Chapter 2
The door handle turned again.
Dominic Vale moved before I could scream.
One moment, he was standing beside the grand piano, listening to his dead sister accuse someone inside his own home of murder. The next, he had crossed the room and positioned himself between me and the door.
“Get behind the piano, Rachel.”
His voice was quiet.
That frightened me more than shouting would have.
I clutched Sofia's digital recorder against my chest. The tiny device felt impossibly heavy.
Outside, the handle stopped moving.
Dominic stared at the door.
“Whoever you are,” he said, “you have three seconds to explain yourself.”
Silence.
Then came two sharp knocks.
“Sir? It's Marcus.”
Dominic didn't relax.
“Why are you touching a locked door?”
“Security alert. I need to speak with you.”
“About?”
A pause.
“Your sister.”
The silence that followed seemed to swallow the entire mansion.
Dominic unlocked the door.
Marcus Cole stood outside, looking nothing like the man who had nearly laughed at my ridiculous feather-duster performance the previous afternoon.
His face was pale.
His right hand rested near the radio clipped to his belt.
And behind him, the long hallway was empty.
“What happened?” Dominic demanded.
Marcus looked past him.
At me.
At the recorder.
Then back at Dominic.
“I think someone knows you found it.”
Dominic's expression darkened.
“Explain.”
Marcus stepped inside and closed the door.
“Three minutes ago, someone accessed the security system and requested the west-wing camera feed.”
“Who?”
“I'm checking.”
“From which terminal?”
Marcus hesitated.
“The household administration office.”
I knew that office.
It belonged to Evelyn Price.
Evelyn had managed the Vale estate for almost twenty years. She supervised the staff, approved purchases, handled visitors, and seemed to know every conversation before it happened.
She was also the woman who had personally warned me about the music rule.
“Mr. Vale doesn't tolerate reminders of the past,” she'd said on my first day. “Especially ones involving his sister.”
Now those words sounded different.
Dominic turned to Marcus.
“Lock down the west wing. Nobody leaves the property without my permission.”
Marcus nodded.
Then Dominic said something that made my stomach tighten.
“And don't tell Evelyn why.”
Marcus glanced at him.
“Understood.”
He left.
Dominic locked the door again.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I looked down at the recorder.
“Do you think someone heard?”
Dominic's eyes went to the device.
“I think someone is afraid of what we're about to hear.”
“Then we should listen to the rest.”
His jaw tightened.
“You heard what Sofia said.”
“Yes.”
“You understand what that means?”
I looked at the photographs on the wall.
A smiling young woman.
A younger brother who had apparently built his entire adult life around missing her.
“It means someone lied to you for ten years.”
Dominic lowered his head.
For the first time since I'd met him, he looked less like a feared criminal and more like a man who had spent a decade standing in the ruins of one terrible day.
Then he reached for the recorder.
“Play it.”
I pressed the button.
Static crackled.
Sofia's voice returned.
“If you're hearing this, Dom, then I finally found the courage to tell you the truth.”
A faint breath.
“The accident wasn't an accident.”
Another pause.
“And the person responsible is still inside your house.”
Dominic's fingers curled against the piano.
The recording continued.
“I know what you're going to do when you hear this. You're going to get angry. You're going to start asking questions. And someone is going to tell you that I was confused.”
A shaky laugh escaped her.
“They've already been telling me that.”
My eyes moved toward Dominic.
His face was completely still.
“Please, Dom. Before you confront anyone, listen to everything. Remember the night I told you someone had been inside my room? Remember what you said?”
Dominic shut his eyes.
Sofia continued.
“You told me nobody would dare touch anything belonging to us.”
The recording hissed.
“But you were wrong.”
A muffled sound followed, as though Sofia had turned toward something outside the room where she was recording.
Then she whispered:
“I have to go. Someone's coming.”
A click.
The recording ended.
I waited.
Surely there had to be more.
But the little screen showed the file had finished.
Dominic didn't move.
“Dominic?”
He opened his eyes.
“Ten years ago,” he said, “Sofia told me someone had been going through her belongings.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
His answer was almost inaudible.
I stared at him.
“Nothing?”
“I told her she'd misplaced things. That she was imagining it.”
He turned toward the window.
“She was twenty-four. She'd been nervous for weeks. She kept saying someone was watching her.”
“Did she tell you who?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“And three days later, she was dead.”
The words settled between us like broken glass.
I wanted to tell him he couldn't have known.
