CHAPTER THREE: THE WOMAN IN THE PORTRAIT

Isabella barely slept that night.

The mysterious messages kept replaying in her mind.

Your father didn't tell you the truth.

Never trust the man you're sleeping under the same roof with.

She stared at her phone, wondering who could possibly know so much about her marriage.

And who was Victoria?

The woman in the portrait had a beautiful face, but there was something sad about her eyes.

Isabella needed answers.

And she intended to find them.

---

The following morning, Isabella walked downstairs wearing a simple cream blouse and black trousers.

The mansion was unusually quiet.

She found Mrs. Eleanor arranging flowers in the dining room.

"Good morning," Isabella greeted.

"Good morning, madam. Did you sleep well?"

"Not really."

Mrs. Eleanor looked concerned.

"Is something wrong?"

Isabella hesitated.

"Who was Victoria?"

The older woman's hands suddenly stopped moving.

"Why are you asking about her again?"

"Because someone told me I should ask Alexander about her."

Mrs. Eleanor looked toward the staircase.

"Listen carefully, Isabella. There are things in this house that are better left alone."

"Why? Was she Alexander's girlfriend?"

Mrs. Eleanor sighed.

"She was more than that."

Before Isabella could ask another question, a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Mrs. Eleanor, I believe I asked you to prepare breakfast."

Alexander stood near the entrance.

His eyes immediately settled on Isabella.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood."

"Don't start."

He pulled out a chair.

"Sit down."

"I'm not hungry."

"That wasn't a question."

Isabella rolled her eyes but sat down.

Alexander poured himself coffee.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

Finally, Isabella broke the silence.

"Who is Victoria?"

The cup in Alexander's hand stopped halfway to his lips.

His expression changed.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Then answer my question."

Alexander slowly placed the cup on the table.

"Victoria is dead."

Isabella's heart skipped.

"Dead?"

"Five years ago."

"What happened to her?"

His jaw tightened.

"That's none of your business."

Isabella pushed her chair backward.

"Everything about you seems to be none of my business. Your past, your secrets, the people who visit this house. What exactly am I supposed to know about my husband?"

Alexander stood.

"Careful, Isabella."

She looked directly into his eyes.

"Or what?"

He moved closer.

"You're asking questions you may not like the answers to."

"Maybe I'm tired of living in the dark."

For a moment, Alexander said nothing.

Then he leaned closer and whispered.

"Then stop looking for things that could destroy you."

He walked away.

Isabella watched him disappear.

She had never seen him look so disturbed.

And that only made her more determined.

---

Later that afternoon, Isabella found herself wandering through the mansion.

She passed several rooms before noticing a slightly open door at the end of the hallway.

Inside was a beautiful library.

Books covered almost every wall.

She walked in slowly, running her fingers over the shelves.

Then something caught her attention.

A photograph.

It was placed inside a silver frame on a small table.

Alexander stood beside Victoria.

They were smiling.

Not the cold, arrogant expression Isabella had become familiar with.

Alexander looked genuinely happy.

Victoria was holding his arm, and a beautiful diamond ring sparkled on her finger.

Isabella picked up the photograph.

"Beautiful, wasn't she?"

She nearly dropped it.

Alexander stood behind her.

"Why are you always appearing behind me?"

"Why are you always touching things that don't belong to you?"

She turned around.

"Was she your wife?"

His face became unreadable.

"She was supposed to be."

Isabella looked at the photograph again.

"What happened?"

Alexander took the frame from her.

"She died."

"How?"

His eyes turned darker.

"An accident."

"Do you miss her?"

He looked at Isabella for a long moment.

Then he replied quietly.

"Every single day."

Something strange twisted inside Isabella's chest.

She didn't understand why she suddenly felt uncomfortable.

She had promised herself she would never care about Alexander.

Yet hearing him speak about another woman with such sadness made her feel something she couldn't explain.

She quickly looked away.

"I'm sorry."

Alexander studied her face.

"Don't be."

He returned the photograph to the table.

"Victoria was the only woman I ever trusted."

Isabella swallowed.

"Then why did you marry me?"

His expression hardened again.

"Because your father took her away from me."

Isabella froze.

"What?"

Alexander stepped closer.

"Your father destroyed my life, Isabella."

"That's not true."

"You know nothing about your father's business."

"Then tell me what happened!"

Alexander's voice rose.

"Your father was responsible for Victoria's death!"

The words struck Isabella like a slap.

She shook her head.

"No. My father would never hurt anyone."

"That's what you think."

"You're lying!"

Alexander grabbed the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

"Five years ago, your father signed a deal that cost me everything. The night Victoria died, she was on her way to meet him."

Isabella felt the blood drain from her face.

"Why was she meeting my father?"

Alexander stared at her.

"That's the question you should be asking."

---

That evening, Isabella sat alone in her bedroom.

She had called her father several times, but his phone remained switched off.

Her thoughts were a mess.

Could her father really have something to do with Victoria's death?

She refused to believe it.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated.

Another message from the unknown number.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

Now you know about Victoria. But you still don't know the biggest secret.

Isabella quickly typed.

Who are you?

The reply came almost immediately.

Someone who wants to save you.

Another message followed.

Victoria didn't die in an accident.

Isabella's heart began pounding.

She typed with trembling fingers.

What are you talking about?

The unknown person sent a photograph.

It showed Victoria standing outside a hospital.

But what made Isabella's blood run cold was the date printed beneath the picture.

It was taken three months after the date Alexander had told her Victoria died.

Isabella stared at the screen.

That was impossible.

If Victoria had died five years ago, how could this photograph have been taken afterward?

Her bedroom door suddenly opened.

Alexander walked in.

"Why are you awake?"

Isabella quickly locked her phone.

"Nothing."

He studied her suspiciously.

"You're becoming very good at lying."

She looked at him.

"Alexander, I want to ask you something."

"What?"

"Are you absolutely sure Victoria is dead?"

The room went silent.

Alexander's face changed.

Slowly, he walked toward her.

"Who told you that?"

Isabella swallowed.

"Just answer me."

He stopped directly in front of her.

His voice was dangerously quiet.

"Listen to me carefully, Isabella."

He took her phone from her hand.

"Stay away from Victoria's past."

She stood up angrily.

"Give me my phone!"

He looked at her screen.

And then he saw the photograph.

For the first time since Isabella had met him, Alexander Blackwood looked genuinely terrified.

His fingers tightened around the phone.

"Where did you get this?"

Isabella stared at him.

"Why? What is it?"

Alexander looked at the photograph again.

Then he whispered a name.

"Victoria..."

He took a step backward.

And before Isabella could ask another question, he said something that made her blood turn cold.

"She's alive."

END OF CHAPTER THREE