THE ARCHITECT'S FORBIDDEN INHERITANCE

THORNE ESTATE

Ellie barely slept.

Not because the room was uncomfortable. In fact, it was probably the nicest room she'd slept in all year. The bed was enormous, the curtains were thick enough to block out every trace of morning light, and the bathroom had heated floors she was almost afraid to step on.

The problem was her mind.

The manuscript you're here to restore is older than your family's disappearance.

She had replayed Alistair's words so many times that they no longer sounded like a sentence.

They sounded like a warning.

At six-thirty, she gave up on sleep. By seven, she was standing in front of the mirror, tying her hair back.

"You wanted answers," she told her reflection.

Her reflection looked unconvinced.

"Now go get them."

She left the room.

The estate was quieter in the morning. Ellie passed the staircase and followed the corridor toward the restoration room. She remembered where it was from the previous night, but the house seemed different in daylight.

There were more doors and more corridors, more things she hadn't noticed before.

The architecture was old, but not neglected. Every piece of wood had been polished, and every painting had been positioned with deliberate care. The entire house felt controlled.

Ellie didn't like that.

A house should show signs of the people living in it. This one showed almost nothing.

No family photographs. No children's drawings. No clutter. Nothing personal.

It felt less like a home and more like a museum where the owner happened to sleep.

Ellie reached the restoration room.

The door was unlocked.

She stepped inside.

The manuscript was waiting beneath the cloth.

She washed her hands, pulled on her gloves, and began.

For the first twenty minutes, she focused entirely on the damage.

That was what she loved about restoration.

Old objects didn't lie. People did. Documents did. Families did. But damaged paper simply showed you where it had been hurt.

She carefully examined the binding. The leather had suffered prolonged exposure to moisture, but the damage wasn't random. Certain sections were worse than others.

Ellie frowned and turned the manuscript slightly.

There.

A faint line beneath the leather.

She leaned closer.

Someone had opened the binding before.

Not recently.

But recently enough.

Her fingers hovered over the damaged section.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

Ellie nearly jumped.

She turned.

Alistair stood in the doorway.

She hadn't heard him enter.

He wore a white shirt today, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dark hair was slightly disordered, as if he'd run a hand through it more than once.

His attention was on the manuscript.

Not her.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough."

"That's not an answer."

"You ask that often."

"Because you avoid answering."

He walked toward the table.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Someone has worked on the binding."

His expression changed almost imperceptibly.

"Someone?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"I'm not sure yet."

She pointed to the damaged section.

"See this?"

He leaned over the table. Their shoulders were almost level, and Ellie caught the faint scent of his cologne—clean, subtle, expensive.

She immediately focused on the manuscript.

"The stitching was replaced."

"I told you that."

"You said it was restored. You didn't say someone tried to hide the restoration."

His eyes moved to her.

"I didn't know."

Ellie looked at him.

"You own this manuscript."

"That doesn't mean I've examined every inch of it."

"Then why hire me?"

"Because you're supposed to."

She sighed.

"You're exhausting."

"So I've been told."

She almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, she returned to the manuscript.

"I need access to the archive."

"No."

Her head snapped up.

"Why?"

"Because you haven't told me what you're looking for."

"I'm looking for records related to the manuscript."

"That's not specific."

"Neither was your explanation last night."

Silence settled between them.

Alistair studied her for a moment before saying, "The archive contains documents unrelated to your assignment."

"Then show me the ones that are."

"No."

Ellie removed her gloves.

"Then we're going to have a problem."

"I assumed we would."

She stared at him.

He looked completely calm.

That annoyed her even more.

"You hired me to restore a historical manuscript."

"Yes."

"Then I need its history."

"You need the manuscript's physical history."

"Not if there's something hidden inside it."

His gaze sharpened.

Ellie noticed.

Interesting.

She leaned back against the table.

"You reacted."

"I did not."

"You did."

"You're imagining things."

"I restore documents for a living. I notice small changes."

He said nothing.

Ellie smiled faintly.

"That's what you hired me for, remember?"

Before he could answer, the door opened.

Mrs. Hale entered carrying a tray.

"Breakfast."

Ellie glanced at the clock. She hadn't realized it was already eight.

Mrs. Hale placed the tray on a side table.

"Mr. Thorne, your nine o'clock meeting has been moved to nine-thirty."

"Cancel it."

Mrs. Hale paused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She nodded and left.

Ellie looked at him.

"You cancelled a meeting because of this?"

"Because I want to know what you've found."

"Then ask."

"What have you found?"

"Someone tampered with the binding."

