Chapter 3 - The shadowed halls
Days blended into an agonizing, silent week at the Moretti estate. The bright, cinematic perfection of the mansion remained unchanged—the fresh flowers in the foyer, the spotless marble floors, the sun shining relentlessly over the pristine lawns. But inside, the air was thick, heavy with unspoken threats.
Celeste was effectively a prisoner in her own luxurious world. She was free to roam the east wing and the gardens, but there were always eyes on her. The men in dark suits seemed to multiply, standing quietly at the ends of hallways, their presence a constant reminder of her precarious position. She had not seen Victor since the incident at the pool. He was punishing her with his absence, leaving her to marinate in anxiety and bruised pride.
But Celeste was not a woman who surrendered easily. She sat at the mahogany vanity in her guest suite, carefully applying a neutral lipstick, her fair skin perfectly powdered to hide the faint, lingering shadow of a bruise on her cheek. She was a survivor. She had clawed her way into Victor’s world by being smarter, colder, and more calculating than the men who usually occupied it.
She picked up her personal phone, slipping out onto the private balcony where the security detail couldn't easily overhear her. She dialed a number she had memorized years ago, an old contact from her days before Victor, a man who dealt in shadows and stolen information.
"It's Celeste," she whispered, her eyes darting toward the garden below. "I need you to pull everything you have on Evelyn Moretti. Specifically, the custody transfer from eight years ago. Victor thinks it's completely buried."
"That’s a dangerous game, Celeste," the voice on the other end crackled, laced with hesitation. "You don't go digging in Victor Moretti's backyard unless you have a death wish."
"I don't have a choice," she replied sharply, her manicured fingers gripping the phone tight. "He’s entirely blinded by the child. If I don't find the leverage to get the girl out of the picture, he's going to cut me out before the wedding. Find me the notary who stamped those papers. Find me the trail of the money he paid Evelyn to leave. I want it all."
She ended the call, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She smoothed the skirt of her elegant day dress and stepped back inside, unaware that a small red light was blinking softly on the smoke detector above her bed. Every word had been captured.
Across the estate, Ellie was navigating the massive house with a child’s quiet intuition. She knew things were different. Papa was always working, locked in his study with serious-looking men, and Celeste was nowhere to be found.
That afternoon, Ellie wandered into the expansive west-wing library, searching for a picture book she had left behind. The room was bathed in golden afternoon light, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. As she reached for a low shelf, she heard the heavy oak doors crack open.
Ellie instinctively shrank back, hiding behind a high-backed leather reading chair.
Two of Victor’s lieutenants walked in, their voices low and hushed.
"The boss wants the old safehouse prepped," one of them said, pouring a glass of bourbon from a crystal decanter. "He's getting paranoid again."
"Can you blame him?" the other replied, leaning against the heavy wooden desk. "The fiancée is asking questions about the ghost. If she finds out Evelyn didn't just walk away, the whole syndicate is going to start asking questions."
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"She was erased for a reason," the first man muttered, downing the amber liquid. "If the truth about that night gets out, the boss loses everything. Especially the kid."
Behind the chair, Ellie clamped her small hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. Erased. The word echoed in her mind. Celeste had told her she would disappear, just like her mother. Now Papa’s men were talking about it. The golden light of the library suddenly felt very cold.
