The Seventh Vow

Chapter 2:The devil in the rain

The Seventh Vow

Chapter Two – The Devil in the Rain (Part 1)

The rain had not stopped.

It drummed relentlessly against the windows of Edward Vale’s study, as though the heavens themselves refused to let the night end.

For several seconds, no one moved.

Seraphina stared at the empty spot on her father’s desk where the manuscript had rested only moments before. Her pulse hammered against her ribs.

It wasn’t possible.

The room had been occupied.

The doors had been locked.

And yet…

The manuscript was gone.

Lucian was the first to react.

“Stay here.”

Ignoring him, Seraphina hurried after him into the corridor.

The hallway lights flickered weakly overhead. Wind rushed through the house, carrying the scent of rain and wet leaves. Somewhere downstairs, a grandfather clock chimed eight times, each toll echoing through the mansion with unsettling clarity.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Eleanor Briggs, emerged from the kitchen, her face pale.

“What happened?”

“The study window,” Lucian said. “Did you see anyone?”

She shook her head frantically.

“I was preparing tea. Then the lights went out.”

Margaret Ellis appeared behind them, clutching her handbag tightly.

“This has to be reported to the police.”

Harold nodded.

“I’ve already called them.”

Seraphina leaned against the banister, trying to steady her breathing.

Her father had guarded that manuscript obsessively during the last few months of his life.

Whenever she asked what he was writing, he would simply smile and say, “One day, you’ll understand.”

Was this what he meant?

A manuscript worth stealing?

Or had it contained something far more dangerous than a story?

⸻

Thirty minutes later, the mansion buzzed with police officers.

Flashlights swept across the soaked gardens while detectives photographed muddy footprints beneath the broken study window.

Detective Adrian Cole adjusted his gloves as he examined the shattered latch.

“There are signs of forced entry.”

Lucian folded his arms.

“So someone climbed into the study?”

Cole frowned.

“Or climbed out.”

He looked toward Seraphina.

“Miss Vale, besides the missing manuscript, was anything else taken?”

She scanned the room.

Books.

Her father’s fountain pen.

The framed family photograph.

His spectacles.

Everything remained exactly where it had been.

“Nothing.”

The detective scribbled something in his notebook.

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

“If this were an ordinary burglary, valuables would be missing.”

“So?”

“So whoever entered this room came for one thing.”

“The manuscript.”

“Exactly.”

Seraphina swallowed.

“What was in it?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Detective Cole studied her for a moment before nodding.

“We’ll increase patrols around the estate.”

As the officers packed away their equipment, Harold approached quietly.

“I think it’s best if you try to get some rest.”

She laughed bitterly.

“My father is dead.”

Someone has stolen his last work.

And tomorrow I’m apparently supposed to meet the man I’m expected to marry.

“Rest isn’t exactly an option.”

Harold had no response.

⸻

After midnight, the mansion finally grew quiet.

Guests had gone home.

Police vehicles disappeared beyond the gates.

Even the rain softened into a gentle drizzle.

Unable to sleep, Seraphina wandered through the silent halls.

She had grown up in this house.

Every creaking floorboard held a memory.

Every portrait on the walls reminded her of generations of the Vale family before her.

She stopped outside her father’s bedroom.

The door stood slightly open.

She hesitated before stepping inside.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and old books.

His reading glasses rested on the bedside table beside a half-finished novel.

His favorite cardigan hung neatly over a chair.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing except the absence of the man who had filled the room with laughter.

A sharp ache settled in her chest.

For the first time all day…

She cried.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just quiet tears that slipped down her cheeks as she sat on the edge of his bed.

“I’m trying, Dad,” she whispered into the darkness.

“I just don’t know what you wanted from me.”

Silence answered.

Then…

A soft click.

Her head snapped toward the wardrobe.

She held her breath.

Another click.

Someone was inside.

Seraphina’s heart lurched.