But something about his expression stopped me.
Because Dominic wasn't looking for forgiveness.
He was remembering.
“What happened that night?” I asked.
He stared at the gardens below.
“Sofia was driving home from a charity dinner. Her car left the road near a bend north of the estate.”
“Was anyone with her?”
“No.”
“Were there witnesses?”
“A truck driver found the wreckage.”
“And the police?”
“They said she lost control in the rain.”
He rubbed one hand over his face.
“She was pronounced dead before I reached the hospital.”
I glanced toward the recorder.
“But she knew someone was threatening her.”
“Yes.”
“And you never knew about this recording?”
“No.”
“Why was it hidden in the piano bench?”
Dominic looked at the instrument.
“This room was hers. After the funeral, I locked it.”
“For ten years?”
He nodded.
“I couldn't bear hearing the piano. Couldn't bear looking at her records. Every piece of music reminded me that she wasn't coming back.”
That explained the rule.
But it didn't explain the lies.
“Why did you open it three days ago?”
Dominic was silent.
Then he said, “Because the piano started playing.”
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“What?”
“Three nights ago. Just after midnight. I was in my study when I heard a few notes coming from this wing.”
“Someone was playing?”
“When I arrived, the room was empty.”
He glanced at the piano.
“One key was still moving.”
My mouth went dry.
“Did you check the room?”
“I searched everything. That's when I noticed a loose panel behind the bench.”
“And found the recorder.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the piano.
Someone had entered a room sealed for a decade.
Someone had played a few notes.
And somehow, Dominic had discovered the one recording capable of unraveling his sister's death.
That didn't feel like a coincidence.
“Maybe someone wanted you to find it,” I whispered.
Dominic looked at me.
“That's exactly what I'm afraid of.”
***
By lunchtime, the estate had changed.
Security guards appeared at doors I'd never noticed before. Staff members whispered in corners. The gates remained shut, and everyone was told that an unspecified security inspection was underway.
I should have been downstairs polishing silverware.
Instead, Dominic had instructed Marcus to bring lunch to the west wing.
For both of us.
I stood awkwardly beside a beautiful antique desk while Marcus placed two trays on a side table.
“Eat,” Dominic said.
“I'm not hungry.”
“That wasn't a question.”
Normally, those words from a mafia boss might have terrified me.
But after listening to Sofia's voice, they sounded almost ordinary.
Like something an exhausted older brother might say.
Marcus lingered.
“Evelyn's asking questions,” he reported.
“What questions?” Dominic asked.
“Why the west wing is closed. Why security is checking internal access records.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Routine maintenance.”
Dominic nodded.
Marcus glanced at me.
“Rachel, you should know Evelyn's been looking for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“She says you abandoned your assigned duties.”
Dominic's expression turned icy.
“Rachel is working for me today.”
Marcus nodded.
“I'll make that clear.”
After he left, I finally sat down.
“She's going to hate me.”
“Evelyn?”
“She already thinks I'm irresponsible.”
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
“You sang to a statue.”
“That was one time.”
“He seemed impressed.”
I looked up.
Dominic was watching me.
And there it was again.
That almost-smile.
For a fleeting second, the suffocating tension eased.
Then he glanced toward Sofia's photograph, and the light disappeared from his face.
“She would have liked you,” he said.
I didn't know what to do with that.
So I asked a question.
“Was she always happy?”
Dominic looked surprised.
“Who?”
“Sofia.”
He considered the photographs.
“She wanted people to think she was.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
He picked up his untouched coffee.
“She loved performing. When we were kids, she'd make me sit through entire concerts in our living room. I was apparently a terrible audience.”
“Apparently?”
“She once charged me five dollars for falling asleep.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Dominic looked toward the piano.
“She used to say music could make any house feel alive.”
The sadness in his voice hurt more than I'd expected.
“Maybe that's why someone played the piano,” I said gently.
He studied me.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe they knew you'd come running.”
His expression sharpened.
“And that I'd find the recorder.”
“Exactly.”
Dominic set down his cup.
“Then whoever did it knew about the hidden compartment.”
“And possibly about Sofia's message.”
We stared at each other.
The same thought had occurred to both of us.
Whoever had entered the room three nights earlier might not have been trying to threaten Dominic.
They might have been trying to warn him.
***
At 2:17 that afternoon, Marcus returned with the first security report.
The exact hour Dominic had caught me dancing the previous day.
