Chapter 8 - The Empty Bed
Julian shoved Helena aside, leaving her stumbling against the bare vanity table, and bolted out of the dressing room. He sprinted down the corridor, his boots pounding against the hardwood floor. The door to the guest suite stood wide open, the white sheer curtains billowing inward from an open window.
He rushed into the room, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The bed was empty. The crisp white duvet was tossed aside, and a smear of dark blood stained the edge of the mattress where Evelyn’s fingers had gripped the fabric. There was no sign of her—no torn wedding dress, no tattered veil, no frail body struggling for breath.
Julian ran to the open window and looked down. The drop was nearly thirty feet to the manicured lawn below. There was no ladder, no trellis, no obvious way for an emaciated, injured woman to have descended without severe injury or death.
"Evelyn!" he shouted into the empty room, his voice cracking with panic.
Footsteps sounded behind him in the doorway. Julian whipped around, expecting Helena, but instead found the maid standing there, trembling so violently she could barely keep her balance. She was clutching a heavy leather ledger she had pulled from beneath her apron.
"She didn't jump, Boss," the maid whispered, her eyes wide with terror as she held out the ledger. "She was taken."
Julian snatched the ledger from her hands. It was the household logbook, documenting every delivery, every visitor, and every structural modification made to the mansion over the last decade. He flipped open to the current page. There was a fresh entry, written in messy ink just hours ago, detailing the activation of the service elevator shaft hidden behind the east wing fireplace.
"The service elevator," Julian muttered, realizing with a sick dread that the house had been designed with secret passages dating back to its prohibition-era origins.
"She’s heading down to the wine cellars," the maid said, backing toward the hallway. "And Mrs. Vance isn't the only one waiting for her down there."
Julian froze. "What do you mean, not the only one?"
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Before the maid could answer, the heavy oak door of the guest suite slammed shut of its own accord, and the distinct sound of a deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the room.
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