The Man Behind the Name one
1829 Words
Chapter Two
Genevieve's POV
For three seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
The man in the driver's seat watched me through the lowered window, his expression unreadable beneath the dim glow of the dashboard.
“Damien wants to see you.”
The words echoed in my head.
I stared at him.
Then at the car.
Then back at him.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“No?”
“I don't know Damien Devereaux.”
“That isn't what I said.”
My fingers tightened around my phone.
“Then tell him I don't want to see him.”
The man didn't move.
“Get in the car, Miss Moreau.”
My stomach dropped.
Miss Moreau.
He knew my surname.
I took a step backward.
“How do you know my name?”
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
I looked down the street.
The café was still open, but the windows were fogged from the warmth inside. A couple sat near the front, laughing over something on a phone. Behind them, a barista moved between tables.
People.
I needed people.
I turned toward the café.
The man spoke again.
“Genevieve.”
I stopped.
Nobody called me that.
Not when they were trying to sound friendly.
Clara called me Vivi.
My brother called me Gen when he was in a good mood.
My mother had called me Genevieve when she was angry.
And strangers called me Miss Moreau.
But this man had said my full name like he had known it for years.
I looked back.
“How do you know me?”
His expression hardened.
“I was told to bring you somewhere safe.”
“By Damien?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wasn't given an explanation.”
I almost laughed.
It came out as a breath instead.
“That's convenient.”
He watched me carefully.
“You were followed from the lighthouse.”
My heart stumbled.
“How do you know about the lighthouse?”
Silence.
I stepped farther away from the car.
“You know what happened.”
“I know enough to understand that you're in danger.”
“Then call the police.”
His jaw tightened.
“I think you should come with me.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No.”
He looked toward the road behind me.
His eyes narrowed.
“It's a warning.”
I followed his gaze.
Nothing.
Just fog.
But suddenly the street felt too empty.
I looked at the café again.
It was only a few meters away.
I could run inside.
Call Clara.
Call the police.
Tell someone.
I took one step.
The man's voice stopped me.
“If you go into that café, they'll know exactly where you are.”
I turned slowly.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
“Who will know?”
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat.
I immediately stepped back.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
Slowly, he pulled out a small black envelope.
He held it toward me.
“Damien asked me to give you this.”
I stared at the envelope.
I didn't take it.
“What's inside?”
“An address.”
“I already know where he lives.”
“Do you?”
My eyes narrowed.
He handed me the envelope again.
“You should read it.”
I didn't move.
Finally, he placed it on the roof of the car.
Then he rolled up the window.
The engine started.
“Wait.”
The car began moving.
“Wait!”
I ran two steps after it.
The sedan disappeared into the fog.
I stood in the middle of the road, staring after it.
My heart was pounding.
I looked at the envelope.
Black.
Heavy paper.
My name was written across the front.
GENEVIEVE MOREAU
No stamp.
No address.
Nothing else.
I picked it up.
The paper was cold against my fingers.
I should have thrown it away.
Instead, I opened it.
Inside was a single card.
An address.
DEVEREAUX ESTATE
And underneath:
Midnight.
I checked the time.
11:37 p.m.
I stared at the card.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
My phone vibrated.
Clara.
I answered immediately.
“Vivi?”
“Clara—”
“Where are you?”
“I'm—”
“Don't lie to me.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“I'm outside.”
“Outside where?”
I looked at the empty street.
“Near the old café.”
There was silence.
Then Clara's voice changed.
“What happened?”
I swallowed.
“I saw something.”
“What?”
“At the lighthouse.”
Another silence.
“What did you see?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I don't know.”
“Vivi.”
“I saw three men.”
My voice dropped.
“One of them was Elias Devereaux.”
Clara inhaled sharply.
“You're joking.”
“I wish I was.”
“What were they doing?”
I looked at the black envelope in my hand.
“I think someone died.”
Clara didn't speak.
“Vivi, we need to go to the police.”
“I know.”
“So let's go.”
I looked toward the northern cliffs.
The Devereaux Estate was somewhere beyond the fog.
“I can't.”
“What do you mean, you can't?”
“Someone knows I was there.”
“Then that's exactly why we go to the police.”
I hesitated.
“I got messages.”
“What kind?”
“Threatening ones.”
Clara cursed under her breath.
“What did they say?”
I told her.