It was such a strange coincidence that I noticed immediately.
Marcus handed Dominic a folder.
“The household administration terminal accessed the west-wing camera system at 11:42 this morning.”
“One minute before you came for me,” I said.
Marcus nodded.
Dominic opened the report.
“Whose credentials?”
“Evelyn's.”
My stomach dropped.
But Marcus continued.
“The request came from her account. It doesn't prove she was at the keyboard.”
Dominic looked up.
“Where was she?”
“According to the staff schedule, supervising deliveries at the south entrance.”
“Could someone else use her account?”
“Possibly. Her office isn't always locked.”
Dominic closed the folder.
“Find out who entered it.”
Marcus hesitated.
“There's something else.”
He placed a second sheet on the desk.
“Someone also searched the household archives for Sofia's accident report.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Dominic's expression changed.
The same day he'd found the recorder.
“Which account?”
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
“Evelyn's again.”
The room went silent.
I remembered my first meeting with Evelyn.
Her crisp gray suit.
Her perfect posture.
The way she'd studied me when I mentioned that I liked listening to music while cleaning.
“No music,” she'd said sharply.
Not simply as a household rule.
Almost as a warning.
Dominic looked at Marcus.
“Bring her here.”
“Sir—”
“Now.”
Marcus left.
I rose from my chair.
“Should I go?”
“No.”
“Dominic, I'm just the housekeeper.”
He looked directly at me.
“You're the only person in this house who was willing to turn the music back on.”
I couldn't decide whether that was the strangest compliment I'd ever received or the most dangerous.
Possibly both.
***
Evelyn Price entered ten minutes later.
She was in her late fifties, silver-blond hair pinned into a flawless twist, wearing a navy dress with a small pearl brooch.
Her eyes moved across the room.
The piano.
The open photographs.
Me.
Then Dominic.
Her smile faltered.
“Dominic,” she said softly. “I didn't know you'd opened Sofia's room.”
“Three days ago.”
“How extraordinary.”
He didn't return her smile.
“Sit down, Evelyn.”
She looked at the chair.
“Has something happened?”
“I'm hoping you can tell me.”
Evelyn sat.
Dominic placed the security report in front of her.
“Why did someone use your account to access the west-wing cameras?”
She frowned.
“The cameras?”
“This morning. Eleven forty-two.”
“I have no idea.”
“Where were you?”
“With the delivery staff.”
“Who can access your computer?”
“My assistants. Occasionally the housekeeping supervisor.”
Her gaze flickered toward me.
My stomach twisted.
Dominic noticed.
“Rachel was with me.”
“I wasn't suggesting otherwise.”
But she had been.
Dominic slid the second sheet across the desk.
“And why was Sofia's accident report accessed three days ago?”
Evelyn stared at it.
For the first time, her composure cracked.
“I don't know.”
“Both searches came from your account.”
“Then someone must have used it.”
“Who?”
“I couldn't possibly say.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Did Sofia ever tell you someone was going through her room?”
Evelyn went completely still.
Only for a moment.
But I saw it.
“Yes,” she said carefully.
Dominic's voice lowered.
“When?”
“A few days before the accident.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I assumed she had.”
“She told me she thought someone was entering her room. You knew that?”
Evelyn's fingers tightened around her handbag.
“Sofia was under a great deal of stress.”
“That's not an answer.”
“I encouraged her to speak with you.”
“Did she tell you who she suspected?”
“No.”
“Did she ask for help?”
Evelyn swallowed.
“She asked me to check whether anyone had borrowed her keys.”
“And?”
“I couldn't find anything unusual.”
Dominic held her gaze.
“Did you believe her?”
Evelyn's expression softened into something that resembled pity.
“Dominic, your sister was frightened. But frightened people sometimes misunderstand ordinary things.”
I watched his face harden.
Because it was almost exactly what he'd told Sofia ten years earlier.
And Evelyn knew it.
“Get out,” Dominic said.
She blinked.
“Dominic—”
“Until further notice, you will not enter this wing or access any household records.”
Her cheeks flushed.
“I've served your family for nearly twenty years.”
“Then you'll understand how seriously I take this.”
She stood.
For a moment, I thought she might argue.
Instead, she looked at me.
Something cold flickered behind her eyes.
“Be careful, Rachel,” she said.
I stiffened.
“With what?”
She smiled faintly.
“Old houses have a way of keeping secrets for good reasons.”
Then she walked out.
***
Dominic didn't speak for a long time.
