Celeste clutched the photograph album to her chest as she crept down the hallway. Her fingers were numb. Her legs are shaky. Her mind kept circling that image—the one with her mother smiling beside a man who looked too much like Damien. But the date printed in the corner said it was taken before Damien should’ve been born.
He had lied.
Again.
She waited until the residence fell quiet. Then she slipped on her coat, shoved the key from the attic letter into her pocket, and grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen drawer. She didn’t understand what she was looking for. She just knew she couldn’t sit in that mansion another second without doing something.
The rain had stopped, but the wind still howled.
She drove for an hour outside the city, following the note in her mother’s diary. “Where
