The girl in the cellar hadn’t just haunted my dreams that night, she owned them.

Her voice. Her fear. Her warning.

“I thought I could survive him too.” The words was stuck in my head .

Even after the sun had risen and I stood beneath the golden light spilling into my room, I could still hear her words like a whisper etched behind my ear .

And she knew my name.

That part wouldn’t leave me alone.

Had someone told her about me. Or she’d seen me. Or- No. That was impossible.

She was locked away, hidden like a secret shame, in the dark beneath the earth.

She couldn’t have seen me.

So then how?

How did she know to come to this room?

I couldn't stop asking myself those questions.

My days had started falling into a routine I didn’t ask for.

Breakfast in silence. Locked hours i spent sorting files in the west wing’s war room. Eyes constantly on me sometimes hidden behind glass, sometimes obvious. Even when I couldn’t see Isaac, I felt him, I knew he was close, watching my every move.

Today was different, nevertheless.

The air in the war room was thicker. And I wasn't alone.

Isaac was already there when I entered. At first, he continued tapping something into his phone instead of looking up. Finally, he spoke.

“You are silent.”

I grabbed my seat and began organizing the day's files. I said, "Maybe I'm learning that curiosity isn't safe here."

"That's smart," he said lowly, "but boring."

I glanced up. "Would you prefer i throw a tantrum?"

He tilted his head, "I would prefer that honestly."

I bit my lips, choosing silence over the truth

Because the truth was, I was lying. Every second of every hour I was pretending. pretending to accept my fate. pretending not to hate him. Pretending as though I had not discovered a tunnel beneath the floorboards. pretending I wasn't terrified, pretending I wasn't plotting. After another look at me, he went over to a locked cabinet. He opened it and handed me a slim silver laptop.

“Today you’ll begin cross-referencing the numbers with recent financial transactions.” He said.

I frowned. “You’re giving me access to bank records now?”

His expression didn’t shift. “Only what I want you to see. Use it well.”

I wanted to slam the laptop shut just to spite him. But I needed his trust just enough of it to slip deeper into his world.

So I opened it.

A spreadsheet popped up. Dozens of names. Phone numbers. Wire transfer details. Offshore accounts.

A tangled web of power and blood.

And just like that, I was inside.

By midday, I couldn’t take the silence.

“Who is she?” I asked but immediately regretted.

Isaac didn’t look up from his folder. “Who?”

“The girl locked in the basement.” I guess there is no backing down now.

Silence.

I watched him. “I saw her, Isaac.”

He looked at me then slowly, like dragging his eyes across a battlefield.

“How?”

I took a risk. “The surveillance room. You didn’t shut the door all the way.”

That was a lie. But it was safer than telling him I’d crawled through a hidden tunnel like a rat in his gilded maze and.

He said nothing. Just stared.

Finally, he walked toward me. Slowly. Deliberately.

“I warned you not to go digging.” He said, his voicer slightly harsher

“I didn’t,” I lied again. “But you left the door open. You wanted me to see, didn’t you?”

He stopped in front of me.

And for a moment, I thought he might slap me. Or drag me away. Or worse lock me up.

But he only leaned in slightly, his voice a murmur. “There are places in this house even I don’t go anymore.”

I swallowed hard. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, standing straight again, “some doors should stay closed.”

That night, I returned to my room without needing a guard to escort me.

Something was shifting. Either he was starting to trust me… or he wanted me to think he was.

The second the hallway camera blinked out, twenty seconds, just like before, I opened the hidden panel again and crawled back inside the tunnel.

This time, I moved faster. Quieter.

Back through the narrow crawlspace, past the knots of old wiring and cobwebs, until I reached the cellar door again.

The air smelled damp. Rusted.

I knelt by the crack in the door and whispered, “Are you there?”

Silence.

Then just as I was about to ask again, she answered.

“Why did you come back?”

I almost cried from relief. “Because I need answers.”

She hesitated. “Then ask.”

“Who are you?”

“My name doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I need something,” I begged. “Anything. Why are you here?” I asked

“I was his lover,” she said, her voice cracking. “Once.”

The words hit me like cold water.

Lover?

“What?”

“I thought I could change him,” she whispered. “He promised he’d stop the killing. That I’d be different. That I’d be enough.”

My blood ran cold.

“I tried to leave,” she continued. “Tried to run. But Isaac Vitorri doesn’t lose things. Not even people.”

“Why hasn’t he killed you?” I asked.

“Because keeping me here hurts more.”

I pressed my hand to the door, throat tight. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Just… don’t make the same mistake.”

“I’m not in love with him.”

“Not yet.”

What does she mean not yet?.

Her words made my skin crawl.

“I want to help you,” I said. “I want to get you out.”

“No,” she said quickly. “If you try… he’ll destroy you. Just like he destroyed me.”

A silence stretched between us.

Then she whispered, “But if you really want to understand him… go to the garden crypt.”

“What?”

“The key is hidden there,” she said. “Behind the angel’s mouth. It opens a door that leads beneath the west wing. Beneath everything.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the house is full of ghosts, Ariana. And you’re about to become one of them.”

I crawled back to my room in silence, the words repeating over and over in my head.

The garden crypt. The angel. A key.

A door that leads somewhere beneath.

I barely had time to fix the panel before footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door fling open.

I jumped.

Isaac stood in the doorway. His eyes not angry, but something worse.

Suspicious.

You've been busy tonight, he spoke softly. My heartbeat increased. "What?"

He walked in inside,slowly and calculative.

"You lied about the surveillance room. It was not open. I looked through the logs.

I gasped a trembling breath. "Okay, I... I wanted to see what else was in this place. I wandered around. I didn't mean to-"

He moved closer.

“Then tell me,” he said, his voice cold and low,

“how did you get to know her?”

I froze.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

He knew.