Slowly, she reached for the brass letter opener resting on the bedside table.

It wasn’t much of a weapon.

But it would have to do.

Step by careful step, she approached the wardrobe.

The wooden doors stood closed.

The clicking stopped.

She tightened her grip on the letter opener.

Three…

Two…

One…

She yanked the doors open.

Nothing.

Only neatly arranged suits.

A row of polished shoes.

And…

A small wooden box tucked onto the top shelf.

She frowned.

She had never seen it before.

Standing on tiptoe, she lifted it down.

The box was surprisingly heavy.

There was no lock.

Only Edward Vale’s initials engraved into the lid.

She opened it carefully.

Inside lay dozens of old photographs.

Most showed her as a child.

Birthday parties.

Family vacations.

Christmas mornings.

But one photograph immediately caught her attention.

She froze.

It showed a little girl no older than six standing between Edward Vale…

And a man she had never seen before.

The stranger’s arm rested protectively around her shoulders.

On the back of the photograph, written in faded ink, were the words:

She must never remember him.

A chill rippled through Seraphina.

Remember him?

She stared at the unfamiliar face.

Dark hair.

Gray eyes.

Gray…

Her breath caught.

The man at the cemetery.

The stranger who had watched her father’s funeral.

His eyes.

They were the same impossible shade of gray.

Before she could think another thought, her phone vibrated violently in her pocket.

Unknown Number.

Her finger hovered over the screen.

Then she answered.

“…Hello?”

Silence.

Only faint breathing.

“Who is this?”

A man’s calm voice finally spoke.

“You shouldn’t be looking through that box.”

Every muscle in her body locked.

“Who are you?”

Another pause.

Then…

“Someone who promised your father I’d protect you.”

The line went dead.

Seraphina stared at the phone in disbelief.

Almost immediately, another message appeared.

Unknown Number

Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.

Ashcroft Tower.

Don’t be late.

Damien Ashcroft hates waiting.

Seraphina looked back at the photograph in her trembling hands.

The gray-eyed stranger.

The mysterious phone call.

The impossible message.

For the second time that day, she felt as though invisible threads were tightening around her life.

Someone had been planning this long before her father’s death.

And tomorrow…

She would finally come face-to-face with the man who seemed to be at the center of it all.

Seraphina barely slept.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the photograph.

The little girl smiling innocently between her father and the mysterious gray-eyed man.

“She must never remember him.”

The words refused to leave her mind.

Remember what?

Or perhaps the more terrifying question was…

What had she forgotten?

⸻

Morning arrived beneath a blanket of heavy clouds.

The Vale mansion, usually alive with the sounds of staff preparing breakfast and maintaining the sprawling estate, felt unnaturally subdued.

Every servant spoke in hushed voices.

Every corridor carried the lingering weight of mourning.

Mrs. Briggs placed a tray of coffee and toast before Seraphina.

“You should eat something, Miss.”

Seraphina stared absentmindedly into her coffee.

“When was the last time my father mentioned the Ashcroft family?”

The elderly housekeeper looked surprised.

“The Ashcrofts?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Briggs thought carefully.

“Years ago.”

“How many years?”

“I’m not certain.”

“But you remember?”

“I remember your father receiving visitors.”

“What visitors?”

“A gentleman… always dressed impeccably.”

She hesitated.

“And a little boy.”

Seraphina slowly looked up.

“A little boy?”

Mrs. Briggs nodded.

“Very polite.”

“He and you used to play in the garden.”

Seraphina frowned.

“I don’t remember that.”

Mrs. Briggs’ expression changed ever so slightly.

“I suppose you were very young.”

“How young?”

“Five or six.”

The same age as the little girl in the photograph.

A knot tightened in Seraphina’s stomach.

⸻

At precisely nine-thirty, Harold Whitmore arrived.

His silver sedan rolled into the driveway just as Seraphina descended the front steps.

