CHAPTER FIVE
1242 Words
Elena
The thunderstorm was already visible in the rearview mirror by the time the car reached the gates of Thorne Manor.
I sat in the back of Alex’s sleek, sinfully silent black town car, arms crossed tight, refusing to flinch every time a bolt of lightning flashed across the summer-dark sky. The air pressure had changed, the kind that whispered warnings before disaster. The kind that said Turn around.
But I didn’t.
Because Victoria had escalated.
Because Sophie’s eviction was real.
Because the medical bills were bleeding red.
Because I was no longer playing defense.
I was going to dig through this manor’s secrets with my bare hands if I had to, and burn it down with them.
Marcus opened the car door as we pulled up to the circular driveway. The house loomed, all broken gables and ivy-choked walls. It was a monument to rot beneath privilege.
“I hate this place,” Alex said behind me as we stepped into the cavernous foyer. His voice echoed off the marble like a ghost. “My father died here. And everything else that mattered did too.”
I didn’t answer.
Not because I pitied him, but because I recognized something in that statement.
Familiarity.
Pain that never quite scabbed over.
We stepped inside.
The storm slammed the doors behind us.
And just like that, we were trapped.
Five hours later, we were still stuck.
The power flickered out by dusk, casting the manor into a candlelit nightmare of groaning wood, dripping ceilings, and shutter-clapping windows. Most of the staff had taken early leave due to the storm warning. Marcus had retreated to the security wing. The only other souls in the massive house were the two of us and a past that refused to stay dead.
I wandered.
Room to room.
Each space is colder than the last.
This place was nothing like the penthouse. It was chaos hidden under silk wallpaper. The kind of wealth that smelled like mildew. Antique rugs that whispered when you walked on them. Hallways with no light switches. And paintings that watched you.
By the time I found the library, I was soaked to the skin from a leaking ceiling.
Alex was there, leaning over a table of old blueprints, sleeves rolled up, a bourbon glass untouched by his elbow.
“You really should mark your ghost wings better,” I said. “Nearly walked into a grandfather clock and became one.”
He didn’t look up. “You explore when you’re anxious.”
“You spy when you’re bored.”
He arched a brow.
“I saw the security feed layout by the stairwell. Same grid as your penthouse.”
He finally looked at me.
Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement? Or admiration?
Hard to tell.
“You’re very resourceful,” he said.
“You’d be surprised what survival teaches you.”
He nodded at the blueprints. “This house has twenty-seven rooms. And at least four secret ones.”
“You say that like it’s normal.”
“It is for people like us.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m just a broke artist trying not to get electrocuted in the wine cellar.”
His gaze sharpened.
“What?” I asked.
“Come with me.”
The wine cellar was exactly what you’d expect from a Gilded Age dynasty: limestone walls, centuries-old labels, iron gates, the faint scent of dust and forgotten decisions.
But it wasn’t the wine he brought me for.
It was the wall behind the second rack.
“Have you ever noticed this in your parents’ gallery?” he asked.
He pulled aside a shelf, revealing a carving in the stone, two initials intertwined.
“V + R.”
Victoria and Richard.
His parents.
My stomach turned.
“I’ve seen that design before,” I said slowly. “In the ledgers.”
He nodded. “I think this was their code. They stashed documents in the gallery. And here.”
He ran his hand along the mortar until something clicked.
A panel slid open.
Inside? A metal box.
And inside the box?
A letter.
Alex unfolded it carefully, the candlelight flickering on trembling hands.
It was written in Richard Thorne’s elegant scrawl.
If something happens to me, it wasn’t an accident.
I read over his shoulder, heart racing.
There are two ledgers. One for show. One for truth. The truth one is at Silverleaf, hidden behind “Grief After Rain.” You’ll know what to look for. I wanted to give this to Alex. But she’s always watching.
“Victoria,” I breathed.
He looked up at me.
“She killed him,” I whispered.
“I always suspected,” Alex said hollowly. “But this proves it.”
We sat in silence.
Just breathing.
Lightning cracked above us, shaking dust from the rafters.
When I finally spoke, my voice was soft.
“Do you ever wonder who we’d be if none of this had happened?”
He looked at me.
“All the time.”
“I used to paint you,” I admitted. “Back then. After.”
He blinked. “What?”
“When Sophie was asleep. In shelters. In bathrooms. I painted you from memory. Just your eyes. Just to feel like you were real. Like someone out there still... existed.”
He stared at me like I’d reached into his chest and named something he'd buried.
“Elena.”
I stood, suddenly cold. “Never mind. This was a mistake.”
I turned.
He grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t run.”
His voice was rough. Low. Wrecked.
“Don’t do that thing where you laugh to hide the hurt.”
I swallowed.
Too late.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“You think I didn’t break when you left?” he said. “You think I didn’t try to forget? I built an empire just to drown the silence you left behind.”
I shook my head. “You built a prison.”
He pulled me closer. “Then stay and haunt it.”
And then he kissed me.
Hard. Desperate. Messy with regret and five years of fury.
I shoved him away.
Then kissed him back.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.
It was a fight.
Our teeth clashed. Our bodies collided against the rack.
Wine bottles rattled. Thunder roared.
And when we broke apart, I was breathless.
Torn.
Shaking.
He whispered, “You still ruin me.”
And I whispered, “You don’t get to say that.”
Then I shoved the letter into my coat and walked out.
Leaving him with the ghosts he invited.
By morning, the storm had passed.
The air was damp and thick, the kind that made everything feel slow.
I was already packed when he came to the guest wing.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“You fired me, remember?”
His jaw ticked.
I pushed past him. “I’ll take Sophie and go. Don’t worry. You’ll still get your DNA test.”
“Elena”
“I can’t be here. I can’t live in the place where she planned my ruin, and you let her.”
He said nothing.
Because he knew I was right.
As I opened the front door, he said, “You were the only thing in my life that ever felt real.”
I didn’t turn back.
“Then you shouldn’t have let it die.”
And I stepped into the dawn.
- Writer
