Chapter 5 - The Ghost of the East Wing
Eleanor stood alone in the freezing draft of the grand foyer, the howling wind whipping her blonde updo into a wild mess. The glittering party inside had resumed its hollow, rhythmic waltz, a soundtrack of blissful ignorance playing out while a real tragedy unfolded in the dark. Marcus. The mere sound of his name brought a cold sweat to Eleanor’s skin. Twenty-five years ago, Marcus Sterling had wormed his way into the Vance family fortune through charm and ambition, but behind closed doors, he had been a tyrant who drove Sarah to the brink of destruction. Eleanor had always suspected Marcus played a darker role in Sarah’s sudden disappearance, but with zero proof and a daughter who refused to listen, Eleanor’s hands had been tied. Now, her granddaughter was back, carrying the same locket, bearing the same bruises, and Julian had just gift-wrapped her right back to the monster who terrorized Sarah. Eleanor turned her back on the ballroom, abandoning her guests, her high society standing, and her fragile pride. She strode purposefully down the dimly lit hallway toward the east wing, her emerald green silk dress rustling against the antique Persian runners. The east wing was a labyrinth of forgotten history, dust-covered portrait galleries, and the private study where Henry Vance, Eleanor’s late husband, had kept his most secure legal archives. If Marcus had a legal foothold to claim the child, the original marriage settlements and trust deeds hidden within Henry’s reinforced wall safe would expose every fraudulent clause Julian and Marcus had conspired to create over the years. Eleanor reached the heavy oak door of the study, pulled a heavy brass key from the hidden pocket inside her gown, and unlocked the door with a loud, metallic click. The room was pitch black, smelling of old leather, pipe tobacco, and decades of secrets waiting to be uncovered. As she stepped inside and reached for the wall sconce, a soft floorboard creaked directly behind her in the dark hallway, followed by the slow, deliberate scrape of a heavy cane against the floor.
“Looking for something in the past, Eleanor?” a raspy, unfamiliar voice whispered from the shadows of the doorway.
May you like
Eleanor froze, her hand hovering inches from the electric switch, her heart dropping into her stomach as she realized she was not alone in the locked study.
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