I stayed near the window, watching the afternoon sunlight stretch across Sofia's piano.
Finally, I said, “She knew more than she admitted.”
“Maybe.”
“Did you see her face when you mentioned Sofia's room?”
“Yes.”
“She was scared.”
Dominic looked at the closed door.
“Fear doesn't prove guilt.”
I hadn't expected that answer from a man with his reputation.
He noticed my surprise.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
I hesitated.
“I thought you'd be angrier.”
His eyes darkened.
“I am angry.”
“Then why aren't you doing something?”
“Because ten years ago, I reacted before I listened. I dismissed Sofia because I thought I understood everything.”
He looked down at the recorder.
“I'm not making that mistake again.”
That was the first moment I understood something important about Dominic Vale.
His greatest fear wasn't losing control.
It was discovering that he'd already lost something irreplaceable because he'd refused to listen.
And whatever Sofia had been trying to tell him, he was finally listening now.
***
At five o'clock, Marcus delivered another report.
This time, he closed the door before speaking.
“I found something in the old maintenance records.”
Dominic stood.
“What?”
“The west-wing security system was replaced eight years ago. Before that, the household office kept a separate visitor log.”
“And?”
“On the afternoon before Sofia died, someone requested a duplicate key to her room.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
Marcus handed over a photocopy.
Dominic read it.
His face went rigid.
I moved closer.
The entry contained a date, a key number, and an authorization signature.
Evelyn Price.
My breath caught.
Dominic stared at the paper.
“Was the duplicate returned?”
“No record of it.”
“Was the request legitimate?”
“I haven't established that yet.”
Dominic lowered himself into a chair.
He looked suddenly older.
“I remember Sofia asking whether the locks had been changed.”
“When?” I asked.
“The morning before she died.”
“Did she tell you why?”
He looked away.
“She said she didn't feel safe.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you say?”
Dominic's answer came slowly.
“I told her this was the safest house in Westchester.”
He gave a bitter laugh.
“Apparently, that was easier than asking what frightened her.”
Marcus glanced toward the piano.
“There's another possibility.”
Dominic looked up.
“The key could explain how someone entered this room three nights ago.”
I stared at the photographs.
Sofia had feared someone entering her room.
A duplicate key had been authorized.
Ten years later, someone had entered the same room again.
And Dominic had finally heard her warning.
The pattern was impossible to ignore.
“What happens now?” I asked.
Dominic stood.
“Marcus, preserve the original maintenance records. Find out who actually signed that authorization and who collected the key.”
Marcus nodded.
“And Evelyn?”
“Keep her away from the records. Don't accuse her of anything yet.”
“And Rachel?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Rachel stays with me until we understand what's happening.”
My heart stumbled.
“Dominic, I don't think—”
“You heard the recording.”
“Yes.”
“Then whoever's afraid of it may assume you know more than you do.”
I glanced toward the door.
He was right.
And suddenly, the mansion didn't feel large enough to hide in.
***
By early evening, a storm had rolled across Westchester.
Rain battered the tall windows.
Thunder moved over the distant hills.
The same kind of weather that had surrounded Sofia's death.
Dominic stood beside the piano, staring at an old photograph.
I approached quietly.
“Are you okay?”
He didn't turn.
“No.”
I appreciated that he didn't lie.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
So I stayed.
For a while, we simply listened to the rain.
Then he asked, “Why did you take this job?”
The question surprised me.
“Because the salary was excellent.”
He looked at me.
“That's all?”
I smiled faintly.
“And because I needed a fresh start.”
“From what?”
“A life that wasn't going anywhere.”
I sat on the piano bench.
“My mother used to tell me that if I wasn't happy, I should change something instead of waiting for someone else to change it for me.”
“Wise woman.”
“She was.”
Dominic noticed the past tense.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked down.
“She died two years ago.”
His expression softened.
“What was she like?”
“Loud. Funny. Always singing.”
He glanced at the piano.
“Sounds familiar.”
“She would have loved what happened yesterday.”
“The statue performance?”
“Especially that.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
It vanished almost immediately, but it was real.
I looked around the room.
“Your sister wouldn't have wanted all this silence.”
He followed my gaze.
“No.”
“She loved music.”
“Yes.”
“Then why punish the whole house for remembering her?”
Dominic looked at me for a long moment.
I thought I'd gone too far.
But then he walked toward the piano.
He rested his tattooed hand on the polished lid.