He opened the passenger door for her.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

The drive through Ashbourne’s financial district was strangely quiet.

Towering buildings stretched toward the gray sky.

Morning commuters hurried along sidewalks beneath umbrellas.

Luxury vehicles glided through rain-slicked streets.

Yet Seraphina hardly noticed any of it.

Instead, she watched reflections blur across the window.

She kept replaying yesterday’s events.

The funeral.

The stranger.

The will.

The stolen manuscript.

The anonymous phone call.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Harold finally spoke.

“Edward trusted Damien.”

Seraphina turned sharply.

“Then why didn’t he ever tell me about him?”

“I asked him the same question once.”

“And?”

“He said some truths become more dangerous the earlier they’re told.”

She frowned.

“What does that even mean?”

Harold sighed.

“I wish I knew.”

⸻

Ashcroft Tower dominated the skyline.

Forty-eight stories of glass and steel reflected the rain like polished obsidian.

The company’s silver emblem gleamed above enormous revolving doors.

Employees in tailored suits hurried inside carrying laptops and expensive briefcases.

Everything about the building radiated power.

Harold parked near the entrance.

“We’re here.”

Seraphina stared upward.

It felt less like entering an office…

And more like approaching a fortress.

⸻

Inside, the lobby was breathtaking.

White marble floors stretched beneath towering crystal chandeliers.

Modern sculptures lined the walls.

Water cascaded silently down a black granite feature behind reception.

The receptionist smiled professionally.

“Good morning.”

Harold nodded.

“We’re here to see Mr. Ashcroft.”

She checked her tablet.

“Miss Vale?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Ashcroft is expecting you.”

Of course he was.

She hadn’t exactly had much choice.

An assistant escorted them toward a private elevator.

Unlike the others, it required a fingerprint scan.

The assistant smiled politely.

“Executive access only.”

The elevator rose in complete silence.

Twenty floors.

Thirty.

Forty.

Each passing number seemed to tighten the knot inside Seraphina’s chest.

Finally…

Forty-eight.

The doors slid open.

⸻

The executive floor was astonishingly quiet.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city.

Minimalist artwork decorated charcoal-gray walls.

Fresh orchids sat atop sleek black tables.

No unnecessary decorations.

No clutter.

Everything reflected ruthless precision.

The assistant stopped outside a pair of enormous walnut doors.

She knocked twice.

“Miss Vale is here, sir.”

A calm voice answered from within.

“Send her in.”

Harold squeezed Seraphina’s shoulder reassuringly.

“You’ll be alright.”

She wasn’t so sure.

The doors opened.

She stepped inside alone.

⸻

The office was larger than most apartments.

Bookshelves reached the ceiling.

A grand piano stood near the windows.

An antique globe occupied one corner.

Across the room, a man stood with his back to her.

He was looking out over the city.

Perfectly still.

Hands clasped behind him.

The expensive charcoal suit fit him flawlessly.

Without turning around, he spoke.

“You’re three minutes early.”

His voice was low.

Measured.

Controlled.

Seraphina folded her arms.

“I assumed punctuality was preferable to keeping a stranger waiting.”

A hint of amusement entered his tone.

“Good assumption.”

Slowly…

He turned.

Time seemed to pause.

Dark hair.

Strong jawline.

Gray eyes.

The same impossible gray eyes she’d seen standing alone in the cemetery rain.

The same eyes from the photograph.

He recognized her immediately.

She could see it.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

Almost relief.

“You,” she whispered.

Damien Ashcroft studied her quietly.

“I was wondering how long it would take before you realized we’d already met.”

“You were at my father’s funeral.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I came to pay my respects.”

“You didn’t even approach the grave.”

“I wasn’t there for the ceremony.”

Her temper flared.

“Then what were you there for?”

His gaze never wavered.

“You.”

Silence settled between them.

Her heartbeat quickened.

“I don’t even know you.”

“No.”

“You’ve clearly known about me.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“My entire life.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

“What?”

