Novel & Cerita Something To Hide: A Lynley Novel

" I asked. I knew what he was thinking, and I didn't want him to articulate it. Raegon just shook his head. "What are you doing here?" I asked him again with my lower, calming voice. "Are you running again?" I added. "Of course, Where else could I hide? Except in your house full of beers," he says and chortles. "You problematic asshole. You should start looking for a girlfriend so you can hide her house, not mine." I glared at him. "Maybe you can call Mira for me, Helsey." Reagon smirked at me.

And I was running out of excuses not to kill him. But I couldn’t lose focus. Lily. She was more than prophecy. More than fate. She was fire wrapped in soft skin, power curled beneath humility. The longer she stayed near, the more my control frayed. And now Ryker wanted to force a bond. That couldn’t happen. Lily I found the hidden library by accident. I was walking the halls at midnight, unable to breathe in the confines of my room, when the candle sconces flickered and one shifted. A section of the wall clicked and gave way to a narrow stairwell.

It matters a lot. “The only way this works is if you’re in proximity with him.” Ryker says. “If you hide away, if you avoid him, then you’re just helping Lia win.” I let out a groan. “I hate this.” “I know.” Khloe says gently. “But trust me, this will work. You just need to give it time.” “How about we go for a run? Stretch our legs. Let our Lycan’s out.” Ryker says. Khloe nods. “Yeah, I’ve not run since I got back.”

The house draws a breath, larger, more suited to my designs. I go down to the living room. The tea set is clean, as if the previous conversation had merely been a decor. But beneath the porcelain, secrets tremble. I head to the desk, where I have already gathered the pieces of the puzzle. Photographs, letters, anonymous invoices, and above all, this envelope that I have kept locked away for weeks: proof that Lyra did not simply disappear. She was removed. Concealed. And concealment, when one knows how to read it, reveals the identity of those who pull the strings.

“Sebastian, please. Give me time to gather everything. I’ll personally call you once we have the footage and access logs.” I walked past him toward the exit. Without looking back. The meeting with the doctor had drained every strength In me and left me more frustrated than I expected. No vial. No answers. No explanation. Only an investigation that would take some time. All I wanted was to just get in the car, drive until my mind stopped screaming. But as I pushed the glass doors open, a shout came through the entrance. “Doctor, where is the doctor?” Lily burst through the doors, breathless, hair wild, eyes swollen with panic. Behind her, a paramedic wheeled in a stretcher and on it.

Leah looked down at the pocket. Her hands recognized the logic of it. A hidden paper could stain silk if left loose. It could slide. It could crease wrong and create a visible ridge. But if someone wrapped it between fabric layers, secured it flat, placed it near an existing structure, and closed the lining with nearly matching stitches, the gown could carry it without shouting. It was clever. It was desperate. Leah whispered, “She knew where to hide it.” Daniel looked at her. She did not correct herself.

An old historian waited beside a tapestry taller than the door, and without speaking, he drew the cloth back. My breath left me in one long pull. The painted queen looking back at me had my mouth. My eyes. The exact tilt of my chin when I was trying not to cry. The historian touched the painted collarbone, and beneath a few careful brushstrokes of fabric, there it was … the same six-pointed mark I’d spent my whole life hiding under high collars. ⸻ He asked for the journal.

The hidden room in the East Wing became a tomb of secrets, and Lily locked it behind her, not to hide its contents, but to contain the rot that had suddenly infected the entire Vallocchi dynasty. She didn't return to the penthouse’s common areas. She retreated to her suite, the weight of the journals and the composite photos pressing against her consciousness like a fever. Dante hadn’t followed her. That was the most terrifying part. He had remained in the dark, surrounded by the physical evidence of his own obsession, as if he were waiting for the walls to collapse on their own.

Systematic murder. I scanned the room. Where would a woman like Lucy hide a secret? Not in the safe, that was too obvious. Not in the jewelry box. I set Leena down in the center of the massive king-sized bed. She rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs and watching me with curious, dark eyes.

Tears welled in my eyes as I whispered to them, pouring my hopes and fears into their tiny ears. Oh, Liam, what has become of us? The love we shared seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by uncertainty and deception. I yearned for the truth, for resolution, but fear held me captive. The thought of facing Liam, of exposing myself to the unknown, sent shivers down my spine. In this secluded chamber, hidden from the world, I clung to the fading flicker of hope. Hope that someday the truth would be revealed, that the veil of lies would be lifted. But for now, I remained concealed, my heart heavy with the weight of my decision to hide.