Chapter 3 - The Room Nobody Was Allowed to Enter
The footsteps stopped outside Isabella's bedroom.
Clara held her breath.
Isabella buried herself beneath the blanket.
Three soft knocks sounded against the door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Clara didn't answer.
Another knock.
Then Victor's voice.
“Miss Bennett?”
Clara exhaled.
She opened the door only a few inches.
Victor stood outside.
“Mr. Moretti wants you downstairs.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Clara glanced toward Isabella.
The little girl was still hidden beneath the blanket.
Victor noticed.
“Is she asleep?”
Clara nodded.
“Good.”
He walked away.
Clara closed the door.
But something bothered her.
Victor had not said where Luca was.
She waited thirty seconds.
Then another thirty.
Finally, she whispered,
“Isabella?”
The blanket moved.
A pair of frightened eyes appeared.
“He lies.”
“Who?”
“The man with the keys.”
Clara's heart pounded.
She sat beside the bed.
“Why does he want me downstairs?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she whispered,
“Don't go.”
Clara looked at her.
“I won't leave you.”
She switched off the lamp.
For the next hour, neither slept.
At midnight, Clara heard something scrape against the hallway floor.
She opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
But at the far end stood a small table.
On it was a vase of white roses.
Clara remembered the photograph in the box.
Elena had worn white roses in her wedding bouquet.
She walked toward the table.
A single black envelope lay beneath the vase.
Her name was written on it.
CLARA.
She picked it up.
Inside was one sentence.
Stop asking questions about Elena Moretti.
Clara's blood went cold.
Someone had been watching her.
She immediately went downstairs.
Luca was in his study.
He looked up.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“Someone left this outside Isabella's room.”
She handed him the envelope.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
“On the table.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
Luca opened the envelope.
His jaw tightened.
“Go back upstairs.”
“Luca—”
“Now.”
Clara stared at him.
“You think I'm in danger.”
“I know you're in danger.”
She crossed her arms.
“Then I'm not going upstairs alone.”
Luca almost smiled.
Almost.
“You're stubborn.”
“I've been told.”
He stood.
“Stay here.”
They spent the next two hours searching the house.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No broken locks.
No cameras.
Nothing.
At four in the morning, Luca found something behind the library.
A narrow door hidden beneath a wooden panel.
He stared at it.
Clara stood beside him.
“Is that the blue room?”
He nodded.
“I didn't know this existed.”
“My father built it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Luca pulled out his keys.
None fit.
Then he remembered the silver key from Elena's box.
He inserted it.
Click.
The door opened.
A cold draft passed over them.
The room beyond was covered in blue wallpaper.
Clara's heart sank.
Elena had been telling the truth.
The room existed.
Inside were boxes.
Old photographs.
Documents.
A child's drawings.
And dozens of surveillance photographs.
Luca walked toward the wall.
His face went pale.
Every photograph showed Isabella.
At breakfast.
In the garden.
At school.
Sleeping.
Playing.
Being held by Elena.
Someone had been watching his daughter for years.
Clara noticed something else.
One photograph had been taken the day before Elena died.
It showed Elena standing beside a man.
His face was partly hidden.
But Luca recognized the suit.
His hand trembled.
“Who is he?”
Luca didn't answer.
Clara looked at him.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Luca stared at the photograph.
“Marco Moretti.”
Clara frowned.
“Your brother?”
“My older brother.”
“But I thought he died.”
“So did I.”
Silence filled the room.
Luca's brother had supposedly died eight years earlier in a boating accident.
His body had never been recovered.
Luca had mourned him.
He had even built a memorial.
But there he was.
Standing beside Elena.
Alive.
Clara stepped closer.
“Why would your dead brother be watching Isabella?”
Luca didn't answer.
He found another photograph.
This one showed Marco entering the Moretti estate.
The date was three months after his supposed death.
Luca stared at it.
His entire understanding of the last eight years collapsed.
Then Clara saw a handwritten note beneath the photographs.
Marco is not the man you should fear.
She looked at Luca.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, Isabella appeared in the doorway.
She was barefoot.
Her hair was messy.
Her face was wet with tears.
Luca rushed toward her.
“Isabella, what happened?”
She pointed at the wall.
Then at one photograph.
Her tiny finger trembled.
“That man.”
Luca followed her gaze.
Marco.
Isabella whispered,
“He came the night Mommy died.”
Luca froze.
“You saw him?”
She nodded.
“He was talking to Mommy.”
“What did he say?”
Isabella's breathing became faster.
Clara knelt beside her.
“You don't have to remember everything.”
But Isabella stared at the photograph.
“He said…”
Her lips trembled.
“He said Daddy would never find out.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Then Isabella said something that changed everything.
“He wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?” Luca asked.
The girl pointed toward another photograph.
At the edge of the frame stood a second man.
Victor Hale.
Luca's oldest friend.
His most trusted protector.
May you like
The man he had just left alone inside his house.
And suddenly, somewhere upstairs, an alarm began screaming.
