Chapter 6 - The Locked Attic Door
The howling wind finally subsided, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence that pressed down on the Blackwood estate like a lead weight. Julian had managed to calm Eleanor just enough to sedate her, locking her inside the master suite with strict instructions to the staff that no one was to enter. He descended the grand staircase with deliberate, heavy steps, his face carved from stone.
At the bottom of the stairs, Marisa stood waiting, her arms crossed over her black apron. She had retrieved the crimson-sealed letter from the hallway, holding it tightly in her palm.
"You knew she was coming back, didn't you?" Marisa demanded quietly, stepping directly into his path as he reached the foyer.
Julian stopped, looking down at the older maid with eyes as cold as arctic ice. "You read it."
"I had to," Marisa snapped back, her voice shaking with righteous indignation. "That letter wasn't just a threat, Julian. It's a declaration of war. Eleanor saw her out on the balcony. She saw the veil. How long did you think you could keep burying the truth about what happened seven years ago?"
"I buried nothing," Julian hissed, stepping dangerously close to her. The imposing height difference between them vanished beneath the sheer intensity of his presence. "The Vanguard estate burned to the ground because of carelessness, not conspiracy. The coroner identified the bodies. The case was closed."
"Then whose handwriting is on this paper?" Marisa challenged, thrusting the crimson-sealed letter into his chest.
Julian snatched the paper from her hand, his eyes scanning the jagged, frantic ink in the dim foyer light. As he read the words—*Tell him the wedding veil is made of ash*—a muscle twitched violently in his jaw. For a brief second, a flicker of genuine panic crossed his features, though he quickly masked it behind his habitual armor of arrogant control.
"This is a forgery," Julian muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. "Someone from the outside is trying to exploit the timing of our wedding to destabilize the estate."
"Or someone from the inside never left," a frail, raspy voice echoed from the shadows of the corridor.
Both Julian and Marisa spun around. Arthur stepped into the flickering light of the wall sconces, holding an old, iron-bound master key ring that jingled softly with every step.
"Arthur, go back to your quarters," Julian warned, his voice dropping into a lethal register.
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"I can't do that, Master Julian," Arthur replied softly, holding up a specific, oversized skeleton key. "Because the lock on the third-floor attic door has just been turned from the inside. And the only duplicate key to that room burned in the fire seven years ago."
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