CHAPTER THREE
1000 Words
### A Beautiful Lie
Emma's voice cracked before she even finished the first word.
"You're lying."
Lucien didn't move.
She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the ache in her body. The cold stone floor bit into her bare feet, and a dull pain throbbed behind her eyes.
"You're insane," she said, shaking her head. "This... this is some kind of sick joke."
He remained where he was.
Watching.
"Marco loves me."
Her voice grew stronger with every word.
"He stayed with me when I had the flu for almost a week. He brought me flowers after every exam because he knew I hated waiting for results. He asked my father for permission before he proposed." She swallowed hard. "That's not the kind of man who kills people."
Lucien's expression didn't change.
"I know enough."
She stepped toward him, anger replacing fear.
"Then tell me." Her voice echoed off the stone walls. "Tell me why you hate your own brother."
A flicker crossed his face.
Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
"I don't hate him."
"Then why are you doing this?" Her hands trembled at her sides. "Why did you take me from my house? Why lock me in here?"
"I know him."
Three words.
Nothing more.
Emma let out a bitter laugh.
"That's your answer?"
"No."
He met her gaze.
"It isn't."
"Then give me a real one."
Instead of answering, he asked quietly,
"How long have you known Marco?"
She frowned.
"Two years."
"Exactly?"
"Yes."
Lucien nodded once.
"Has he ever introduced you to his business partners?"
Emma hesitated.
"No."
"Have you ever been inside the east wing of the Moretti estate?"
"No."
"Did he ever tell you why his mother refuses to speak to him?"
Emma blinked.
"...No."
His questions continued.
"Have you ever seen him lose his temper?"
She thought about it.
"No."
"Do you know where he goes every Thursday night?"
She frowned.
"I... no."
"Did he ever tell you why none of his childhood friends attended your engagement party?"
Her lips parted.
She hadn't even noticed.
"I don't know."
The room fell silent.
Emma hated that every answer sounded the same.
She folded her arms across her chest.
"That doesn't prove anything."
Lucien didn't argue.
She searched her own memories instead.
There had been candlelit dinners.
Weekend trips along the coast.
Long walks where Marco had talked about the future they would build together.
He knew how she took her coffee.
He remembered the songs she loved.
He never forgot her birthday.
He made her laugh when she wanted to cry.
But...
His business?
He rarely spoke about it.
Whenever she asked, he smiled and changed the subject.
His childhood?
Only bits and pieces.
His mother?
Emma had never met her.
Marco always found a reason to postpone it.
She remembered one engagement dinner when an older woman had arrived unexpectedly.
Marco's smile had disappeared the moment he saw her.
The woman hadn't stayed.
She'd looked at Emma with something that felt almost like pity before quietly leaving.
At the time, Emma hadn't questioned it.
Now...
The memory wouldn't leave her alone.
"Marco wouldn't..." she whispered.
The sentence faded before she finished it.
Lucien reached into his coat.
Emma tensed.
Instead of a weapon, he withdrew a folded newspaper clipping.
He walked forward and placed it gently on the floor between them.
"You decide," he said.
Emma stared at it.
Then, slowly, she bent down and picked it up.
The paper was old.
The edges were torn.
One corner had been burned.
The ink had faded with age.
The headline read:
Young Woman Found Dead Days After Engagement to Moretti Heir.
Emma felt her heartbeat quicken.
Below the headline was a photograph.
Blurry.
Grainy.
A smiling young woman.
She couldn't have been much older than Emma herself.
Her eyes moved lower.
The surname caught her attention.
Moretti.
A date.
A location.
A police investigation that had never been fully explained.
She read the article again.
Then a third time.
The words refused to make sense.
The paper slipped from her trembling fingers.
"There has to be another explanation."
Lucien's voice remained calm.
"There probably is."
She looked up sharply.
"Then tell me."
He was silent.
"Tell me!"
Her voice cracked.
She wanted him to deny it.
To admit the article was fake.
To laugh and tell her this was all part of some twisted misunderstanding.
Instead, he simply stood there.
Watching her.
"You want me to believe this?" she whispered.
"I want you to ask questions."
She stared at him.
"Don't believe me because I said it."
He nodded toward the clipping.
"Find the truth yourself."
The certainty in his voice unsettled her more than any threat could have.
He wasn't asking for trust.
He was asking her to doubt.
Lucien broke the silence.
"You're making the same mistake she did."
Emma looked up instantly.
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
Her eyes wandered past him.
A small wooden table stood against the wall.
Something rested on top of it.
A framed photograph.
Almost without thinking, she walked toward it.
Her legs still felt weak.
She picked up the frame.
Marco.
He looked younger.
More carefree.
Standing beside him was a beautiful young woman dressed in an ivory wedding gown.
They smiled at the camera as if nothing in the world could touch them.
Emma's fingers tightened around the frame.
The bouquet...
The veil...
Even the lace pattern on the dress...
It looked almost identical to the one hanging in her bedroom yesterday.
A chill ran through her.
She looked at the woman's face again.
There was so much happiness in her eyes.
So much hope.
"...Who is she?" Emma whispered.
Lucien finally answered.
"His first fiancée."
Emma couldn't look away.
Yesterday, she'd believed she was going to become Marco Moretti's first wife.
Now she wasn't even sure she was his second chance.
And for the first time since waking in that cold stone room...
She wasn't certain Lucien was the one she should fear…
- Writer