"Can you prove it?"

"Not yet."

"Then don't make accusations."

"I'm not accusing anyone."

She looked back at the manuscript.

"I'm saying someone opened it."

Alistair's jaw tightened.

For the first time, Ellie saw something beneath the calm exterior.

Concern.

It disappeared almost immediately.

"Continue your examination."

"That's the plan."

He started toward the door.

"Alistair."

He stopped.

"Why me?"

He turned.

"You've asked that already."

"I want a real answer."

His gaze remained on hers.

"Because you have no connection to the people who owned it."

Ellie frowned.

"That's not entirely true."

"I know."

The words made her chest tighten.

"Then what aren't you telling me?"

"Several things."

At least he was honest about that.

She crossed her arms.

"You're very frustrating."

"So are you."

Then he left.

Ellie stared after him.

"Unbelievable."

She turned back to the manuscript.

And stopped.

The cloth beneath it was slightly crooked.

She was certain she had straightened it earlier.

She looked toward the door.

Nobody was there.

Her instincts immediately sharpened.

She lifted the manuscript.

Nothing.

She checked the table.

Nothing.

Then she noticed a tiny piece of black thread caught beneath the edge of the manuscript.

She picked it up with tweezers.

Black silk.

Not from the manuscript.

From clothing.

Ellie looked at the door again.

Someone had been inside.

Someone who hadn't wanted to be noticed.

She slipped the thread into an evidence envelope.

Her heartbeat increased.

This wasn't simply a restoration job anymore.

She spent the next two hours documenting every visible flaw in the manuscript: water damage, broken stitching, faded ink, a repaired corner.

And something else.

A strange indentation beneath the back cover.

She ran her gloved finger over it.

There was a compartment.

Hidden.

Ellie's breath caught.

She looked around the room, then smiled.

"Well."

Carefully, she examined the edges. It wasn't designed to open easily, which meant whoever had created it hadn't wanted casual readers to find it.

She reached for a thin restoration tool.

The panel shifted.

Just slightly.

Ellie stopped.

A noise came from the hallway.

Footsteps.

She quickly lowered the cover.

The door opened.

Alistair.

His eyes immediately went to her hands.

Then the manuscript.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"I'm protecting the manuscript."

"From what?"

"From you."

He stared at her.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then his eyes narrowed.

"What did you find?"

Ellie considered lying.

Instead, she said, "A concealed section."

The room went completely still.

Alistair walked toward her.

"Where?"

She pointed.

He didn't touch the manuscript.

"Open it."

"You just told me yesterday that I shouldn't investigate beyond the restoration."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

"I was wrong."

That surprised her.

"You're admitting that?"

"When necessary."

Ellie carefully reopened the hidden panel.

Inside was nothing.

Empty.

She stared.

Alistair's expression hardened.

"What?"

"It's been removed."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

He looked at the empty compartment, then at her.

"When did you find it?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"Who else knows?"

"No one."

He looked toward the door.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

Ellie lowered the manuscript.

"You knew."

"No."

"You knew there was something hidden inside."

"I suspected."

"That's different."

"Very."

She studied him.

"You should have told me."

"Would you have believed me?"

"No."

"Then we're even."

She hated that his answer made sense.

Alistair reached for the manuscript but stopped before touching it.

"From now on, you don't work alone."

Ellie immediately shook her head.

"No."

"That wasn't a request."

"And that's exactly why the answer is no."

His eyes lifted to hers.

Something dangerous flickered there.

Not anger.

Something quieter.

More controlled.

"You don't understand the situation."

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

"Then don't tell me what to do."

They stood facing each other across the table.

The tension between them had nothing to do with the manuscript now.

Ellie could feel it.

So could he.

Alistair's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

The movement was so quick she almost convinced herself she'd imagined it.

Almost.

"You're difficult," he said.

"You're controlling."

"I know."

"And?"

His voice lowered.

"I haven't decided if that's a problem."

Ellie's pulse jumped.

She hated that it did.

She stepped away first.

"Good."

She reached for her tools.

"Because I'm not planning to become easier."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

"I wouldn't want you to."

He walked out.

Ellie waited until the door closed.

Then she exhaled slowly.

She looked down at the manuscript.

The hidden compartment was empty.

Someone had removed whatever had been inside.

And whoever had done it had known enough to enter a supposedly private room without leaving obvious evidence.

Ellie looked at the black thread inside the evidence envelope, then toward the closed door.

For the first time, she wondered whether Alistair's rules were really about controlling her.

Or protecting her.

And that possibility frightened her more than the locked study ever had.