“Sofia used to play something when I couldn't sleep.”
“What?”
“A little piece she wrote when we were teenagers. She never gave it a proper name.”
“Do you remember it?”
“Every note.”
“Could you play it?”
His shoulders stiffened.
“I haven't touched a piano in ten years.”
“You don't have to.”
He stared at the keys.
Then, slowly, he sat beside me.
The bench was wide enough for two, though his presence made it feel much smaller.
His hands hovered over the keyboard.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then he pressed a single key.
The note echoed through the room.
Dominic flinched.
I pretended not to notice.
He pressed another.
Then a third.
A simple melody began to take shape.
Uneven at first.
Fragile.
But beautiful.
Something changed in his face as he played.
The hard lines around his eyes softened.
His shoulders lowered.
For the first time, I could imagine the boy in those photographs.
The younger brother who'd sat beside Sofia, complaining through her concerts while secretly memorizing every song.
Then Dominic stopped.
His eyes were wet.
“She always got the ending right,” he whispered.
I touched his arm.
“Maybe someday you will too.”
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
Neither of us spoke.
But for one quiet moment, the fear and suspicion disappeared.
There was only music.
And grief.
And two people who understood what it meant to miss someone so much that the world never sounded the same again.
***
At 8:36 p.m., the first real threat arrived.
It came on my phone.
I was in the small guest bedroom Dominic had assigned me near the west wing when an unknown number sent a message.
GO HOME, RACHEL.
My breath caught.
A second message appeared.
YOU WERE HIRED TO CLEAN THE HOUSE.
NOT DIG UP ITS DEAD.
I stared at the screen.
My hands began shaking.
Then a third message arrived.
ASK DOMINIC WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST PERSON WHO ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT SOFIA.
For a moment, I couldn't move.
Someone knew my name.
Someone knew what I'd heard.
And someone wanted me frightened enough to leave.
I hurried into the hallway.
Dominic was standing outside his study, speaking quietly to Marcus.
When he saw my face, he stopped.
“What happened?”
I handed him the phone.
He read the messages.
His expression became terrifyingly calm.
“Marcus.”
“I see them.”
“Preserve the messages and number. Have the security team check for anything unusual near Rachel's room.”
Marcus nodded.
“Already on it.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Did you recognize the number?”
“No.”
“Has anyone contacted you before?”
“No.”
He studied my face.
“Are you frightened?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I blinked.
“Good?”
“Fear means you're taking this seriously.”
He handed back my phone.
“But whoever sent those messages doesn't get to decide what happens next.”
I wanted to believe him.
I desperately wanted to.
But the third message had planted something poisonous in my mind.
“What happened to the last person?” I asked.
Dominic's expression changed.
“Rachel—”
“The last person who asked questions about Sofia. Who were they?”
Marcus looked away.
Dominic stood motionless.
Then he said, “A private investigator.”
My stomach dropped.
“You hired one?”
“Six months after the accident.”
“What happened?”
“He collected statements from people who knew Sofia. He questioned the crash report.”
“And?”
“One night, he called and said he'd found something important.”
My pulse hammered.
“What?”
“He wouldn't explain over the phone.”
Dominic looked toward the darkened windows.
“We arranged to meet the next morning.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He disappeared.”
The word hung in the air.
I stared at him.
“Disappeared?”
“His office was cleared out. His number stopped working. His landlord said he'd left town.”
“Did you look for him?”
“For months.”
“And you never found him?”
Dominic shook his head.
Marcus spoke quietly.
“His name was Thomas Reed. We reopened our search after the recording was discovered.”
I looked between them.
“Do you think he's dead?”
Dominic didn't answer.
That was answer enough to frighten me.
***
At 9:14, Marcus returned to Dominic's study.
I was sitting on the sofa, trying unsuccessfully to drink a glass of water.
Marcus carried a slim envelope.
“We found the archived investigator file.”
Dominic looked up.
“Where?”
“In the old storage records. There were copies of Reed's invoices and one partial report.”
“Anything useful?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Possibly.”
He opened the envelope.
“Reed interviewed several household employees. Most said they noticed nothing unusual before Sofia's accident.”
“And the others?” I asked.
“One former gardener reported seeing an unfamiliar vehicle near the service entrance two nights before the crash.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Was there a description?”
“Dark sedan. No license plate recorded.”
“That could have been anyone,” Dominic said.
Marcus nodded.
