The Secret History Pdf Donna Tartt の小説・ストーリー

Substantial collateral. I stepped forward, my hand hovering over the edge of his desk. I fought the urge to touch the wood. If I did, I would see everything his trembling hands as he signed the papers, his cowardice, his greed. My gift, the ability to read the history of objects, was a curse in a house built on secrets. I am your daughter, I snapped, my voice rising. Not a bartering chip. Who did you sell me to? The Morettis? The Petrovs?

Her eyes flicked to the walls, then to the door, and she leaned closer until her lips barely moved. “Dextera,” she hissed sharply, “do you want to die so soon? The walls here have ears. That history is forbidden for a reason. If I so much as mutter a word too loud, you won’t be the only one who pays the price. I can’t afford getting implicated.” I swallowed hard but pressed on. “I’ll keep your secret. I just—” “No.” She stood her ground, her voice carrying the weight of iron. But I wasn’t ready to let it go. My hands curled into fists against my thighs. “Please. I have my reasons. I can’t explain everything now, but this...this matters to me.”

I don’t want him mixing with my thoughts until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. You should be gone. I should. But you didn’t let me go. I push away from the window and pace the room. My footsteps hit the floor too hard. I can’t think like this. I need something real to hold onto before I drown in someone else’s memories. I leave the room again and walk down to the library. Nobody sees me this time. Maybe everyone is asleep. Maybe the castle finally learned to stay quiet around me. The moment I enter, I go straight to the back shelf. Old records. Forbidden histories. All the things past rulers thought could be hidden and forgotten. I pull a book free, then another. My hands won’t stay

He entered a long code, leaned forward for the scanner to read his eye. A section of the bookcase, smooth and seamless, slid aside with a soft hiss. Behind it was not a room, but darkness. That's where the secrets actually live," Brian breathed, his tone hushed. "The ones that aren't in the archive. The ones that can bring it all down." He glared at Davidson with an inscrutable look. "The key of irrevocability." He reached out and grasped Davidson's, the one with the watch on which the scars were visible. He moved his fingers over the keypad.

“Emergency message. One of our contacts from Legal just went dark. But before that—he sent a code. It matches a set of offshore files buried under your dad’s name.” Aiden stood, alarmed. “Julian’s dad?” “No,” Clarissa said. “Yours.” The blood drained from Aiden’s face. “What?” Clarissa dropped the file in front of him. Aiden stared at the document, at the names signed underneath years of secret transfers, offshore wiring, project names—experiments. Trials. And at the very bottom, under the signature of someone long believed irrelevant… Alexander Shaw. Could this be the reason?

I repeated, then shut the door gently but firmly. I leaned against it, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Then I walked back to the bed, picked up the journal, and slowly carried it back to the shelf. Tasha’s room was still the same, except for the scent that was fading away little by little. I had restacked neatly, some with folded corners, some with notes between the pages. I placed the journal back exactly where it'd be difficult for someone else to find… between The Moonflower Pact and The History of Bloodlines. I stood there for a moment, staring at the row of books. So much knowledge. So many secrets. So many things she never got to say.

Every second of her life was carefully recorded, every flaw revealed. Flipping over the pages of the large file, the paper crackles under his fingers. Reading, his lips twist into a devious grin; every line feeds his desire for power. He knows her better than she does. She has always been a riddle; now he has the solutions. Every mistake move she has ever made, every decision she has regretted—it is all here, set out in front of him like a weapon he is just waiting to use. He sees something, and his eyes narrow. A slight hint of a secret she had fought to suppress. Some private matter. Something that would shatter her should the world ever learn. He smiles more broadly. This is it now—the la

Clara’s POV The weight of the brown envelope in my bag felt like a lead brick. Inside were the investment documents Kiran had handed me—the "bait" for the trap he was setting. My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked toward the bus stop, every shadow on the street looking like one of Mrs. Victoria’s spies. I looked at my hand. The red mark from the tea had faded into a dull ache, but the memory of Kiran’s cold, dark smile stayed fresh in my mind.

The room was dusty, cluttered with boxes and furniture, and the detritus of a lifetime. In the corner, on a wooden trunk, sat a stack of leather-bound books. She opened the first one. January 15, 1985. I met a woman today. Her name is Margaret. She's beautiful, intelligent, and completely unafraid of me. I think I'm in love. Isabella read on through the courtship, the marriage, and the birth of her mother. Through Alexander's rise to power, his crimes, and his regrets. Through the years of secrets and lies and the slow destruction of his own soul.

"But I don't miss the hiding. I don't miss the secrets." He reached for a small velvet box on the shelf. Inside sat the original silver swan cufflink—the one Althea had found in the gallery. It had been mounted on a pedestal of marble, a reminder of the night a lost signature became a found destiny. "I found something in the archives this morning," Althea said, her eyes sparkling with that same scholarly mischief that had first captivated him. "A record of a secret chamber beneath your father’s old estate. It seems the Silas family had a library even larger than mine."