Chapter Four — The Girl in the Photograph
2351 Words
“We need to leave.”
Lucian's voice was barely above a whisper.
I looked toward the hidden doorway.
“Why?”
His eyes remained fixed on the entrance.
“I have a feeling we're not the only ones who know this room exists.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“You're serious?”
“Very.”
He closed the folder.
I immediately reached for it.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking it.”
“You said we should leave.”
“I said we should leave. I didn't say empty-handed.”
He tucked the folder under his arm.
I stared at him.
“You're stealing evidence?”
“I prefer preserving evidence.”
“That's a very convenient way to describe stealing.”
He ignored me.
We stepped out of the hidden room.
The office was exactly as we'd left it.
Empty.
Silent.
Too silent.
I looked toward the window.
“Maybe we should call your security men.”
Lucian pulled out his phone.
No signal.
He frowned.
“You still have no signal?”
“No.”
“That's not normal.”
“No.”
I walked toward the window and pushed the blinds aside.
The parking area below was empty.
Except for one thing.
A black car sat across the road.
My stomach tightened.
“Lucian.”
He came beside me.
“What?”
I pointed.
“Does that car belong to you?”
He looked at it for several seconds.
“No.”
“Then who does?”
“I don't know.”
The car remained completely still.
No one got out.
No lights flashed.
It simply sat there.
Watching.
Lucian lowered the blinds.
“We're leaving.”
This time, I didn't argue.
We hurried downstairs.
His security men were waiting near the entrance.
One of them looked confused when he saw us.
“Sir?”
“Did anyone come inside?”
“No, sir.”
Lucian's expression hardened.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I looked back at the stairs.
For a second, I thought I heard something above us.
A faint creak.
I froze.
“Did you hear that?”
Everyone became silent.
Nothing.
Then another creak.
This time, we all heard it.
One of the guards reached for his radio.
Lucian held up a hand.
“Stay here.”
He started toward the stairs.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Don't.”
He looked at me.
“You're the one who said we weren't alone.”
“And now I'm saying you shouldn't go up there alone.”
His eyes softened for half a second.
Then he turned to one of his men.
“Check the second floor.”
The man nodded and disappeared upstairs.
We waited.
Thirty seconds.
Then a minute.
The guard returned.
“Nothing, sir.”
Lucian looked at him.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
I frowned.
“Then what made that noise?”
He didn't answer.
We left the building.
I looked back once before getting into the car.
The second-floor window was dark.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was standing behind it.
---
The drive back was quiet.
Too quiet.
Lucian sat beside me, the folder resting on his lap.
I stared out of the window.
My mind wouldn't slow down.
Vivienne's name.
Project Glasshouse.
The secret room.
The photograph.
The woman I'd never seen.
Everything felt connected.
I finally turned toward him.
“What exactly was Project Glasshouse?”
“I told you. I closed it.”
“That isn't an explanation.”
“It was an internal project.”
“About what?”
He was silent.
“Lucian.”
“It involved information security.”
“That sounds harmless.”
“It wasn't.”
I waited.
He looked out the window.
“Someone was using the company to move information they shouldn't have had access to.”
“And you were investigating them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find them?”
“No.”
“Did Vivienne know about it?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at him.
“You really don't know anything, do you?”
His eyes met mine.
“I know enough to tell you that you should stay away from this.”
“That's not going to happen.”
“I know.”
“Then stop telling me to.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Before he could respond, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Who is it?”
He answered without responding.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
Then his face hardened.
“What?”
He stood straighter.
“Where?”
I watched him.
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“We're going back.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
Then he said,
“Because someone found something.”
---
We returned to the building.
This time, the security men searched every room.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No black car.
No sign that anyone had entered.
Lucian stood in the middle of the old office.
“What did they find?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“The security footage.”
“From where?”
“Across the road.”
“Of the car?”
“Yes.”
He showed me the footage on his phone.
The black car was there.
Then, at exactly 10:43 a.m., someone stepped out.
A woman.
She walked toward the building.
My stomach tightened.
“Can you see her face?”
“Not clearly.”
The woman entered the building.
Three minutes later, she came out.
She wasn't carrying anything.
I looked at Lucian.
“Where did she go?”
“She disappeared from the camera's range.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It doesn't.”
I watched the footage again.
Something caught my attention.
“Pause.”
He did.
“Zoom in.”
He enlarged the image.
The woman was holding something.
A small black object.
“What is that?”
Lucian stared.
“A phone.”
“No.”
I pointed.
“Look at her wrist.”
There was a bracelet.
A thin silver bracelet with a small charm.
I had seen it before.
My stomach dropped.
“That's my mother's.”
Lucian looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“I've seen her wear it since I was little.”
He replayed the footage.
The woman disappeared around the corner.
I swallowed.
“My mother wouldn't come here.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
But the moment I said it, doubt crept in.
Because there was something else I remembered.
My mother had called me six times.
She had known about the room.
And she'd been terrified when I mentioned the photograph.
I pulled out my phone.
“I need to call her.”
Before I could dial, it rang.
Mum.
I answered immediately.
“Mum?”
There was silence.
Then—
“Elara?”
Her voice sounded strange.
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Please. Just come home.”