“But Reed also noted that someone in household management changed Sofia's driver schedule on the day she died.”
Dominic went still.
“What change?”
“Her regular driver was told he wasn't needed.”
I looked up.
“So Sofia drove herself?”
“Yes.”
Dominic stood abruptly.
“I was told she dismissed the driver because she wanted privacy.”
Marcus looked troubled.
“The file doesn't say who issued the instruction. Reed had requested the original dispatch notes before he disappeared.”
“And did he receive them?”
“We don't know.”
Dominic turned toward the window.
Rain streamed down the glass.
The woman who had managed the house for almost twenty years had access to staff schedules, old files, keys, and internal security records.
But access wasn't proof.
Not yet.
Marcus placed the envelope on the desk.
“There's one more thing.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
“Reed's final invoice mentions a follow-up interview scheduled with Sofia's closest confidante in the household.”
“Who?”
Marcus read from the document.
“Evelyn Price.”
My breath caught.
“Did the interview happen?”
“There are no notes.”
Dominic looked toward the study door.
“Find out.”
Marcus nodded.
But before he could leave, his radio crackled.
A guard's voice sounded through the static.
“Mr. Cole, we've got a problem at the south entrance.”
Marcus pressed the button.
“Go ahead.”
“Someone tried to open the vehicle gate from the inside.”
Dominic frowned.
“Who?”
“We couldn't identify them. The camera feed went black for twenty-two seconds.”
Marcus straightened.
“Is the gate secure?”
“Yes, sir.”
Another burst of static.
Then the guard added:
“We found something attached to the keypad.”
“What?”
“A handwritten note.”
Marcus looked at Dominic.
“Read it.”
The guard hesitated.
Then spoke.
“Tell Dominic the seventeenth recording isn't the only thing Sofia left behind.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Dominic seized the radio.
“Where is the note?”
“Still here, sir. We haven't touched it.”
“Preserve it. Nobody leaves that entrance.”
He handed the radio back.
Marcus moved immediately.
Dominic turned toward me.
His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them.
“Whoever is doing this wants us to keep looking.”
I swallowed.
“Or wants to control what we find.”
He stared at me.
Then nodded once.
“Exactly.”
***
At 10:02 p.m., Dominic and I returned to Sofia's room.
The storm had grown stronger.
Every window trembled beneath the wind.
Marcus remained downstairs with the security team, reviewing the south-gate incident.
Dominic locked the walnut doors behind us.
“Why are we back here?” I asked.
“Because whoever left that note mentioned something Sofia left behind.”
He crossed to the piano.
“And she used to hide things in places nobody would think to search.”
I followed him.
“Like the loose panel?”
“Like the loose panel.”
He opened the bench again.
Inside were old music books, faded concert programs, and several folded sheets of handwritten compositions.
Dominic examined them carefully.
I knelt beside the bench.
“Do you think there's another recording?”
“I don't know.”
We searched for nearly twenty minutes.
Nothing.
Then my eyes caught something unusual.
One of the sheet-music books had a small tear in its leather cover.
I lifted it.
“Dominic?”
He turned.
“What?”
“This looks like it was opened before.”
He came closer.
The inside lining had been separated along one edge.
There was nothing inside it.
But a narrow rectangular indentation remained in the leather.
As if something small had once been hidden there.
Dominic's face tightened.
“What was it?” I whispered.
He ran his thumb across the empty space.
“I don't know.”
Then he turned the book over.
On the back cover, Sofia had written a short note in blue ink.
Dominic read it aloud.
“For Dom. When you're ready to listen.”
His breath caught.
I stared at the words.
The same message the hidden recorder seemed to carry.
Someone had known where Sofia kept her secrets.
And someone might already have taken the next piece.
A soft sound came from behind us.
Click.
Dominic straightened.
We both turned toward the door.
At first, I saw nothing unusual.
Then I noticed the metal lock.
It was moving.
Not from inside.
From outside.
“Dominic,” I whispered.
He crossed the room.
The lock clicked again.
Then came a quiet scraping sound.
Someone was working a key inside the door.
Dominic reached for the handle.
“Marcus?” he called.
No answer.
The scraping stopped.
Then a woman's voice spoke from the hallway.
Low.
Controlled.
Familiar.
“Dominic, please don't open that door.”
Evelyn.
I froze.
Dominic's expression became unreadable.
“Why not?”
There was a long pause.
Then Evelyn answered.
“Because there's something about Sofia's death you still don't understand.”