She was silent for several seconds.
Then
“Where are you going?”
I looked at the card.
“There's someone I need to meet.”
“Who?”
I didn't answer.
“Vivi.”
“Damien Devereaux.”
“Absolutely not.”
Her voice was immediate.
“No.”
“I don't have much of a choice.”
“Yes, you do. You can come here.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
I looked toward the road.
“Someone followed me.”
“What?”
“I don't know who.”
“Then stay somewhere public.”
“Clara…”
“No. Listen to me. Don't go to that house.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“You've never even met him.”
“I don't need to.”
“You don't know anything about him.”
“Neither do you!”
She was right.
I stared at the card.
The address seemed to burn into my mind.
Midnight.
Why did Damien want to see me?
And how had he known my name before tonight?
“I'll call you,” I said.
“Vivi—”
I ended the call.
Immediately, guilt hit me.
But I couldn't explain what I was feeling.
Fear.
Suspicion.
Curiosity.
Maybe all three.
I put the card back into the envelope and slipped it into my coat.
Then I started walking.
Not toward home.
Toward the Devereaux Estate.
The road to the estate was darker than I remembered.
I had never actually walked this far north before.
The town lights disappeared behind me one by one until there was nothing but the moon, the fog, and the sound of the sea.
The road twisted through a forest of tall, ancient trees.
Branches scraped against each other overhead.
I pulled my coat tighter.
My phone showed one bar of signal.
Perfect.
If something happened to me, apparently I was on my own.
I almost turned around.
Then I saw the gates.
They emerged from the fog like something out of a nightmare.
]Tall black iron.
Decorative spikes.
A stone wall stretched on either side, disappearing into the darkness.
At the center was a metal crest.
A letter D surrounded by intricate vines.
I stopped.
This was the entrance to the Devereaux Estate.
The gates opened before I could touch them.
I jumped.
A security light came on.
Then another.
A camera turned toward me.
I stared at it.
Someone was watching.
A voice came through a speaker.
“Miss Moreau.”
I stepped back.
“Yes?”
“Please proceed to the house.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who is this?”
No answer.
The gates remained open.
I walked through.
They closed behind me.
The sound echoed through the night.
I stopped.
For one ridiculous second, I considered running back.
But the gates were already shut.
I looked toward the mansion.
It stood on the hill like a shadow against the sky.
The Devereaux Estate was enormous.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
Black rooftops.
Ivy climbing the sides.
Warm golden lights glowing behind several windows.
Beautiful.
And unsettling.
I walked toward the front entrance.
The doors opened before I reached them.
An older woman stood inside.
She wore a dark dress and held her hands neatly in front of her.
Her silver hair was pulled into a bun.
She studied me.
“Miss Moreau.”
I nodded.
“I'm Eleanor Graves.”
“The housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
I glanced behind her.
“Is Damien here?”
“He's expecting you.”
Of course he was.
She stepped aside.
I entered.
The door closed behind me.
The interior was even more impressive than I expected.
A massive chandelier hung above the foyer.
Dark wooden floors stretched into long corridors.
Paintings covered the walls.
Old portraits.
Devereaux family portraits.
Men and women with severe expressions stared down at me from generations ago.
I suddenly felt like I had walked into a museum.
Eleanor noticed me looking.
“The house has been in the family for over a hundred years.”
“I can tell.”
She gave me a faint smile.
“Mr. Devereaux is waiting in the library.”
I followed her.
Our footsteps echoed across the floor.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes?”
“Did Damien tell you why he wanted me here?”
She stopped.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You don't know?”
“I know better than to ask questions Mr. Devereaux doesn't volunteer to answer.”
That wasn't comforting.
We continued.
The library doors stood at the end of the corridor.
Eleanor opened them.
Then she stepped aside.
I entered alone.
The doors closed behind me.
And there he was.
Damien Devereaux.
Standing beside a tall window overlooking the ocean.
I had seen him before.
But never like this.
He was taller than I remembered.
Dark hair.
Sharp features.
A black shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.
He wasn't doing anything.
He didn't need to.
The room seemed to change simply because he was standing in it.
He turned.
His eyes met mine.
Dark.
Calm.
Unreadable.
“Genevieve.”
Hearing my name from him made something inside me tighten.
I folded my arms.
“You know my name.”
“Yes.”
“How?
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