Underneath The Surface
1139 Words
Prince slammed his bedroom door harder than he meant to.
The house shook slightly — a reminder of just how old the Ellington estate really was, despite its polished marble floors and million-dollar views.
He kicked off his sneakers and threw himself onto the bed, the springs groaning under him.
The image of Pearl standing on that bridge, her eyes wide with fear and hope, burned behind his eyelids.
"We'll figure it out. Together."
He had meant every damn word.
But now — now he felt the heavy weight of the Ellington name crushing down on his shoulders.
He needed answers.
And fast.
Prince rolled onto his stomach and pulled his laptop closer. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Where do you even start when you’re trying to dig into your own family’s secrets?
He thought about asking his dad directly.
For exactly three seconds.
Nathaniel Ellington was not the type of man you questioned lightly. Especially not about old photographs and mysterious women.
Prince shuddered, remembering the one time he had accidentally overheard a heated phone call — names, threats, money — and the way his father had silenced him with just a look.
No.
This had to be subtle.
He started by searching Nathaniel’s name online.
There were the usual articles: business magazines, charity events, photos of his parents smiling stiffly at galas.
Nothing suspicious.
At least, nothing obvious.
Prince chewed his lip, frustrated.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the photograph was nothing.
But deep down, he knew better.
The Ellingtons weren’t clean.
No family this rich ever was.
He thought of Pearl again, how vulnerable she had looked, clutching that picture like a lifeline.
He couldn’t let her down.
Not her.
Not now.
---
A soft knock tapped at his door.
Prince snapped the laptop shut. "Yeah?"
The door creaked open and a familiar head popped in — his cousin, Jaxon.
Jaxon was older by a year, with the same sharp Ellington jawline but a permanent glint of mischief in his green eyes. If Prince was reckless, Jaxon was flat-out dangerous.
"Yo," Jaxon said. "You good?"
Prince hesitated. "Depends on your definition."
Jaxon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I heard you and Pearl had some kind of drama at school."
Prince stiffened. "News travels fast."
"Faster when it's about you," Jaxon smirked, flopping into the armchair by the window. "So... spill."
Prince hesitated again.
He didn’t know if he could trust Jaxon completely — but if anyone knew the Ellington dirt, it was him.
Still, he chose his words carefully.
"Pearl found something," he said. "Something from... before."
Jaxon’s smile slipped a little. "Before?"
Prince nodded. "A photo. Of my dad. With a woman who looks a lot like Pearl’s mom."
Jaxon’s eyes darkened.
"s**t," he muttered.
"You know something," Prince said sharply.
Jaxon hesitated, running a hand through his messy blond hair.
"Look," he said. "There’s stuff... about our parents. Things nobody talks about. Affairs. Business deals. Ugly things. I don’t know the details — they keep that locked down tight. But if you’re smart, Prince..." His voice dropped. "You’ll stay out of it."
Prince’s hands curled into fists. "I can’t. Pearl’s involved."
Jaxon stared at him for a long moment. Then he sighed and got up.
"Then you didn’t hear it from me," he said. "But if you’re looking for real answers? Check the old guesthouse. Behind the east gardens. Dad always said that’s where the family 'kept things they didn’t want found.'"
Prince’s pulse quickened.
The guesthouse had been locked up for as long as he could remember.
He had always thought it was abandoned.
Apparently not.
Jaxon was already at the door when he threw one last look over his shoulder.
"Be careful, cousin," he said. "Some truths don’t set you free. They burn you alive."
And then he was gone.
---
Prince didn’t sleep that night.
He waited until the house was dead silent, until even the security guards at the front gate were yawning and distracted.
Then he slipped out of his room, down the back staircase, and out into the biting night air.
The gardens were wild this time of year — the Ellingtons paid for fancy landscapers, but nothing could fully tame the old, sprawling grounds.
Prince ducked through the hedges, sticking to the shadows, until the guesthouse loomed into view.
It was a squat brick building, ivy crawling up the walls, windows dark and blank.
Prince’s breath misted in the air as he approached.
The heavy oak door was locked, of course.
He glanced around, then pulled a bobby pin from his pocket — a trick he had learned one bored summer at camp — and jimmied the lock.
It clicked open after a tense minute.
Prince pushed inside.
The smell hit him first — old paper, dust, something sour and metallic underneath.
He clicked on his phone’s flashlight.
The inside was a mess of forgotten furniture, peeling wallpaper, and old trunks stacked haphazardly against the walls.
He coughed, waving dust out of his face.
There had to be something here.
He moved carefully, scanning the trunks. Most were filled with junk — moth-eaten blankets, cracked picture frames, old books with rotted spines.
Until—
He found a trunk in the far corner, bigger than the others. Newer. The lock on it was heavier too, gleaming faintly in the flashlight beam.
Prince’s heart hammered.
This was it.
He just knew it.
He knelt and worked the lock. This one took longer, and more cursing under his breath, but finally — it popped open.
Prince lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of folders — labeled with dates, names, some of them in code.
And on top —
a thick manila envelope marked simply: D. Donovan.
Pearl’s last name.
Prince’s blood ran cold.
He grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into his jacket.
He didn’t dare look at it here.
Footsteps crunched outside — loud, deliberate.
Panic seized him.
He killed the flashlight and pressed himself against the wall, heart thudding wildly.
The footsteps paused just outside the door.
For one terrifying moment, Prince thought he would be caught — that everything would come crashing down around him.
But then the footsteps retreated, fading into the night.
Prince waited another full minute before slipping out and sprinting back toward the main house, the stolen envelope clutched tight against his chest.
---
Back in his room, door locked and curtains drawn, Prince finally tore open the envelope.
Photos.
Receipts.
Letters.
Evidence — tying the Ellingtons and the Donovans together in ways that made Prince’s head spin.
And at the bottom — a birth certificate.
Pearl’s.
Prince stared at it, unblinking.
There, listed under "Father" —
a name he never expected.
Not the man Pearl called Dad.
Not even Nathaniel Ellington.
Someone else entirely.
A name that changed everything.
- Writer
