chapter4
1207 Words
Present Day – The Blackmore Estate, Private Study. Midnight.
The soft glow of the monitor was mirrored in Juliette's eyes as her fingers raced across the keyboard. She was barefoot, her silk robe brushing the cold marble floor, her hair damped from an agitated shower.
Victoria Beaumont's computer was not as protected as expected. The woman was too self-assured to think anyone would attempt it. But Juliette had time. Too much of it. Empty, hollow days. Frozen glances. Ringing silences.
She had begun to recognize the patterns—the midnight files, the stealthy printouts, the manner in which Celeste's name was mentioned only in codes.
And tonight… she found something.
An encrypted file labeled:
"Elektra Archives - C.C.B."
Her gut clenched.
She cracked the first layer.
Medical records. Therapy sessions. Confidential memos from a clinic offshore in Marseille. Celeste's name—heavily redacted but recognizable. Secret trauma. Doctored documents. Faked psychiatric evaluations…
Juliette blinked. Letters blurred in her head.
Celeste wasn't supposed to be vulnerable. Not in Adrian's world. But this file screamed something different. Something dangerous.
Her mind spun.
If Adrian ever saw this—if the world ever saw this—
"Having fun?"
Juliette froze.
The lights turned on. She whirled around.
Adrian.
Standing in the doorway. Shirt unbuttoned. Tie undone. Whiskey in hand. Anger in his eyes.
She slammed the laptop shut.
"Couldn't sleep," she said, her voice dry.
He drank slowly and strolled towards her.
"So you broke into Victoria's encrypted drive?" he drawled with pretended nonchalance. "Going to add 'corporate espionage' to your record?"
She didn't flinch. "I'm your wife", after all. At least on paper. "Don't I have a right to know what's going on with my new family?"
He bent forward. Close enough for her to smell the oak-aged bitterness in his breath.
"You're entitled to silence."
Juliette didn't back away.
"Do you think I'm scared of you?" she said. "You're the one who should be scared of me."
His jaw tightened.
"You talk like a woman who has forgotten her place."
"And you act like a man with secrets to keep," she said. "Especially those with your sister's name on them."
That was it.
He grasped her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to warn. His voice was velvet soaked in venom.
"Say her name one more time," he whispered, "and I'll not recall a single ounce of pity that I've ever felt for you."
Juliette glanced at him—trembling, fearful—but her chin lifted an inch.
"I'm not the one to be pitied."
Fifteen Minutes Later – The Wine Cellar
The huge door shut with a bang.
The air was damp. Cold. Still. Stacks of old bottles stood over her like sentinels.
Juliette sat in the dark.
No window. No phone. No light.
He locked her in.
As if she was something he had to bury.
She shifted back against the wall, slid down slowly, and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her heart raced, but her mind was clearer than it had ever been.
He could imprison her body.
But he couldn't stop what she now knew.
Couldn't erase the sparkle of truth she saw tonight.
Her first strike had hit home.
She tearfully, bitterly smiled.
And whispered out into the night—
"Game on."
Flashback – Ten Years Ago
The Valemount Estate, Ivory Fields. Late Autumn.
Juliette was sixteen, clinging to the reins of her chestnut mare as if born in the saddle. Her father, Earl Reginald Langston, rode next to her—his smile calm, his tone even.
"You grip too hard, Juliet," he told her, easing her fingers by a fraction. A rider doesn't command the horse. "She trusts it."
Juliette squinted against the wind, pink-cheeked. "What if it never loves me again?"
Her father's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Then you invite it to love your stillness."
They had reined at the top of the hill where sunlight spilled across the valley. He leaped down from his horse, walked to her, and handed her a crumpled envelope. "One day, if anything ever befalls me—read this. But not yet."
She had giggled, thinking it was another of his jokes.
When he died in prison after being prosecuted,
A heart attack, they said. Or something more convenient.
She never found that letter again.
Until today.
Present Day – Langston Estate, North Wing. Midnight.
Juliette stood at the end of the great hallway. She once danced down wearing silk pajamas. The air had the scent of lavender and stagnant ghosts. The chandelier looming above her began to flicker, casting shadows against the older, faded portraits on the wall.
She wasn't supposed to be here. The house had been overrun long after her father's fall. Locked, boarded up. But tonight, she paid the proper hands. The doors opened. The house creaked like a bruise.
She walked through the old grand ballroom, its broken floorboards groaning beneath her boots. She slowed when she reached the old library—her father's sanctuary. The scent of smoke and leather lingered in the air, unperturbed by time.
She headed straight to the corner shelf.
Fourth shelf. Red spine.
Her father's old legal journals.
She pulled one out.
It clicked.
The shelf slid inward with a mechanical creak, revealing a secret compartment. Dust spiraled into the air like it was alive. Inside sat a single steel box. Sealed. Heavy. Burnt at the edge.
She pried it open.
Inside were:
A thick case file—labeled Langston v. Blackmore Holdings Ltd.
Newspaper clippings.
A hard drive.
And one envelope. Yellowing. Unopened. Addressed in her father’s handwriting.
To: Adrian Constantine Blackmore
Do Not Read Until You’re Ready to Face Yourself
Her breath was snagged.
She dropped to the floor, opened the letter, and started to read.
The Letter (excerpt):
Adrian,
You think I'm your enemy. I'm not. I protected you more than you'll ever understand. But the woman you love? Juliette—
She's not your enemy either.
I forged her signature on the transfer documents. I lied to the board. I took the bribe from Victoria to keep your sister's mental history in the dark.
I did it all. Not her.
I paid the price. Yet if you judge her now, you are no different from those who murdered us both.
Juliette's hands trembled. Her vision blurred with rage and sorrow.
She flipped the file. Her name filled every page. But now she saw this—digital detritus establishing they'd been produced. Her father's pen. Her father's mistake.
He was the one who fell. But they made her take the fall.
Victoria. Adrian. The board.
All of them use her as a pawn in a game of self-preservation.
Sudden sound.
A creak at her back.
Juliette spun around. Heart pounding.
She went to the closet at the back of the study. The door was ajar.
She opened it.
Her scream was stuck in her throat.
In the closet, concealed under dirty linen.
Lay a rotting corpse.
Male. Bruised wrists. Mouth gagged. ID badge still on a torn suit jacket:
Thomas Bellamy – Langston Legal Counsel.
His most trusted man.
His father's.
Murdered.
Hidden.
Forgotten.
Or maybe… silenced.
The world outside had moved on.
This house, however, recalled everything.
- Writer
