The number haunted her all night. Room 317. It didn't belong to any part of the Knight mansion she was familiar with. She even discreetly questioned Lillian the next morning, who only frowned and said, "There's no such room, ma'am. At least not anymore."
Emily didn't believe her.
The Knights were masters of concealment, and Emily was tired of being steered like a passenger in her own life.
She waited until nightfall when the halls quieted and shadows lengthened across the ornate walls. With the brass key tucked inside her sleeve, she wandered the west wing—one of the oldest parts of the estate. A part rarely visited.
There were no signs on the doors, no numbers. But she noticed one strange hallway—narrower than the others and ending in what looked like a built-over wall.
Emily reached it and ran her fingers along the wallpaper, tapping softly. A hollow echo met her touch.
She pressed harder—and with a soft click, the panel shifted.
Behind it: a door.
Old. Heavy. Dusty with time. But carved into the brass plate was the number: 317.
Her heart thudded.
The key slid into the lock perfectly.
It turned.
The door creaked open to reveal a dim, windowless room—bare except for a desk, a worn leather chair, and a single cabinet bolted to the floor.
A thick smell of aged paper and leather clung to the air.
Emily stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Every part of her screamed that she shouldn't be here—but something deeper told her this was exactly where she needed to be.
She pulled open the cabinet.
Inside, files. Dozens. Some are labelled with codenames. Others—names she recognized from dinner parties, headlines, history books.
One folder bore her mother's maiden name: Caroline Foster.
Emily's breath caught as she opened it. Photos of her mother—young, vibrant, standing beside men in tailored suits, often with a youthful Alexander in the background. Reports. Letters. Surveillance.
And a ledger.
It wasn't a financial log—it was a map. A trail. Her mother's escape plan from the Knight family… and the truth she'd uncovered.
There were names. Coordinates. Evidence.
And one entry circled in red ink:
> "If anything happens to me, Emily must find this. She has the right to know who she is. Who they are. And what they took from us."
Emily's hands shook.
Suddenly, a soft click behind her.
The door was no longer ajar.
Someone else was in the room.
"Looking for bedtime stories?" a voice drawled behind her.
She turned sharply.
It was Elias—Alexander's head of security. Loyal. Dangerous.
"You're not supposed to be here, Mrs. Knight," he said, stepping closer. "That room was sealed for a reason."
Emily didn't blink. "Maybe because the truth was locked inside it."
Elias smiled faintly. "Careful. Some truths are heavier than they look."
He took a step forward, and Emily snapped the ledger shut.
"I'm leaving with this."
"No, you're not," he said, pulling something from his coat—a sleek black phone. "But Alexander wants to see you. Now."
---
Back in Alexander's private study, the fire was lit, but his expression was ice.
"You went to Room 317," he said flatly.
"I had to," Emily replied. "My mother tried to protect me. From you. From all of this."
Alexander didn't deny it.
"She tried to protect you from a world that doesn't allow exits. You're not in a fairy tale, Emily. You're in a dynasty built on control. On silence. And now, they'll know you opened that room."
She stared at him. "Then you'll have to choose. Them… or me."
The silence that followed was thick. Then Alexander said, almost too softly:
"I already did the moment I married you."
---
Outside, the fog lifted slightly, revealing the stars above London once more.
But deep within the walls of the Knight empire, the real game had only just begun.
Emily wasn't just uncovering secrets.
She was becoming one.