Chapter 4
1856 Words
THE MAN IN THE PORTRAIT
Victoria’s words stayed with me long after she left the kitchen.
Someone killed Adrian’s father.
I kept staring at the doorway.
Twenty-five years.
A murder nobody talked about.
A missing child.
A secret ledger.
My father’s death.
And Adrian Cross somehow standing at the center of all of it.
I needed answers.
And I knew exactly where to start.
Uncle Marcus.
I found him in the library.
He was standing beside the fireplace, holding a glass of whiskey.
He didn’t look surprised to see me.
“Elena.”
“Uncle Marcus.”
He smiled faintly.
“You’ve been home less than twenty-four hours, and already you’re investigating.”
“Maybe I learned it from Dad.”
His smile disappeared.
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“About?”
“The Cross family.”
His eyes changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
“You shouldn’t involve yourself in things you don’t understand.”
“I understand that Adrian’s father died twenty-five years ago.”
Marcus looked toward the window.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not to Adrian.”
“No.”
“Was Dad responsible?”
Marcus turned sharply.
“Be careful.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only warning you’re going to get.”
I stepped closer.
“Did my father kill Adrian’s father?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Then who did?”
Marcus took a drink.
“I don’t know.”
I laughed.
“Everyone in this family suddenly has the same f*****g answer.”
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Your father spent years trying to uncover something that should have remained buried.”
“And it got him killed.”
Marcus said nothing.
“Did you know he was investigating the ledger?”
His silence answered me.
I walked closer.
“What was in it?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“People your father paid.”
“For what?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Protection.”
“From whom?”
He didn’t answer.
I noticed a photograph on the fireplace mantel.
It showed my father when he was young.
Beside him stood another man.
I recognized Adrian’s father from the photograph in the box.
But there was something else.
A third person.
A woman.
I stepped closer.
“Who’s she?”
Marcus immediately grabbed the photograph.
“Nobody.”
“Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re lying.”
He slammed the photograph onto the table.
“Enough!”
I flinched.
Marcus took a breath.
Then his voice softened.
“Elena, go back to your apartment.”
“No.”
“Leave Blackwood Falls.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
He stared at me.
“Because you’re not the only person being watched.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, the library door opened.
Adrian walked in.
His eyes immediately went to Marcus.
The tension between them was instant.
“Marcus.”
“Cross.”
I looked between them.
“You two know each other.”
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“We’ve known each other a long time.”
Marcus smiled coldly.
“Unfortunately.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“You need to stay away from her.”
Marcus laughed.
“You’re hardly in a position to give orders.”
“Try me.”
“Enough,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
I crossed my arms.
“I’m tired of being treated like a child.”
Adrian’s expression softened slightly.
“Elena—”
“No. Both of you keep talking around me like I’m not standing here.”
Marcus looked away.
I pointed toward him.
“You know what happened twenty-five years ago.”
Then I pointed at Adrian.
“And you know more than you’re telling me.”
Neither spoke.
“Fine.”
I grabbed my coat.
“I’ll find out myself.”
Adrian caught my wrist.
“Wait.”
I looked down at his hand.
Then at him.
“Let go.”
He did.
His eyes searched mine.
“If you keep digging, you’re going to put yourself in danger.”
“Maybe I already am.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
He stared at me.
For once, Adrian didn’t have an answer.
⸻
THE SECRET ROOM
That evening, I returned to my bedroom.
I locked the door.
Then I placed the photograph on my desk.
The woman in the photograph bothered me.
I had seen her before.
I just couldn’t remember where.
I studied her face.
Dark hair.
Hazel eyes.
A small scar above her eyebrow.
My heart stopped.
I touched my own scar.
The scar above my left eyebrow.
“No…”
I looked at the photograph again.
The woman looked almost exactly like me.
Impossible.
She was too young to be my mother.
I picked up my phone and photographed the image.
Then I heard something.
A faint knock.
I turned.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
I approached the door.
Another knock.
Three times.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I opened it.
Nobody was there.
But something lay on the floor.
A folded piece of paper.
I picked it up.
There was only one sentence.
LOOK BEHIND THE PORTRAIT OF YOUR GRANDFATHER.
