Chapter 2
1883 Words
Chapter Two
The House of Secrets
Chelly couldn't stop thinking about the four words.
Trust no Devereaux.
They followed her all the way home.
They followed her through the crowded streets of Paris, beneath the golden glow of streetlights and the endless hum of traffic.
They followed her into her tiny apartment.
And when she finally lay in bed that night, they were still there.
Written in her mother's handwriting.
Waiting for her.
Chelly turned onto her side and stared at the ceiling.
Her mother had been dead for six years.
Six years since Isabelle Laurent had passed away after a long illness.
Six years since Chelly had packed away her mother's belongings into boxes she couldn't bring herself to open.
Six years since she had convinced herself that there were no more questions to ask.
Now there were hundreds.
Why had her mother worked at Maison Devereaux?
Why had she never told Chelly?
Why had she warned her not to trust the Devereaux family?
And most importantly—
Why had Adrian Devereaux looked at her as though he had been expecting her?
Chelly sat up.
“No.”
She shook her head.
She was overthinking everything.
Maybe the warning was old.
Maybe her mother had simply hated someone in the company.
Maybe Adrian knew nothing.
Maybe—
Her phone vibrated.
Chelly froze.
It was almost midnight.
She reached for it.
Unknown Number.
Her heart skipped.
She stared at the screen before answering.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
A faint breath came through the phone.
Then a man's voice.
Low.
Distorted.
“Leave Maison Devereaux.”
Chelly's blood ran cold.
“Who is this?”
“You shouldn't have accepted the job.”
“Who are you?”
“You don't know what you're getting yourself into.”
The call ended.
Chelly stared at the phone.
Her fingers trembled.
She immediately called back.
The number was unavailable.
She sat there for several seconds.
Then she laughed nervously.
“This is insane.”
But she didn't sleep that night.
---
The following morning, Chelly arrived at Maison Devereaux fifteen minutes early.
She had barely stepped through the doors when she felt someone watching her.
She looked around.
Employees moved through the lobby.
Nobody seemed interested in her.
Still, the feeling remained.
“First day?”
A cheerful voice came from beside her.
Chelly turned.
A young woman with curly brown hair and bright eyes smiled at her.
“You must be Chelly.”
“Yes.”
“I'm Amélie.”
She extended her hand.
“Assistant stylist.”
Chelly shook it.
“Nice to meet you.”
Amélie looked around before lowering her voice.
“So…”
“So?”
“You met Adrian yesterday.”
Chelly raised an eyebrow.
“How did you know?”
“Everyone knows.”
Amélie leaned closer.
“What did he say?”
“Not much.”
“Did he scare you?”
“No.”
Amélie laughed.
“Then you're the first person I've met who survived an Adrian Devereaux meeting without crying.”
Chelly smiled.
“Is he really that bad?”
Amélie's smile disappeared.
“He's worse.”
Before Chelly could ask anything else, a woman approached them.
“Chelly Laurent?”
Chelly turned.
“Yes?”
“I've been looking for you.”
The woman was tall, elegant, and intimidatingly beautiful.
Her silver-blonde hair was pulled into a flawless bun.
“I am Margot Devereaux.”
Chelly's stomach dropped.
Adrian's mother.
“Mrs. Devereaux.”
“Come with me.”
It wasn't a request.
---
Margot led Chelly through a private corridor that Chelly hadn't seen the previous day.
They stopped in front of a small sitting room.
Margot entered.
Chelly followed.
The room smelled faintly of roses.
An enormous painting hung above the fireplace.
A younger Margot stood beside her husband.
Henri Devereaux.
Chelly's eyes moved across the painting.
Then stopped.
There was someone else in the portrait.
A young woman.
Isabelle.
Her mother.
Chelly's heart slammed against her ribs.
Margot noticed.
“You recognize her.”
It wasn't a question.
Chelly looked at her.
“My mother.”
Margot's expression hardened.
“Your mother had a complicated history with this family.”
“What history?”
Margot walked toward the fireplace.
“Some histories are better left buried.”
Chelly felt anger rise inside her.
“With respect, my mother is dead. If there's something about her that I deserve to know, I think I have a right to know it.”
Margot turned.
For a moment, Chelly saw something in her eyes.
Fear.
Then it disappeared.
“You should resign.”
Chelly blinked.
“What?”
“Leave this company.”
“Why?”
“Because Maison Devereaux destroys people who become too curious.”
Chelly stared at her.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
Margot's voice softened.
“It is advice.”
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Your mother ignored my advice once.”
Chelly's heart pounded.
“What happened?”
Margot looked over her shoulder.
“She regretted it.”
And then she left.
Chelly remained frozen in the middle of the room.
---
By lunchtime, Chelly had already learned three things about Maison Devereaux.
First, nobody talked about Isabelle Laurent.
Second, nobody talked about Adrian's father.
And third, everyone was terrified of Lucien Devereaux.
She met him by accident.
Chelly was walking toward the design studio when a man's voice stopped her.
“You're Isabelle's daughter.”
She turned.
A man stood against the wall.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Perfectly dressed.
His smile was warm.
