CHAPTER FIVE
1199 Words
### The Rules of the House
Emma couldn't tear her eyes away from the open drawer.
Her pulse hammered in her ears as she stared at what lay inside, every thought slipping through her grasp. Nothing Lucien had shown her—not the newspaper clipping, not Isabella's photograph, not even the wedding invitation—had shaken her as deeply as this.
Slowly, she looked up.
"Where did you get it?"
Lucien answered without hesitation.
"From the night she died."
His voice was steady, but it wasn't enough.
"That's impossible."
"It isn't."
Emma searched his face, hoping to find some crack in the s********e sign that he was lying. Instead, she found only the same quiet certainty that had unsettled her since the moment he'd appeared at her front door.
"You keep telling me pieces of the truth," she said, frustration creeping into her voice. "Why won't you tell me everything?"
"Because you wouldn't believe it."
"Try me."
Lucien shook his head.
"The truth isn't something you accept all at once. It has to be uncovered."
Emma let out a bitter laugh.
"Convenient."
"Perhaps."
His calmness irritated her more than anger ever could.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Rain continued to fall outside, tapping softly against the old windows. The silence stretched until Lucien stepped away from the desk.
"You should get some rest."
She stared at him in disbelief.
"Rest?"
"You've had a long night."
"You kidnapped me."
"I know."
"And you expect me to sleep?"
"No." A faint sigh escaped him. "I expect you'll spend the night looking for answers."
Emma folded her arms.
"And if I do?"
"Then don't waste your time searching your room."
She frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're not locked inside it."
The words caught her completely off guard.
Lucien walked to the door before continuing.
"You may go anywhere in this house except the east wing."
"The east wing?"
"It stays locked."
"Why?"
"When you're ready, I'll tell you."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke first.
"You can ask me anything you want, Emma."
Her expression softened with surprise.
"I won't promise to answer every question," he continued, "but I won't lie to you."
She wanted to tell him that she didn't believe a single word he said.
Instead, she found herself asking the one question that had haunted her since waking in the mansion.
"If I walk out that door... will you stop me?"
Lucien studied her quietly.
"No."
The answer hung between them.
"You'd let me leave?"
"I'd let you try."
Before she could ask what he meant, he turned and disappeared into the hallway.
Emma remained where she was, listening to his footsteps fade into the silence.
Only then did she step outside.
The mansion seemed different in daylight.
Its long corridors no longer felt threatening, only lonely. Sunlight struggled through tall windows clouded by rain, casting pale strips of light across polished wooden floors. Portraits of strangers lined the walls, their painted eyes following her as she wandered deeper into the house.
She expected servants.
Security guards.
Someone.
Instead, the mansion was almost empty.
The only sound came from an old grandfather clock ticking somewhere in the distance.
She wandered into a wide sitting room where a fire had burned recently. A blanket lay folded neatly over one armchair, and a half-finished cup of coffee rested on a side table.
Someone lived here.
Not as a prisoner.
As though this enormous, forgotten mansion were simply... home.
Emma stopped beside one of the windows overlooking the gardens.
Outside, Lucien stood beneath the gray morning sky.
A small brown dog came racing across the wet grass the moment it saw him.
Emma watched as the enormous, intimidating man crouched without hesitation, smiling—actually smiling—as the little dog jumped excitedly against his legs.
He scratched behind its ears, murmured something she couldn't hear, and the animal wagged its tail so hard it nearly lost its balance.
Emma frowned.
She had expected many things from Lucien Blackwood.
Gentleness wasn't one of them.
Emma stayed by the window until Lucien disappeared beyond the trees. The image refused to leave her mind. The same man who had carried her from her home without hesitation had stopped to kneel in the rain for a stray dog.
None of it made sense.
With a quiet sigh, she turned away and continued wandering through the mansion.
One room led into another, each filled with furniture that looked older than she was. Dust rested on polished shelves, yet nothing felt abandoned. Someone cleaned the house. Someone lit the fireplaces. Someone made sure fresh flowers sat in crystal vases throughout the corridors.
The mansion wasn't empty.
It was simply quiet.
At the end of another hallway, Emma found a pair of double doors standing slightly open.
Curiosity drew her inside.
It was a library.
Books filled every wall from floor to ceiling, interrupted only by tall windows that overlooked the rain-soaked gardens. A rolling ladder rested against one shelf, and an old leather chair sat beside the fireplace with a book lying open, as though someone had only just left.
Emma wandered between the shelves, trailing her fingertips across the worn spines.
History.
Law.
Politics.
Medicine.
Some books looked untouched, while others had folded corners and handwritten notes tucked between their pages.
Lucien read.
That surprised her almost as much as everything else.
Her attention drifted to a thick leather-bound book resting slightly out of place on a lower shelf.
She pulled it free.
Something slipped from between the pages and landed softly at her feet.
A photograph.
Emma bent to pick it up.
The moment she turned it over, her breath caught.
It was her.
Not at a family gathering.
Not with Marco.
She was standing outside the small café she visited every Friday after work, holding a cup of coffee and laughing at something beyond the frame.
She had no memory of anyone taking it.
Her hands began to shake.
She flipped it over.
There was no date.
No name.
Nothing.
Only the photograph.
A cold feeling settled in her stomach.
Someone had been watching her.
Long before the engagement.
Long before Lucien appeared at her door.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Emma spun around, clutching the photograph against her chest.
Lucien stood in the doorway.
His eyes fell to the picture in her hands.
For the first time since she'd met him...
His composure broke.
The color drained from his face.
He crossed the room in three quick strides, stopping just short of her.
"Where did you find that?"
Emma stared at him.
"In this library."
His jaw tightened.
"Which book?"
She pointed toward the shelf without taking her eyes off him.
Lucien looked at it as though he'd seen a ghost.
His breathing slowed, but the calm mask he'd worn since the beginning had cracked.
"You weren't supposed to find that," he said quietly.
Emma's heart pounded.
"What is it?"
Lucien didn't answer.
Instead, he took the photograph from her trembling fingers and stared at it for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"This changes everything..."
- Writer