He walked slowly toward his desk.

“I imagine you have many questions.”

“I have hundreds.”

“You won’t get all the answers today.”

“Convenient.”

He almost smiled.

“I’ve been called worse.”

She took another step closer.

“My father’s will says I have ninety days to marry you.”

“Correct.”

“And you’re just… accepting that?”

“I agreed before Edward passed away.”

Her eyes widened.

“You already knew?”

“Yes.”

“You discussed my marriage… without telling me?”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t.”

His honesty only infuriated her further.

She slammed both palms onto his desk.

“My father is dead.”

“Someone stole something from his study.”

“I’m receiving anonymous phone calls.”

“And somehow you expect me to calmly marry a man who refuses to explain anything?”

For the first time…

His expression changed.

The composure slipped.

Only slightly.

But enough.

He looked…

Concerned.

“You’re receiving calls?”

She instantly regretted revealing it.

His eyes sharpened.

“What did they say?”

She hesitated.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because whoever contacted you has already crossed a line.”

“You sound like you know who it is.”

“I have suspicions.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

Frustration burned inside her.

“You keep saying that.”

“I know.”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“I’ve had enough.”

She grabbed her handbag.

“I’m leaving.”

Before she could reach the door…

Damien’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

His expression hardened instantly.

He answered.

“What happened?”

The voice on the other end spoke rapidly.

Damien listened without interrupting.

Then he quietly said—

“Seal the building.”

He ended the call.

Seraphina stared at him.

“What now?”

He looked directly into her eyes.

“They’ve just found another body.”

The silence that followed was far more terrifying than the words themselves.

For a long moment, Seraphina simply stared at Damien.

“They’ve found… another body?” she repeated, scarcely recognizing her own voice.

Damien slipped his phone into his pocket, every trace of warmth vanishing from his expression.

“Stay here.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“You do today.”

His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of authority.

She folded her arms. “You don’t get to disappear into another mystery after everything you’ve told me—and everything you’ve refused to tell me.”

Before Damien could answer, a sharp knock sounded on the office door.

It opened without waiting for permission.

A tall man in his early thirties entered, dressed in a navy suit that was damp from the rain. His blond hair was slightly disheveled, and his breathing suggested he had run the entire way.

“Sir.”

His eyes flicked toward Seraphina before returning to Damien.

“The executive security team has locked down the building. The police are on their way.”

“What happened?” Damien asked.

“The victim was found in Archive Room Seven.”

Seraphina frowned.

“Archive room?”

The newcomer looked uncertainly at Damien.

“It’s alright,” Damien said. “She’ll find out eventually.”

The man nodded.

“One of the archivists went downstairs to retrieve a file. He found Mr. Nathan Wells…”

He hesitated.

“…dead.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“Who was Nathan Wells?” Seraphina asked.

“The head archivist,” Damien replied quietly. “He worked here for nearly thirty years.”

“And how did he die?”

The blond man swallowed.

“We don’t know yet.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed.

“What aren’t you telling me, Ethan?”

Ethan looked uncomfortable.

“There was… a message.”

“What message?”

“It was written across the wall behind him.”

Seraphina felt a chill creep over her skin.

“What did it say?”

Ethan drew a slow breath.

“‘The seventh vow has begun.’”

The words echoed in the room like a whispered curse.

Seraphina looked from Ethan to Damien.

Neither of them appeared surprised.

“You’ve heard that before,” she said.

Damien remained silent.

“You have,” she insisted.

“I’ve seen those words once before.”

“When?”

“A long time ago.”

“Where?”

His jaw tightened.

“I can’t answer that.”

Frustration surged through her.

“Everything is ‘I can’t answer that!’”

She took a step toward him.

“My father is dead.”

“His manuscript has been stolen.”

“A stranger is calling my phone.”

“And now someone has been murdered with a message that sounds like the title of some ancient prophecy.