Episode Seven
828 Words
The East Wing
The note trembled in Amara's hand.
No fortress can keep what's already mine.
The words seemed to burn into the paper.
Into her mind.
Into her soul.
A heavy silence settled over the foyer.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody moved.
Lucien's jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle ticked beneath his skin.
For the first time since she'd met him, he looked genuinely furious.
Not annoyed.
Not irritated.
Furious.
"Double security," he ordered.
His voice was deadly calm.
"Every entrance. Every camera. Every patrol route."
The guards immediately sprang into action.
"Yes, Boss."
Within seconds, the foyer emptied.
Only Amara, Lucien, Adrian, and Marta remained.
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck.
"That's not creepy at all."
Nobody laughed.
Marta looked concerned.
Very concerned.
"Mr. Moretti..."
Lucien cut her off.
"Take Miss Rossi to her room."
Marta nodded.
"Of course."
Amara opened her mouth.
"I have questions."
"So do I."
Lucien's eyes locked onto hers.
"But tonight isn't the night for answers."
The words frustrated her.
Everything about this situation frustrated her.
Before she could argue, Lucien turned and disappeared down another hallway.
Leaving her standing there.
Confused.
Angry.
And more curious than ever.
The east wing was beautiful.
And strangely quiet.
As Marta led her through the long corridor, Amara noticed something unusual.
There were no staff members.
No guards.
No guests.
Nothing.
The entire wing felt isolated from the rest of the estate.
Almost protected.
"Why is it so empty?" she asked.
Marta hesitated.
"Mr. Moretti prefers it that way."
That wasn't an answer.
But before Amara could press further, they stopped in front of a large wooden door.
Marta opened it.
The room beyond was breathtaking.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the estate grounds.
A fireplace crackled softly in one corner.
The king-sized bed looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel.
And fresh flowers sat on a nearby table.
Everything felt elegant.
Comfortable.
Safe.
Which was strange.
Because Lucien Moretti didn't strike her as the type of man who cared about comfort.
"Your things will arrive shortly."
Marta smiled gently.
"If you need anything, there's a phone beside the bed."
"Thank you."
The older woman nodded and left.
The door clicked shut behind her.
For the first time all night...
Amara was alone.
An hour later, sleep remained impossible.
She had tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed again.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blood-stained rose.
The photographs.
The note.
Nikolai.
Lucien.
The forced marriage.
Everything.
With a frustrated groan, she climbed out of bed.
Maybe exploring would help clear her mind.
Or maybe it would get her into trouble.
At this point, she wasn't sure she cared.
The hallway outside was silent.
Moonlight spilled through the tall windows.
Casting strange shadows across the floor.
Amara wandered aimlessly.
Past paintings.
Past closed doors.
Past rooms she had no business entering.
Then something caught her attention.
A door.
Unlike the others, it was slightly open.
Curiosity immediately took over.
Slowly, she pushed it wider.
The room beyond was dark.
Dust floated through the moonlight.
It looked untouched.
Forgotten.
Amara stepped inside.
And froze.
Photographs covered the walls.
Hundreds of them.
All framed.
All carefully preserved.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Because every photograph featured the same woman.
Her mother.
"What..."
Amara moved closer.
There were pictures she'd never seen before.
Pictures from childhood.
Birthdays.
Family vacations.
Moments she'd forgotten.
Moments she never knew existed.
Her throat tightened.
Why were these here?
Why would Lucien have a room full of photographs of her mother?
Then she noticed something else.
A small wooden box resting on a nearby desk.
With trembling hands, she opened it.
Inside lay dozens of letters.
Old letters.
Some faded with age.
One envelope immediately caught her eye.
Her name wasn't written on it.
But another name was.
Lucien Moretti.
Amara stared.
Her pulse quickening.
These letters belonged to him.
Which meant she should leave them alone.
Immediately.
Without reading a single word.
Instead...
She opened one.
The paper crackled softly.
The handwriting was elegant.
Feminine.
And instantly familiar.
Her mother's handwriting.
Amara's breath caught.
She began reading.
Dear Lucien,
If you're reading this, then I've probably disappeared again.
I know you'll be angry.
But one day you'll understand why I had to leave.
Promise me something.
If anything ever happens to me...
Protect her.
Amara stopped breathing.
Her hands shook violently.
Protect her.
The words echoed in her mind.
Protect who?
Me?
Before she could continue—
A deep voice spoke from the doorway.
"You're not supposed to be in here."
Amara jumped.
The letter slipped from her fingers.
Lucien stood in the doorway.
His expression unreadable.
Dangerous.
Silent.
For several long moments, neither of them spoke.
Then Amara looked at the photographs.
Back at him.
And finally asked the question that had just shattered her world.
"What was my mother to you?"
Lucien's face went completely still.
And for the first time...
The Devil's Shadow looked caught off guard.
- Writer
