. Adrian stared at the photograph. Who did this? I turned it over. There was writing on the back.

You were never supposed to be his wife.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Adrian took the photograph from me, his face hardened. This was sent to you. I nodded. Why? I don’t know. He looked at the open window; then the floor. Then the photograph again. Someone wants you to believe your marriage was part of the plan. My stomach twisted. What plan? He didn’t answer. Adrian?

He looked at me. Your father knew something about our marriage. The words made me step back. What are you talking about? He moved toward the desk.

Before you disappeared, Daniel came to me. I stared at him. My father came here? Yes. When?

Two days before you left. My pulse quickened.

What did he say? Adrian hesitated. He warned me about Victoria. My chest tightened. What did he say about her? He believed she was involved in something illegal. My breath caught. Why didn’t you tell me? Because he asked me not to. That doesn’t make sense. It does when someone is trying to kill him. I stared at Adrian. You knew he was in danger?

Yes… And you still let me believe my father died in an accident? I didn’t know how he died. But you knew he was afraid. Adrian looked away, i knew.

Anger burned through me. You had no right. I know.

The quiet admission stopped me. He didn’t defend himself, didn’t blame me, didn’t make excuses. He simply stood there and accepted my anger. Then he reached into his jacket. There was something else. He pulled out a second photograph. This one was older. My father stood beside Victoria. They weren’t smiling. They looked as if they had just finished an argument. I took the photograph.

When was this taken? The night before your father died. My fingers tightened around the edges. Where? Adrian’s eyes met mine. Inside this house.

I looked at the photograph again. Behind them was a door. A familiar door. My heart stopped. I knew that room. It was downstairs. The room where Adrian’s grandfather kept the family records. The private archive. The same archive someone had broken into earlier. I looked at Adrian. Why was my father in there? I don’t know. You’re lying. His eyes narrowed. I’m not. Then who took the photograph?

He didn’t answer.

Because suddenly, a sound came from the hallway.

A soft click. We both turned. The bedroom door was closing slowly. There was no wind, no one visible. Adrian grabbed my wrist. Someone is outside.

The door slammed shut, he pulled me behind him.

A second later, the handle moved twice, then stopped. I held my breath. Adrian reached for the gun beneath his jacket. The handle moved again.

This time, the door opened. No one stood there. Only a small object lay on the floor. A silver chain. I recognized it immediately. My father’s necklace.

Adrian stepped forward, i grabbed his arm. Don’t.

He looked down. A tiny key hung from the chain.

The same key I had found in my son’s backpack.

But this one was different. This one had blood on it.

And beneath it was a folded note. Adrian picked it up. His eyes moved across the page. Then he looked at me. Elena… I knew from his face that whatever was written there had changed everything. What does it say? He handed me the note. My father’s handwriting stared back at me.

I never trusted Adrian.

My heart stopped. Then I read the line beneath.

And neither should you.