THE MASKED HEIRESS

FOUR

Emmelyn’s POV

I didn’t go to school today.

Didn’t even pretend I was going to. I stayed in bed long after the sun climbed past the blinds, letting the shadows press into my skin. The silence in the house felt deeper than usual, like even the walls knew I wasn’t okay.

The nanny knocked twice before giving up. Said something about bringing me tea, but I didn’t respond. I just laid there, tangled in my blankets, replaying everything from last night.

The party.

Jaxon’s voice.

That damn smirk.

And the words I can’t seem to un-hear

“You’re not the only one with secrets.”

It’s stupid how much they stuck with me. Like he knew exactly where to hit. And maybe he did. Maybe that’s what scares me most.

I drag myself out of bed eventually, slipping on a hoodie three sizes too big and pacing the floor like it'll solve anything. I grab my sketchbook off the dresser and sit by the window, knees pulled to my chest as I flip through pages. Drawing used to help. Lately, it just makes things louder.

There’s a half-finished sketch of Jaxon’s eyes on page twelve. I tear it out without thinking and crumple it into a ball.

Why did I draw him?

Why did he get under my skin?

I’ve spent years perfecting the art of disappearing. Of blending in. No noise, no mess, no attention. But somehow, in just a few weeks, he’s cracked through all of it like it was paper-thin.

And the worst part?

I let him.

A buzz interrupts my spiral. I glance toward the gate monitor at the corner of my room, blinking. The security system shows someone at the front entrance, but there’s no one on the camera feed. The buzzer had gone off.

Weird.

I pull on socks, make my way downstairs, and open the front door cautiously. Empty street. Just the usual white stone walls and trimmed hedges.

But then I see it.

A single white envelope.

No stamp. No name. Just a faint watermark shaped like a falcon in the corner.

I glance around again before picking it up. It’s cold in my hand colder than it should be.

Inside is a photo.

Black-and-white. Old, maybe. My breath catches the second I see her, my mom. Younger. Smiling. Not the smile she used when cameras were around, but something softer. Real.

She’s standing next to a man I don’t recognize. Sharp jawline. Slicked hair. One hand resting on her waist like they were something more than friends.

My stomach twists.

They’re standing in front of a building I’ve never seen before. A logo just barely visible behind them—**Wilder International**.

What?

I flip the photo over.

“You think your family’s the only one with secrets?”

The handwriting is unfamiliar. Jagged. Rushed.

I stare at the words until they blur.

I don’t understand.

Was this before she married my dad? Was she involved with... Jaxon’s family?

The nausea comes fast and hot. I close the door slowly, locking it, and press my back to the wood as the questions slam into me.

Who sent this?

Why now?

Is this some kind of warning?

Or a threat?

I rush upstairs and shove the envelope under my bed. Like burying it will make it disappear. But I know it won’t. Not really.

The image is already seared into my mind—my mother, smiling in a moment I was never supposed to see. With someone who could be connected to Jaxon.

Of course it all leads back to him.

I sit on the floor, trying to slow my breathing, but my pulse won't calm down. I text Violet, my only almost-friend in this school, and ask if she can swing by. Her reply is fast:

"Can’t. Out with Mom. You okay?"

I hesitate before responding:

"Fine. Just bored."

Lie number seventy-two today.

The truth is, I don’t know how to be fine anymore.

I grab my sketchbook again, flipping past the crumpled page. My pencil lands on a new sheet before I can stop it. I don’t even think. I just draw.

Two masks. One cracked, the other bleeding. A girl in between, hands on both like she doesn’t know which one she’s supposed to wear.

It’s me.

It’s always me.

I don’t know how long I sit there drawing. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. Long enough that the light shifts in my room and the sky outside fades from blue to gray.

I’m about to stand when something taps the window.

I jolt, heart in my throat.

It’s just a leaf.

Just a stupid leaf brushing against the glass.

I let out a shaky breath, but that creeping feeling doesn’t go away, the one that says I’m being watched. I grab my phone and scroll through my messages.

Nothing from Jaxon.

I hate that I was expecting one.

And then, like the universe read my thoughts, a message flashes across the screen from an unknown number.

“You’re not the only one being watched, Blackwood.”

I freeze.

Everything inside me locks up.

It’s not a joke. It doesn’t feel like one. The way it’s worded, it’s like someone’s been following me. Like they know I’ve been trying to stay invisible.

My thumb hovers over the screen, trying to decide what to do. Report the number? Block it? Call my dad?

But what would I even say?

“Hey Dad, someone might know about Mom and a mysterious photo and maybe Jaxon too?”

Yeah. Not happening.

Instead, I type back.

"Who is this?"

The reply is instant.

“Maybe the better question is... who are you, Emmelyn?”