Chapter 5 - The Empty Study
Julian dropped Chloe’s hand as if he had been burned. The sprawling expanse of the Blackwood hallway suddenly felt claustrophobic, the polished marble closing in like the walls of a tomb.
"The study," Julian muttered, his eyes wide with rising panic. He turned on his heel and broke into a dead sprint toward the western wing of the mansion, his black suit jacket billowing behind him.
"Julian, wait! You're letting a peasant manipulate you!" Elena shrieked, trailing desperately behind him in her restrictive maroon gown, her heels clicking a frantic, uneven rhythm against the floor.
Julian ignored her, his mind racing through the worst-case scenarios. Victoria was twenty-two, fiercely intelligent, ruthlessly ambitious, and possessed of the same cold ambition that made Elena a formidable adversary. If Victoria had discovered the truth about the cradle swap—if she knew that her veins carried the blood of the destitute woman Julian had once loved and abandoned—she wouldn't just be angry. She would seek total destruction.
Julian reached the heavy mahogany doors of his private study, threw them open, and stumbled inside.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the dying amber embers of the fireplace. The leather chairs were empty. The mahogany desk, usually kept in immaculate order, was a scene of chaos. Drawers had been yanked open, their contents spilled across the Persian rug like entrails.
"Victoria?" Julian called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous, book-lined room.
There was no answer. Only the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner, marking the seconds with agonizing precision.
Julian strode toward the desk. Resting in the center of the dark wood was a single sheet of heavy cream stationery, embossed with the Blackwood family crest. He snatched it up, his eyes scanning the sharp, familiar handwriting of the daughter he thought he knew.
Father,
If you are reading this, it means the secret is out. I always wondered why I felt like a stranger in my own home, why Elena looked at me with such thinly veiled contempt, and why you always watched me with that lingering sorrow in your eyes. I am not your blood. I am the daughter of the woman you threw away.
Do not look for me. I have taken the keys to the archive vault and the old deeds to the East District tenements. I am going to find out who gave the order to burn my mother alive—and when I find out it was you, I will make sure there is nothing left of the Blackwood name to inherit.
Julian’s hand shook so violently that the letter fluttered from his fingers, landing face-down on the rug.
"She went to the old East District archives," a voice murmured from the doorway.
Julian whipped around to see Chloe standing in the threshold, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron, her face pale in the dim light.
"How do you know that?" Julian demanded, taking a harsh step forward.
May you like
Chloe swallowed, her eyes reflecting the dying fire. "Because she didn't go alone. She sent a text to my phone an hour ago, before she left the estate. She said if I wanted to know who I really was, I should meet her at the ruins of the tenement fire... where my aunt Clara took her last breath."
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