Dominic's hand tightened around the handle.
“Then tell me.”
A shaky breath sounded from the other side.
“I should have told you ten years ago.”
My heart hammered.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Evelyn. Open the door.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
Her voice trembled.
“Because if you see what's behind me, you'll never believe I was trying to protect your sister.”
Dominic looked toward me.
In his eyes, I saw anger, dread, and a desperate hunger for answers.
Then Evelyn whispered something that turned my blood cold.
“Dominic, Sofia didn't trust me at the end.”
A pause.
“And she had a very good reason.”
Before either of us could respond, a heavy thud echoed through the hallway.
Evelyn gasped.
Something struck the door.
Then came silence.
Dominic unlocked it immediately.
He pulled the door open.
Evelyn Price was sitting on the floor, one hand pressed against the wall, visibly shaken but conscious.
Several feet away lay a dropped silver key.
And at the far end of the corridor, a dark figure disappeared around the corner.
“Marcus!” Dominic shouted.
His voice thundered through the mansion.
“WEST WING! NOW!”
I rushed toward Evelyn.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, breathing rapidly.
“Someone pushed past me.”
“Who?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't see their face.”
Dominic knelt in front of her.
“Evelyn, what were you trying to tell us?”
She stared at him.
For the first time, the perfectly composed house manager looked utterly terrified.
“I thought I could keep it buried.”
“Keep what buried?”
She glanced toward the open piano room.
Then toward the silver key on the carpet.
“That's Sofia's old room key,” she whispered. “The duplicate.”
Dominic's face drained of color.
“Where did you get it?”
Evelyn began to cry.
“I kept it because I thought it would protect her.”
“Protect her from whom?”
She opened her mouth.
But before she could answer, my phone vibrated.
Another message.
Same unknown number.
I looked down.
This time, there were no threats.
Only a photograph.
A grainy photograph of Sofia standing beside her car on the night she died.
She wasn't alone.
Another person stood beside her, partially obscured by the open driver's door.
Beneath the photograph was one sentence.
THE PERSON WHO SENT HER OUT THAT NIGHT IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.
I slowly raised my eyes.
Evelyn was staring at my phone.
Her expression changed from fear to something far worse.
Recognition.
Dominic noticed.
“Rachel,” he said softly. “What is it?”
I tried to speak.
But Evelyn interrupted.
Her voice broke into a desperate whisper.
“Dominic, don't believe that photograph.”
He turned toward her.
“Why?”
She covered her mouth.
And then, barely audible above the storm, she said:
“Because I was there the night Sofia died.”
For ten years, Dominic Vale had believed his sister died alone on a rain-soaked road.
Now the woman who had managed his home, controlled his household, and guarded its secrets for almost two decades was telling him she had been there.
Dominic slowly stood.
Every trace of warmth vanished from his face.
His voice was dangerously quiet.
“Evelyn.”
She looked up.
He held out his hand.
“Give me the key.”
Her trembling fingers placed the silver key in his palm.
Then he asked the question that made the entire hallway fall silent.
“If you were there that night...”
He took one step closer.
“...why did you let me bury my sister believing she was alone?”
Evelyn stared at him through her tears.
And her answer was the last thing either of us expected.
“Because, Dominic...”
She swallowed.
“Someone made sure you would never learn who was with her.”
From downstairs came Marcus's voice over the security radio.
“Dominic, we've identified the person who was in the west wing.”
Dominic grabbed his radio.
“Who?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Sir, you need to come downstairs.”
“Tell me now.”
A long burst of static filled the hallway.
Then Marcus answered:
“The security footage shows someone entering Sofia's room three nights ago.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“And?”
Marcus's next words stopped my heart.
“Sir... the person used Sofia's original key.”
Dominic looked at the silver duplicate in his hand.
Then at Evelyn.
Then at the dark hallway where the unknown figure had vanished.
Marcus continued, his voice suddenly strained.
“And whoever it was knew exactly where the piano recording had been hidden.”
The radio went silent.
Dominic stood motionless.
Evelyn lowered her head.
And I finally understood the terrifying possibility we'd overlooked.
The person who had planted the recorder might not be the person who killed Sofia.
But they were still moving through the mansion.
Still watching us.
And they knew the secret that had destroyed Dominic Vale's family.
Then, from inside Sofia's room, the grand piano played a single note.
Neither Dominic nor I had touched it.
May you like
And this time...
We weren't alone in the hallway.