My heart began pounding.
I walked downstairs.
The mansion was silent.
I entered the main hallway.
My grandfather’s enormous portrait hung above the staircase.
I pulled a chair beneath it.
Then I climbed up.
I ran my fingers along the frame.
Nothing.
I pressed against the painting.
It moved.
My breath caught.
I pulled it forward.
Behind it was a narrow opening.
A hidden compartment.
Inside was a metal key.
And a second photograph.
I picked it up.
This time, I almost dropped it.
The photograph showed my mother.
Holding a newborn baby.
Standing beside a hospital bed.
Written across the back were four words:
MAY 17, 2002.
My birthday.
I stared at the picture.
The baby was me.
But there was another child beside the bed.
Another newborn.
My twin.
My hands started shaking.
“No…”
A voice behind me said:
“Now you know.”
I turned.
Adrian stood at the bottom of the staircase.
I climbed down slowly.
“You knew.”
He nodded.
“About the baby?”
“Yes.”
“About me?”
His silence answered me.
“Who am I, Adrian?”
He walked toward me.
“You are Elena Marlowe.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.”
He stopped.
I held up the photograph.
“Who is the other baby?”
His face changed.
“Your sister.”
“I have one sister.”
“No.”
My heart pounded.
“You have two.”
“Where is she?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Dead.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She died shortly after birth.”
“Then why was there another baby?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Because that wasn’t your sister.”
My breathing stopped.
“Then who was it?”
He whispered:
“Your mother gave birth to twins.”
I shook my head.
“That’s impossible.”
“Elena…”
“No.”
I backed away.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then where is she?”
He looked at the photograph.
“That’s what your father spent the last six years trying to discover.”
I stared at him.
“Six years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he discovered the hospital records had been changed.”
My blood ran cold.
“Changed by who?”
Adrian’s eyes locked onto mine.
“Marcus.”
The world seemed to tilt.
“My uncle?”
Adrian nodded.
“Marcus was there the night you were born.”
“Why would he change hospital records?”
“Because someone paid him.”
“Who?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course you don’t.”
“I know who was involved.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“Your mother.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
Adrian nodded.
“Your mother knew about the second child.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did she tell me I was an only child?”
“Because she was told your sister was dead.”
“By who?”
Adrian’s expression became grim.
“Your father.”
I felt tears forming in my eyes.
“My father lied to her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
Adrian stepped closer.
“From your own blood.”
⸻
THE CALL
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Who is this?”
A distorted voice whispered:
“Stop asking questions.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who are you?”
“You were warned.”
“About what?”
The voice laughed softly.
“About your sister.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is she?”
Silence.
Then:
“Closer than you think.”
The call ended.
I stared at my phone.
Adrian took it from my hand.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did they say?”
I looked at him.
“They said my sister is closer than I think.”
Adrian’s face went pale.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“Because if your sister is alive…”
He paused.
“…then someone has been pretending to be dead for twenty-four years.”
A sound came from upstairs.
A door slammed.
Adrian immediately grabbed my hand.
“Stay behind me.”
We ran toward the staircase.
At the top, a shadow disappeared around the corner.
Adrian chased it.
I followed.
We reached the hallway.
Nothing.
Then I noticed my bedroom door.
It was open.
I hadn’t left it open.
Adrian slowly entered.
My room had been searched.
Drawers were open.
Clothes were thrown across the floor.
My mattress had been cut open.
Someone had been looking for something.
I looked at Adrian.
“What were they searching for?”
He didn’t answer.
Then I saw it.
On my pillow.
A single photograph.
I picked it up.
My breath caught.
It was a recent photograph.
Not twenty-four years old.
Not twenty-five.
Recent.
It showed a woman standing outside Marlowe Estate.
Dark hair.
Hazel eyes.
And the same small scar above her left eyebrow.
On the back were five words:
SHE HAS BEEN WATCHING YOU.
I stared at the photograph.
Adrian whispered:
“Elena…”
I looked at him.
“That’s her.”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
And somewhere outside the mansion…
a woman was watching us through the rain.
She smiled.
Because after twenty-four years of hiding—
she was finally coming home.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD