The next morning brought an eerie stillness. The fog had crept in overnight, blanketing the Knight's estate in a pale shroud. Emily stood at her window, the pendant Alexander had given her resting against her collarbone. She hadn't taken it off. Not because she trusted him—but because she needed an anchor. Something real.
A knock at her door startled her.
It was Lillian, the only maid who didn't treat her like glass.
"Ma'am, a visitor," she said with a slight bow. "A woman. Says she's your aunt."
Emily frowned. "I don't have any—"
But then she remembered. Her mother's cousin, Ruth. They hadn't spoken since her mother's funeral. How would she have known where to find her?
Still, something in Lillian's eyes made her trust it.
"Where is she?"
"In the east conservatory."
Emily slipped into flats and made her way through the winding halls. The east conservatory was rarely used, full of overgrown orchids and old sunlight. When she entered, she spotted the woman instantly—slim, mid-fifties, wrapped in a deep plum shawl. She turned at the sound of footsteps.
"Emily," the woman said with a tired smile. "You look like your mother."
Emily's heart beat faster. "You're Ruth?"
Ruth nodded, stepping forward to hug her. It felt stiff, unsure, but sincere.
"I had to see you," Ruth said. "Before they silence me."
Emily pulled back. "What do you mean?"
Ruth's voice dropped. "This family—Alexander's family—do you even know who they are? You're not just some wife plucked from obscurity. You're part of a legacy now. One with enemies older than you can imagine."
Emily shook her head. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because your mother knew them. Once. Long before she met your father."
Emily's breath caught.
"What?"
"She tried to leave that world behind, Emily. She tried to protect you from it. But the moment you married into the Knights, the past came crawling back. And not all of it will stay buried."
Emily took a shaky step backwards. "You need to tell me everything."
But before Ruth could answer, a voice rang out behind them.
"That won't be necessary."
Alexander.
He stood at the entrance, suit immaculate, eyes glinting with restrained fury.
"Ruth," he said coldly. "You've overstepped."
Ruth turned slowly. "You're making the same mistakes your father made, Alexander. You can't control everything."
"I can control enough," he snapped.
Emily stepped between them. "Stop. Both of you. I'm tired of being spoken around. Someone tell me the truth."
Alexander's jaw flexed. "Later."
"No. Now."
But Ruth was already walking away, brushing past Alexander with a whisper meant only for Emily.
"Find the ledger. Your mother left it for you."
And then she was gone.
---
That night, Emily couldn't sleep. She searched every drawer, every wardrobe, even the marble pedestal she'd bumped days ago. Nothing.
But in her mother's old jewellery box—something she'd carried with her from flat to flat over the years—Emily found a hidden compartment.
Inside it, a single brass key.
No note. No explanation. Just a number etched on its side: Room 317.
She didn't know what it opened yet.
But she intended to find out.