CHAPTER FOUR
1030 Words
### The Price of Truth
Emma stared at the photograph, her fingers tightening around its worn edges until they turned white. The woman beside Marco couldn't have been much older than she was. She wore an ivory wedding gown, her smile bright with the kind of happiness that belonged to someone looking forward to forever.
Emma slowly raised her eyes.
"Who is she?"
For a moment, Lucien said nothing. Rain tapped steadily against the windows, filling the silence between them.
"Her name was Isabella Rossi."
Emma repeated the name under her breath.
"And what happened to her?"
"She died."
The answer was so calm that it sent a chill through her.
"Died?" she asked, disbelief creeping into her voice. "Or was she killed?"
Lucien held her gaze but offered no reply.
Emma took a step toward him.
"Did Marco have something to do with it?"
"If I answer that now," he said quietly, "you'll think I'm trying to turn you against him."
"Aren't you?"
"No."
His certainty unsettled her.
"I don't want you to believe me, Emma. I want you to question everything—including me."
Her frustration boiled over. She snatched the newspaper clipping from the floor, tore it into pieces, and threw the scraps at his chest.
"You're lying," she said, her voice shaking. "You expect me to believe the man I love is dangerous because of an old photograph and a newspaper article?"
The torn paper slipped to the floor.
Lucien didn't even look at it.
Instead, he nodded.
"Good."
Emma frowned.
"What do you mean, good?"
"I'd be worried if you believed me this easily."
Nothing about him made sense. He wasn't asking for her trust. If anything, he seemed determined to make her doubt every word he said.
Without another explanation, Lucien turned and opened the door.
Emma expected him to lock it behind him.
He didn't.
"If you stay," he said, glancing back at her, "it should be because you choose to."
Then he walked away.
She remained frozen, staring at the open doorway. Escape was right in front of her. She could run, search for another exit, and disappear into the storm before Lucien noticed.
Yet one question refused to leave her mind.
If he wanted to keep her prisoner...
Why give her a choice?
Curiosity outweighed fear.
Emma stepped into the hallway, where old portraits watched from dust-covered walls. The mansion was silent except for the rain outside, its long corridors carrying the scent of damp wood and forgotten years. It didn't feel like a prison. It felt like a place where time had simply stopped.
At the end of the corridor, Lucien unlocked a pair of heavy wooden doors and stepped aside.
"You wanted answers," he said. "They're in here."
Emma hesitated before crossing the threshold.
The room beyond looked less like an office and more like a museum dedicated to one person.
Every shelf was filled with files, journals, photographs, and newspaper clippings.
Every label carried the same name.
Isabella Rossi.
Emma walked farther into the study, her eyes moving from one file to another. Some folders were worn from years of use, their pages filled with handwritten notes and dates. Others held newspaper clippings, police reports, and photographs that all pointed back to the same woman.
"This wasn't put together overnight," she murmured.
"No," Lucien replied. "It took years."
She turned to him, unable to hide the doubt in her eyes.
"If you've spent this long collecting evidence, why didn't you take it to the police?"
"I did."
"And?"
"They listened. Then they decided Isabella's death wasn't worth investigating."
Emma searched his face for any sign that he was lying, but found only quiet disappointment.
Lucien walked to the desk and unlocked a small drawer. From it, he removed a cream-colored envelope and handed it to her.
"Open it."
Emma hesitated before unfolding the brittle paper inside.
It was a wedding invitation.
Her heart lurched as she read the names.
Marco Moretti
and
Isabella Rossi
The date printed beneath them caught her attention immediately.
It was scheduled for the day after the invitation had been sent.
"The wedding never happened?" she asked.
Lucien shook his head.
"She died the night before."
Emma lowered the invitation slowly, her mind refusing to accept what she was hearing. Isabella had stood where Emma was standing now—planning a future with Marco, believing she was about to marry the man she loved.
"I still don't know what to believe," she admitted.
"You don't have to," Lucien said. "Not yet."
His answer surprised her.
"I brought you here because I wanted you to see the truth for yourself. If, after that, you decide to leave, I won't stop you."
Emma stared at him.
Those weren't the words of a man desperate to convince her.
They were the words of someone willing to let the evidence speak.
Lucien rested one hand on the desk before looking at her again.
"There's one last thing."
He stepped aside, leaving the bottom drawer untouched.
"You should open it."
Emma's pulse quickened.
Everything inside her told her to walk away, to leave the room before her life changed forever. But another part—the part desperate for answers—refused to let her.
She reached for the brass handle with trembling fingers.
The drawer slid open.
Her breath caught.
She stared inside without moving, the color draining from her face.
"No..." she whispered.
The room fell silent.
Lucien didn't look into the drawer. He already knew what was there.
Instead, he watched Emma.
"Now you understand," he said quietly. "I didn't take you away to ruin your life."
He paused, his voice almost lost beneath the rain.
"I took you away to save it."
Emma couldn't speak.
For the first time since she'd arrived at the mansion, certainty slipped through her fingers.
Marco's smile.
His promises.
Their wedding.
The future she'd been so sure of only yesterday suddenly felt fragile, as though one more truth would be enough to shatter it completely.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky, rattling the old windows.
Emma never took her eyes off the drawer.
Whatever she had just seen...
It changed everything……
- Writer
