CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Secret Room

Camille stood before the mahogany door at the end of the forbidden hallway, heart pounding like war drums in her chest. The air was cooler here, the silence far too deliberate, as though the walls were holding their breath—waiting for her to trespass.

Julian had forbidden her from coming here. The left wing. His sanctuary.

But forbidden things were exactly what led her here.

Vivian’s warning echoed in her head: “You think you know Julian? You don’t know even half.”

It had taken Camille three weeks to figure out the code. She watched Julian’s fingers when he opened the door. Noticed the rhythm of his taps. Paired it with the birthday of his late mother—October 14th. She took a breath, entered the numbers.

Beep. Click.

The door opened.

The scent of sandalwood hit her first—sharp, masculine, clean. The corridor beyond was dimly lit, lined with books, paintings, and one long mirror that made her skin crawl. She stepped inside cautiously, her fingers trailing the edge of a leather couch as she passed through what looked like a private study.

Books on psychology. Surveillance. Control.

She paused. There, in the corner—an unmarked door with no handle, but a tiny indent on the side. She pressed it. It clicked open with an eerie smoothness.

Camille found herself in what could only be described as a control room.

Six monitors. Dozens of hard drives stacked like bricks. Screensavers glowing faint blue in the dark. She approached the desk, blinking rapidly as the monitors flickered to life—one by one.

Kitchen.

Living Room.

Poolside.

Bedroom.

Study.

And—

Her room.

She froze.

Each feed was live.

Her chest tightened. These weren’t just security cams. They were hidden. Invisible. She remembered how she used to talk to herself while brushing her hair. The way she sang in the shower, danced when no one was watching.

Except… someone was watching.

Her.

All this time.

She clicked on a video file labeled C-1A. The screen jumped to life, showing her two nights ago, lying on her bed, reading a novel. Then she put the book down and whispered something—“I don’t trust him.”

Camille gasped.

Another file.

C-1B.

It was her. Crying in the bathroom after Julian had told her about a new business trip. He’d said he’d miss her, and she smiled—but then locked herself in and wept.

He’d seen that?

She leaned over the desk and yanked open drawers. Inside were folders—with her name on them. Photographs. Notes. One file had a picture of her in college, long before she’d even met Julian. Scribbled at the top: “Potential candidate – high emotional adaptability.”

Camille’s breath caught. Her knees buckled.

What was this?

A project?

A test?

She opened a file named “CASE STUDY: CAMILLE HART”.

Inside were detailed entries of her behavior. Time-stamped emotions. How she reacted when she was surprised, sad, betrayed. The names of her exes. Her favorite flower. Her fear of storms.

She felt violated.

Like her very soul had been picked apart, dissected, and catalogued.

A sharp creak sounded behind her.

Camille whipped around. No one.

She turned back to the screen and began searching for more. There had to be something—something that proved she wasn’t crazy, that she hadn’t walked into this relationship blind.

Then she saw the folder titled “RECRUITMENT”.

She clicked.

There, to her horror, was Vivian’s photo.

And a label: “Phase One: Initiator.”

Camille reeled back, her hand flying to her mouth. Vivian had recruited her? This entire time, she wasn’t just the helpful assistant… she was part of this twisted operation?

Then came the worst blow. A video file named “Observation: Camille & Julian – First Night.”

She hesitated, trembling as she opened it. The screen showed Julian’s club—the night they met. But the camera wasn’t the club’s. It was a bodycam.

Vivian’s.

She was standing at the bar, eyes locked on Camille. She wasn’t just a bystander—she was there on purpose. She nudged Julian. Whispered something. He smiled, turned toward Camille, and the camera zoomed in.

Julian: “She’s perfect.”

That wasn’t fate. That was design.

Camille’s head spun. Her entire relationship—every moment—manufactured.

She stumbled back, crashing into the desk. The chair clattered to the ground.

Then—

A low, slow clap echoed from the doorway.

She turned, heart in her throat.

Julian.

His silhouette was casual, almost amused. He leaned against the doorframe, a shadow wrapped in midnight silk, his eyes glinting like twin razors in the dim light.

“Looking for something?” he asked, voice smooth as poison.

Camille couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

He took a step forward, not angry—not yet. Just… curious.

“Didn’t I tell you,” he said softly, “some doors should stay closed?”

His smile was cruel now, lips curling like a cat who’d caught a mouse too soon.

But Camille wasn’t prey.

Not anymore.

Not after what she’d seen.

Her fingers slowly reached behind her. Toward the flash drive she’d inserted into one of the ports earlier.

If she could just pull it out—if she could run—

Julian’s eyes flicked to her hand. He tsked, stepping closer.

“Now, now,” he murmured. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the experiment, would we?”

Her blood ran cold.

Experiment.

“What am I to you?” she whispered. “A lab rat?”

He tilted his head. “You were so promising, Camille. So raw. So… beautifully broken.”

She clenched her jaw. “You think you can just study me? Manipulate me? Like I’m a puppet?”

“You are more than a puppet.” His voice turned dark. “You’re the masterpiece.”

And then—

The monitor behind her blinked. One screen changed.

A live feed. But not from the mansion.

From another house.

A little girl sat in a room full of toys. She looked about six. Curly brown hair. Pale blue eyes.

Julian smiled as Camille stared.

“That’s not possible,” she whispered.

Julian whispered back, “She calls you Mommy.”

Everything shattered.

Camille took a step back, chest heaving.

“No… no, that’s not…”

She hadn’t seen her daughter in years. Not since she was taken. Vanished. Stolen.

But that face—

That was her.

Julian’s voice was a blade now.

“You thought you lost her.”

Camille’s body trembled.

Julian smiled again.

“But she’s been with me… this whole time.”