Second Love Story

Chapter 7: Marie’s Trunk

As Clara oversaw clearing the mansion for the renovations, her mind was flooded with memories. Each room held remnants of the past, some filled with relics of the Cooper family’s history—ornate, antique furniture, faded portraits, and dusty heirlooms. But on the fourth floor, in the farthest corner of the left wing, one room remained unopened.

Clara stood in front of the heavy oak door, her brow furrowed in thought. "Why hasn’t this room been cleared?" she muttered to herself.

"Florence," she called, waving over the head maid who had been by her side through all the preparations. "Do we have the key to this room?"

Florence hurried over, fumbling with the large ring of keys she always carried. After a moment of searching, she nodded as she handed a key. "Here, Miss Clara. Strange. This is the only duplicate key we have."

Clara sighed. "Duplicate, you say…? Let’s check inside. Something feels off about it. I wonder what she’s got in here…"

Seconds later, the door creaked open. The room was dim, lit only by the fading sunlight filtering through a high window. Clara stepped inside and immediately noticed the difference. Unlike the rest of the mansion, which was filled with items from another era, this room felt… caught up with time. The furniture, though dusty, wasn’t as old or as ornate as what she had come across in the other rooms. These things belonged to Marie, Clara’s older sister.

The air was thick with the scent of stale dust, and Clara’s footsteps echoed slightly as she moved toward the far corner of the room. Her gaze fell upon an object that seemed oddly out of place among the more contemporary pieces—a large, old iron trunk. It was weathered and scratched. For a moment, it felt like the past had caught up with her.

Clara knelt down beside the trunk, her fingers brushing away the dust. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized it. "This was ours," she whispered to herself, her voice thick with emotion.

Her hands trembled as she traced the faded initials engraved into the trunk's surface—"CC." A sad smile tugged at her lips as she remembered how Marie had always called her "Cup Cake" when they were children, using the nickname to tease her affectionately. Marie had been ten years older than Clara, but their bond had been strong despite the age gap.

Clara blinked back tears as memories of their childhood flooded her mind. The trunk had once held their treasures—her toys, Marie’s sketches, the trinkets they had gathered over the years. "Oh, Marie…" Clara whispered, her heart aching with the weight of loss.

Her eyes fell on the old, rusty lock securing the trunk. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The lock was ancient, the kind that required a special key.

"Florence," Clara called softly, her voice unsteady. "Can you help me find the key for this? It’s… it’s important."

Florence stepped closer, her expression concerned. She saw the emotion etched on Clara’s face and immediately understood. "Of course, Miss Clara. I’ll search for the keyring again," she replied, glancing at the trunk with a look of sympathy.

But after rifling through the ring of keys, Florence shook her head once more. "It’s not here."

Clara stood up, feeling a pang of frustration and a growing sense of urgency. "We need to find that key. I have a feeling there’s something in this trunk that I need to see."

They searched the room thoroughly, but the key was nowhere to be found. After a few more hours of searching the mansion’s storage areas and cabinets, they came up empty-handed. The hired help had spent the entire afternoon looking through drawers and chests, hoping to find a key that might fit the lock. But by the time the sun had set, there were still no answers.

As they made their way back to the small house Clara had borrowed from a friend nearby, Florence noticed Clara’s restlessness. "Maybe we’ll find the key tomorrow, Miss Clara," she said gently, trying to offer some comfort.

Clara nodded, though the unease in her chest refused to dissipate. "I hope so, Florence. I really hope so."

Later that evening, as Clara sat in her armchair, sifting through a few old boxes she had brought from the mansion, her phone rang. The sound startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen and saw a familiar name—Uncle Alan.

"Alan?" Clara answered, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t spoken to him in a while, but he had been close to the family, working alongside her father and later with Marie. Alan Preston was one of the few people left who truly knew the depth of the Cooper family’s history.

"Clara, good to hear your voice," Alan’s deep voice came through the line, though there was a hint of stress in it.

"I’m glad you called," Clara replied quickly. "I was just about to reach out to you. I’ve been working on the countryside mansion, clearing things out for renovations, but I found something today—Marie’s old trunk. It’s locked, and I can’t find the key."

"Marie’s trunk?" Alan paused for a moment. "I haven’t thought about that in years…"

Clara could hear the tension in his voice. "Do you know where the key might be?"

There was a long silence on the other end before Alan spoke again. "I’m not sure about the key. But, Clara… there’s something else we need to discuss. I’ve received a rather disturbing email…"

Clara’s breath caught. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"I can’t explain over the phone. It’s better if we talk in person," Alan said, his voice firm. "Can you come to Boston tomorrow? Merlyn and I would be happy to have you over. We need to talk."

"I’ll visit you this Sunday, Alan," Clara replied, her heart racing. Whatever was in that email, whatever Alan knew, it felt important. And it was clearly connected to the trunk, to Marie, and to the past that Clara was just beginning to uncover.

As she set the phone down, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all connected—the locked room, the unearthed memories of the mansion, and now this mysterious email. What could possibly be waiting for her?

---

Meanwhile, back in Boston, the atmosphere at the arcade was lively. Ash and his group of friends had gathered for what had become their usual hangout—an evening of games and camaraderie at Harry Kart’s arcade. Harry, a university friend of Ash’s, had turned his love for gaming into a thriving business, and the arcade had become a regular spot for Ash and his circle to unwind.

