Chapter 138

Chapter 138:

That night, as I settled into the guest room for what I hoped was the last time, I pulled out the encrypted phone and typed:

Still here. Braydon has new leverage. Extending stay. Don’t come yet.

The reply came instantly: How long?

I don’t know. A few more days. I’ll find the evidence.

R𝘦а𝗱 𝗐𝗂𝘁𝘩𝘰𝘂t 𝗶𝘯𝘵𝗲𝗿𝗋uрt𝗶о𝗇𝗌 oո ѕ.𝖼о𝗆

A long pause. Then: 48 hours was a promise, Adella. Not a suggestion.

I know. Trust me.

I always trust you. It’s him I don’t trust. Be safe.

I will.

I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere in this house, Victoria was hiding pieces of my mother. And somewhere in this house, Braydon was hiding the proof of his father’s crimes.

I had to find both before time ran out.

The storm outside battered the windows of the guest room, the glass rattling in its frame like chattering teeth. It was my third night in Hyde Manor, and the silence of the house pressed heavier than the thunder. I sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, watching the clock tick toward midnight.

Victoria had promised to leave the attic door unlocked. Victoria — the woman who had watched me suffer for a decade, who had done nothing while her son tormented me. Could I trust her?

I didn’t know. But my mother’s letters were the only thread I had left. I had to try.

The clock struck twelve. I stood, my heart hammering against my ribs, crossed to the door, eased it open, and slipped into the dark hallway.

The house was silent. No servants, no guards — nothing but the creak of old floorboards beneath my feet. I moved toward the attic stairs, every shadow a potential threat, every draft of cold air a warning.

I reached the attic door. It was unlocked, just as she had promised.

I slipped inside and climbed the narrow stairs.

The attic was dark, lit only by the faint silver wash of moonlight through a small window. I moved carefully, my eyes adjusting to the gloom, searching —

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I spun around.

Victoria stood at the top of the stairs, holding a small lantern. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“You came,” she whispered.

“You said you had my mother’s things p>

She nodded slowly, reaching into the pocket of her robe. She produced a small silver key and held it out to me.

“Under the floorboards. Near the old trunk. I’ve kept them there for fifteen years p>

I took the key, my fingers brushing against hers. She flinched but didn’t pull away.

“Why?” I asked. “Why help me now p>

Victoria’s eyes filled with tears. “Because fourteen years ago, I watched your mother die, and I did nothing. Because every night since, I have seen her face. Because maybe — if I help you — she’ll finally let me rest p>

Before I could respond, a crash echoed from below. A door slammed open. Braydon’s voice tore through the house, roaring and drunk and furious.

“ADELLA p>