CHAPTER 3: A HOUSE OF SECRETS
1225 Words
Rain started before daybreak, tapping lightly on the glass walls of the Knight Estate. The storm swept over the horizon in deep, heavy whispers like the planet itself was remembering something unpleasant.
Elena came early that morning, umbrella in hand, her emotions stuck between delight and anxiety. The night before had tormented her. Every glimpse at her sketchpad changed into Adrian’s face, his gaze, his quiet, the ghost of the lady he’d lost.
Inside the house, everything was as clean as ever. The marble floors mirrored the stormlight, and the air carried that subtle, sad aroma of cedar and time. Clara greeted her with her customary decorum, eyes chilly behind silver-rimmed spectacles.
“Mr Knight left for the city an hour ago,” she continued. “You’ll have the property to yourself today. If you require lunch, the chef may create something light.”
“Thank you,” Elena murmured, laying her luggage on the entryway bench. “I’ll be working in the west wing this morning.”
Clara’s eyes twitched just slightly. “That area hasn’t been restored yet.”
“I know. That’s why I’d want to see it. The design flow depends on understanding every part of the architecture.”
Clara paused, then nodded. “Very well. Just… be careful.”
The remarks were courteous, but they held a peculiar weight, as if she wasn’t talking about stumbling over dust sheets.
The west wing seemed like another universe. The air was cooler, the quiet heavier. Dust clung to the draperies and to the ancient photographs that adorned the walls. Elena went carefully, her fingertips caressing the old wallpaper.
This portion of the house was undisturbed and abandoned midway through construction. She could see it in the details: unpolished wood, covered furniture, and faint imprints of where chandeliers were intended to hang.
Yet something lured her deeper. The pattern of her footfall reverberated weirdly, like a voice following her along the corridor.
She halted at a large mirror at the corridor’s end. It was shattered along the centre, a jagged fracture that cut her reflection in two. For a minute, she saw not her own face but the faint form of another woman’s barely over her shoulder.
She blinked, and it was gone.
Her breath quickened. “Get a grip, Elena,” she murmured. “Old houses play tricks.”
She glanced into the next room, where sunshine poured through a tiny window, lighting the dust in gentle, golden streaks. There was a desk at the far wall, half-buried amid ancient plans and architectural notes. She wiped away the dust, eyes narrowing.
The handwriting was exquisite, looping like a woman’s.
At the top of one sheet, in fading writing, were the words: “Design must breathe. Secrets should not be hidden in walls.”
Elena frowned. This wasn’t an architect’s note. It was a message.
She went through more documents and discovered a drawing of a floor plan of the mansion, but not one she’d seen in the plans Clara had given her. The west wing looks unusual here, with small corridors buried behind the exterior walls.
Hidden areas.
Elena’s pulse raced. Could Isabella have planned some of this? Or leave something behind?
Her thoughts swirled furiously, but before she could investigate more, a floorboard creaked behind her.
She turned immediately. “Clara?”
No one. Only quiet.
Still, she felt the weight of gaze, unseen but there. She grabbed the sheets, folded them into her notebook, and went back into the hall.
By the time she returned to the main atrium, the storm had deepened. Lightning burst through the windows, followed by a deep, distant rumbling.
She was drawing by the fireplace when Marcus came softly. “Miss Carter,” he replied, “Mr Knight asked me to inform you he’ll return this evening. He has questions concerning your early concepts.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll prepare a presentation.”
Marcus offered a courteous nod but didn’t go. After a pause, he replied, “Forgive me if this sounds strange, but… have you been in the west wing?”
Elena froze. “Yes. Why?”
He moved uneasily. “It’s not my place to say. But the crew avoided that part for a reason.”
“What reason?”
His gaze plummeted to the floor. “Because she was found there.”
“Who?”
Marcus caught her eyes, voice low. “Isabella. The accident didn’t happen in a vehicle, Miss Carter. That was the tale they told the press. But the reality is that she died inside this house.”
The air fled the room.
Elena gazed at him, unable to find words. “Why would anyone lie about that?”
He paused. “Some secrets keep the world running. Others… protect a guy from coming apart.”
And with that, he bowed slightly and walked away, leaving her startled and chilly.
That nightfall, when Adrian returned, the storm was still roaring. He entered the home without an umbrella, rainfall staining the fabric of his coat.
Elena was waiting in the atrium, plans strewn over the big glass table. “Mr Knight,” she whispered gently.
He halted, his countenance inscrutable. “You’ve been busy.”
“I wanted to understand the space better. Especially the west wing.”
Something in his jaw constricted. “That part of the house is sealed for a reason.”
“I noticed,” she replied cautiously. “But I also found something. Notes, drawings by a lady. I assume they were Isabella’s.”
He turned swiftly. “You went through her things?”
“I didn’t mean to pry. But she designed elements of this home, didn’t she?”
Adrian’s stillness was thick and menacing. “This house was mine to build.”
“Yes,” Elena responded, voice calm but forceful. “But it feels like hers, too. Every room, every shadow, it’s as if she’s still here.”
He drew closer, the storm shimmering in his eyes. “Be careful what you say, Miss Carter.”
“Because it’s true?” she whispered.
“Because you don’t understand what truth costs.”
The space between them was nothing now. She could feel the heat of his rage, the tiredness underlying it. But behind that pain. A sadness so immense it filled the room.
He sighed, and the struggle vanished from his shoulders. “She loved this house,” he added gently. “She said walls could hold memories. I didn’t believe her.”
“And now?”
Adrian’s stare softened, momentarily, like a shadow breaking light. “Now I think she was right.”
The storm outside shattered through the glass, illuminating his face. For the first time, Elena realised the depth of what he held: the remorse, the need, the terror of remembering.
She wanted to reach out, to grasp his hand, to reassure him he wasn’t alone in the dark. But the air between them was delicate and holy.
“I’ll finish the concept designs,” she replied ultimately.
He nodded once. “Goodnight, Miss Carter.”
Elena touched it, a shiver racing down her spine. Somewhere between these walls, something is waiting to be uncovered, something Isabella had left behind.
And whether she was ready or not, Elena Carter was now part of the mystery.
- Writer