“I can't.”
“Don't go anywhere else.”
“Why?”
She took a shaky breath.
“Did you find the room?”
My heart stopped.
Lucian looked at me.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“How did you know?”
“Because I know that place.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“You've been there?”
“I said I know it.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“Elara, listen to me. Whatever Lucian tells you, don't believe everything.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“He doesn't remember everything.”
“What does that mean?”
She didn't answer.
“Mum?”
Her voice cracked.
“You were seven.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You were seven years old when it happened.”
“What happened?”
She began crying.
“Mum, please.”
“I thought we were safe.”
“Safe from what?”
The line went silent.
Then the call ended.
I stared at my phone.
Lucian was watching me.
“What did she say?”
I shook my head.
“You heard her.”
“I want you to tell me.”
“She said you don't remember everything.”
His face changed.
“What else?”
I hesitated.
“She said I was seven.”
Lucian went completely still.
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“Why does that matter?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Lucian.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“I don't know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Then I noticed something.
The folder.
It was still under his arm.
“Open it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because we've seen enough.”
“No. We haven't.”
I took the folder from him before he could stop me.
He sighed.
I opened it again.
There were more documents than I'd noticed before.
I turned several pages.
Then something fell out.
A photograph.
It landed face-down on the floor.
I picked it up.
And froze.
The woman in the photograph was my mother.
She was younger.
Much younger.
Standing beside her was the same unfamiliar man.
But there was someone else in the picture.
A little girl.
I stared at her.
Dark hair.
A white dress.
A ribbon around her wrist.
My breath caught.
I knew that face.
I had seen it every time I looked into a mirror.
“No.”
Lucian took the photograph from me.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I grabbed it back.
On the back were three words.
ELARA. SEVEN YEARS OLD.
My hands began to shake.
“I've never been here.”
“I know.”
“I've never seen this man.”
“I know.”
“My mother never worked with your company.”
“I know.”
“Then why is my name on this?”
Lucian stared at the photograph.
For the first time, he looked genuinely shaken.
“I don't know.”
I looked at him.
“Stop saying that.”
He didn't respond.
I turned the photograph over again.
There was something else.
A date.
Seven years ago.
The exact year I turned seven.
My chest tightened.
I looked at Lucian.
“You knew me.”
His eyes met mine.
“I knew of you.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You said you'd never seen me before.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You implied it.”
He looked away.
“Lucian.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, something had changed.
“You weren't supposed to remember.”
My heart hammered.
“Remember what?”
He stared at the photograph.
Then at me.
“Your sister wasn't the reason I agreed to marry.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What?”
“The wedding wasn't supposed to be about Vivienne.”
“Then who was it about?”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“You.”
Before I could respond, something crashed downstairs.
We both turned.
Lucian immediately moved in front of me.
“What was that?”
He didn't answer.
Another sound came from below.
Metal scraping against the floor.
Then silence.
He reached for his phone.
No signal.
“Someone is blocking the signal.”
“Why?”
“So we can't call for help.”
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
I froze.
“Stay where you are.”
“I can't see anything.”
“Don't move.”
A soft click came from beyond the doorway.
Then another.
Someone was inside.
Footsteps began moving down the hallway.
Slow.
Deliberate.
They stopped outside the office.
The door opened.
A thin line of light appeared.
Someone entered.
Lucian pulled me backward.
Then a woman's voice came from the darkness.
“Where is the folder?”
Neither of us answered.
“I know you found it.”
I felt Lucian's hand close around my wrist.
A warning.
Don't speak.
The woman took another step.
“You have no idea what you're looking at.”
Then she said my name.
“Especially you, Elara.”
My heart stopped.
She knew me.
“You should have stayed at the wedding.”
The light disappeared.
A door slammed somewhere downstairs.
Lucian pulled me toward the main room.
We rushed downstairs.
One of his security men was lying unconscious near the gate.
“Oh my God.”
“He's alive.”
Beside the gate sat a white envelope.
My name was written across it.
ELARA.
I picked it up.
Inside was a single photograph.
Vivienne.
She was standing in front of a hotel room.
Room 417.
But she wasn't alone.
Beside her stood my mother.
I turned the photograph over.
Five words were written across the back.
YOU WERE NEVER THE REPLACEMENT.
I looked at Lucian.
He had gone completely still.
“What does that mean?”
He didn't answer.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
“Lucian.”
A man's voice came through.
“Sir... we found Vivienne.”
Lucian's expression changed.
“Where?”
A pause.
Then—
“She's at the hotel.”
I waited.
“Room 417.”
The call ended.
Lucian looked at me.
“Stay here.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Elara—”
“If Vivienne is alive, I'm coming.”
He stared at me.
Finally, he nodded.
“Fine.”
We started toward the car.
I looked back at the abandoned building.
The second-floor window was dark.
Then, just before I got into the car, I saw something.
A curtain moved.
Someone was watching us.
I blinked.
It was gone.
I got into the car anyway.
Because my sister had been found.
And because I was beginning to understand something terrifying.
I hadn't been brought into this marriage to replace Vivienne.
I had been brought into it because, somehow, the truth had been waiting for me since I was seven years old.
And now it was finally coming for me.
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