As the games continued, Ash tried to focus, but his mind kept drifting. Earlier that day, he had received a call from Violet. He hadn’t been expecting it, and for a split second, his heart had jumped when he saw the unknown number.

But Violet’s voice had been cold, distant. The conversation replayed in his mind:

“If you’re wondering how I got your number, Mom gave it to me. Just to call you and let you know you don’t need to pick me up this evening,” Violet had said, her tone clipped.

Before Ash could fully respond, she cut him off again. “I’m staying with Dad tonight. I’ve already let Mom know. But I do have one question for you.”

Ash’s stomach had knotted, thinking she might be asking about their past. But instead, she asked, “Why are you going to Grandeur with Mom?”

Relief had washed over him, though he hadn’t known how to respond right away. “I guess… I was curious. Back… during university, you always said you hated animal-based products. Yet you are the heir to a bag company that’s exploded in growth. I thought maybe I underestimated Iva or that there’s more to learn from her.”

Violet had scoffed. “So, you’re using her to learn business?”

Before Ash could answer, she hung up the phone, leaving him feeling more conflicted than ever.

Now, standing on the arcade balcony, staring out at the city lights, Ash couldn’t shake the frustration that gnawed at him. Despite everything, he still cared about Violet—too much.

Gray, his long-time friend, joined him on the balcony, leaning against the rail. “What’s up, man? You’ve been off all night.”

Ash sighed. "It’s Violet."

Gray raised an eyebrow. “Violet? Like… VIOLET Violet?”

Ash nodded, running a hand through his hair. “She…” struggling to utter the word, he exhaled a huge sigh as he said, “She…is my stepsister now.”

Gray took a moment to process the news. He stared at Ash in disbelief, though he was well aware that Ash could never joke about such a thing. “What happened? How?”

Ash explained everything—Ben and Iva’s relationship and now their awkward, tangled situation as step-siblings. He also mentioned the cold distance that had developed between them during their drive to the gym earlier in the day.

Gray listened intently as Ash recounted the situation. “Talk about complicated…” he said when Ash finished. “But… don’t you think this is your chance to figure it all out? I mean, you guys were crazy about each other once.”

Ash let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. I am scared of the whole thing. We never really got to talk it out back then, and now… with the given situation… I am not sure anymore.”

Gray shook his head. “Nah, man…That’s not how you should tackle things.” Letting out a concerned sigh, he continued cautiously while reading Ash’s expression, “Back when she blocked your calls, you were about to go check on her. You would’ve if Ben hadn’t delivered his wedding invitation to you. Now, even if you are unsure of the future, just try to uncover the full picture of the incident back then.”

Ash thought for a moment and said, “I don’t think she would be on board with this idea. She probably hates me now.”

“People don’t just stop feeling. If she’s acting cold, there’s still something there. Trust me.” Gray had a hunch about something.

As Gray tried to offer more advice, someone out of sight was listening in on their conversation.

---

Back at the mansion, Ben had finished his work for the evening and returned home later than usual. Iva was still at the office, Violet was staying at Jack’s, and Ash had gone out partying. It was one of those nights when Ben found himself alone.

After having dinner, Ben decided to check out Marie’s room on the third floor. It had been locked for years, untouched since Marie’s passing, and Ben had always felt a pang of guilt whenever he thought about it. He made his way upstairs, but when he reached the door, it wouldn’t budge.

“Sir,” came Thomas’s voice from behind him. “That room’s locked. Only Master Ash and Miss Clara have the key.”

Ben sighed, stepping away from the door. “Thank you, Thomas. Let’s keep this between us, alright? No need to tell Ash or Iva.”

Thomas nodded and watched as Ben retreated downstairs, the weight of the past heavy on his shoulders.

---

A busy day passed in the blink of an eye, as all four of them were hardly seen together until the said day came.

That morning, Ash tagged along, accompanying Iva to Grandeur, her luxury handbag company. It had been years since Ash had entered the fashion world, and while he had been curious, he never expected to feel so out of place. The parking lot outside Grandeur’s headquarters was bustling with activity, but the moment Iva stepped out of her car, everything seemed to shift.

She was no longer the gentle, kind woman who had tried to bond with Ash at home. Here, Iva was a force of nature—confident, poised, and commanding. Ash watched in awe as she navigated through the office, issuing instructions and guiding her employees with a level of authority that reminded him of Clara’s leadership at Eunison.

‘Guess I really underestimated her,’ the thoughts brushed Ash as he followed her through the different departments.

Iva turned back to glance at him as she was introducing the CEO of Eunison to the key figures.

“You’re impressive, Iva,” Ash said, his usual flat tone softening slightly. He found himself admiring her.

Iva smiled, though her expression remained professional. “I know. I’ve worked on it all these years,” she replied, leading him toward her office.

As the day went on, Ash couldn’t help but respect Iva even more. She wasn’t just a stepmother who cared about family—she was a capable, determined businesswoman who had grown Grandeur into a powerhouse in just a few short years despite a great flaw—faux leather products.

There was more to her than Ash had ever realized, and he felt a newfound admiration for her, similar to what he felt for Clara.

But he feared that his respect and admiration might stand in his way to Violet.