His eyes weren't.
“Lucien Devereaux.”
He extended his hand.
Chelly hesitated before shaking it.
“Chelly Laurent.”
“I know.”
His smile widened.
“You look exactly like her.”
Chelly pulled her hand away.
“You knew my mother?”
“Everyone in this family knew your mother.”
“What happened between her and your family?”
Lucien laughed softly.
“Straight to the point.”
“I'm tired of people refusing to answer me.”
“Good.”
His expression changed.
“Stay that way.”
He stepped closer.
“Curiosity might keep you alive.”
Chelly stared at him.
“That's not very reassuring.”
“It wasn't supposed to be.”
Before she could respond, another voice cut through the hallway.
“Lucien.”
Adrian.
His brother turned.
“Adrian.”
The two men stared at each other.
Something passed between them.
Something Chelly couldn't understand.
Adrian's gaze shifted to Chelly.
“Come with me.”
Lucien smiled.
“Already giving orders?”
“I'm not speaking to you.”
Lucien chuckled.
“Of course not.”
Chelly followed Adrian.
They walked in silence until they reached the design studio.
Adrian stopped.
“Don't speak to my brother alone again.”
Chelly folded her arms.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“That isn't an answer.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don't know him.”
“And you think I know you?”
Silence.
Chelly stepped closer.
“Everyone keeps telling me my mother had secrets. Nobody will tell me what they were.”
Adrian's expression became unreadable.
“Some secrets aren't yours to uncover.”
“My mother is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then why won't anyone tell me what happened?”
Adrian looked at her for a long moment.
“Because the truth won't bring her back.”
Chelly's voice softened.
“No.”
She shook her head.
“But it might tell me who she really was.”
For the first time, Adrian seemed unable to answer.
His eyes dropped briefly.
Then he walked away.
Chelly watched him disappear.
She didn't notice the man standing at the far end of the corridor.
Watching her.
Watching Adrian.
And holding an old photograph of Isabelle Laurent.
---
That evening, Chelly stayed late.
She told herself it was because she wanted to finish her sketches.
It wasn't.
She was waiting for everyone to leave.
At 10:47 p.m., the design floor was almost completely empty.
Chelly looked down the hallway.
Then toward the elevator.
Nobody.
She remembered Adrian's warning.
Stay away from the fourth-floor archive.
Which, naturally, made her want to see it even more.
She took the stairs.
One floor.
Two.
Three.
The fourth floor was dark.
Unlike the rest of Maison Devereaux, there were no beautiful displays here.
No mannequins.
No sketches.
Only a long corridor lined with locked doors.
Chelly walked slowly.
At the very end was a door.
Black.
Without a name.
She tried the handle.
Locked.
“Of course.”
She sighed.
Then noticed something on the floor.
A small silver key.
Chelly picked it up.
Her heart began to race.
She looked at the door.
Then at the key.
“No.”
She whispered.
She knew she should walk away.
Instead, she inserted the key into the lock.
It turned.
The door opened.
Cold air brushed against her face.
Inside was darkness.
Chelly reached for the light.
Click.
A single bulb flickered overhead.
And Chelly stopped breathing.
The room was filled with old fashion sketches.
Photographs.
Boxes.
Newspaper clippings.
And photographs of her mother.
Dozens of them.
Some showed Isabelle working.
Some showed her with Henri Devereaux.
And one showed Isabelle standing beside a much younger Adrian.
Chelly stepped closer.
Her fingers trembled.
Adrian couldn't have been more than ten years old.
Isabelle was kneeling beside him.
They were both smiling.
Then Chelly saw the date.
1999.
She stared at it.
Her mother had never mentioned Adrian.
Not once.
She moved toward another photograph.
This one was different.
Isabelle was standing beside Henri.
His hand was resting on her shoulder.
On the back of the photograph was a handwritten sentence.
Chelly turned it over.
Her heart stopped.
If anything happens to me, protect my daughter from the Devereaux family.
Chelly's breath caught.
A sound came from behind her.
The door slammed shut.
She spun around.
“Who's there?”
Silence.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
Chelly backed away.
The footsteps stopped.
She reached for the door.
Locked.
Her heart began pounding.
“Let me out!”
Nothing.
Then a man's voice came from the other side.
Calm.
Cold.
Familiar.
“Chelly.”
She froze.
Adrian.
“Open the door.”
She swallowed.
“How did you—”
“Open it.”
“I can't.”
Silence.
Then—
“You shouldn't have come here.”
Chelly looked around the room.
At the photographs.
At her mother's warning.
At the secrets that had been waiting for her.
Then she looked back at the locked door.
“Tell me the truth, Adrian.”
His voice became dangerously quiet.
“About what?”
“My mother.”
Silence.
A long, terrible silence.
Then Adrian said six words that made her blood run cold.
“Your mother didn't die of illness.”
Chelly's hand fell from the door.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Her heart shattered.
“Then how did she die?”
Adrian didn't answer.
And somewhere inside the darkness behind her, something moved.
Chelly slowly turned around.
A shadow stood between the shelves.
Watching her.
And before she could scream—
The lights went out.
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