SOLD INTO HIS ARMS

CHAPTER 4: The Room That Was Empty

Mirabel's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned pale.

"This is reckless," she said. "Completely reckless."

"You said that before we left your flat."

"Because it was true then and it is still true now." She turned the corner onto the quiet street where the Casmir house stood. "What if Victor is home? What if that woman is there?"

"Victor has a dinner meeting every Wednesday. Emmanuel drives him at seven. The house will be empty."

"And you know this because?"

"Because I was his wife for three years, Mirabel. I know his schedule better than he does."

She parked two streets away and turned off the engine. The dashboard clock read 7:42 PM.

"Twenty minutes," she said. "If you are not back in twenty minutes, I am coming inside."

I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

"Evelyn." Mirabel caught my wrist. "Be careful. Please."

I squeezed her arm, then stepped into the cold evening air. The walk to the house took three minutes. The street was dark and quiet, expensive homes glowing behind heavy curtains.

Victor's house looked empty. No lights, no cars. I slipped my key into the lock, and the door opened without resistance. The alarm beeped. I punched in our anniversary date, and silence returned.

The hallway smelled the same. That clean, expensive scent that once made me feel safe. Now it made me sick.

I climbed the stairs quickly, past the second floor, up to the third floor spare room where I kept my mother's things. Boxes of old photos, books, my mother's jewelry, and the blue and gold music box she gave me before she died. My father's note said the truth was inside it.

I reached the third floor landing. The spare room door was open. That was wrong. I always closed it.

I pushed the door wider and stepped inside.

Empty.

Not just tidy, gone. The shelves I filled with books were bare. The boxes of photos had vanished. The little table where I kept my mother's jewelry box was clean and dusty. Nothing remained.

"No." The word fell out of me before I could stop it. I turned in a circle, searching the corners, the closet, under the bare shelves. Everything was gone.

My mother's music box. The only thing my father told me to find. Gone.

I pulled out my phone and started typing a message to Mirabel, but the hallway light clicked on behind me.

"You still have your key."

I turned. Victor stood at the top of the stairs in his shirt sleeves, arms crossed, leaning against the banister. His dark eyes moved over me with something between curiosity and annoyance.

"Your dinner meeting," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected.

"Cancelled." He pushed off the banister and walked toward me. "Why are you here, Evelyn?"

"Where are my things?"

"Gone. You left this house. I cleared the room."

"Those were my mother's belongings." I stepped toward him. "You had no right."

"This is my house. I have every right."

"There was a music box. Blue and gold, with a small ballerina inside. Where is it?"

Something changed in his face. A tightening around his eyes, a slight pull at the corner of his mouth. He recognized what I was asking about.

"Why do you want it?" he asked.

"Because it belonged to my mother. Because it is the only thing I have left of her."

"You could have asked for it when you left."

"I am asking now."

He studied me. That cold, calculating stare that used to make me feel small. Tonight, it just made me tired.

"What is really going on, Evelyn? Why this box specifically?"

"Memories. That is all."

"You were never a good liar." He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. "Someone told you something. Who was it?"

"No one told me anything."

"Then why are you here at night, sneaking into a house you walked out of three days ago, asking about one specific item?"

I held his gaze. "Give me the music box, Victor."

"Answer my question first."

We stood in silence for ten full seconds. The house was so quiet I could hear the wind pressing against the windows.

"My father did not kill himself," I said.

Victor went rigid. His entire body stiffened, from his shoulders to his jaw. The confidence drained from his posture like water from a broken glass.

"What did you say?" His voice dropped low.

"He did not jump. He was pushed. Someone was on that roof with him. And I will find out who."

"Who told you this?" He grabbed my arm, not gently. "Evelyn. Who told you this?"

"Let go of me."

"This is not a game. If someone is feeding you information, you need to tell me right now."

"Why? So you can destroy the evidence like you destroyed my father's life?"

His grip loosened. He released me and took a step back, and in the dim light of that empty hallway, I saw something on his face I had never seen before. What I saw was fear.

Victor Casmir, the man who controlled every room he entered, was afraid.

"Stay away from my uncle," he said. The words came out rough, almost desperate. "Whatever you are doing, whatever you think you know, stay away from Benjamin."

I stared at him. He mentioned Benjamin before I said a single word about him.

"You know," I whispered. "You already know something about your uncle."

He turned away without answering and walked down the stairs. Halfway down, he stopped.

"Evelyn." His back was to me. "This is bigger than you understand. If you care about your safety, and the safety of that child you are carrying, you will drop this."

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my hand. A message from Mirabel:

"A black car just pulled into the driveway behind me. Two men inside. They are walking toward the house. Get out… Now!”