The suggestion ignited fury, my grip crushing the photo's edge. "Ask that bastard? The one who broke her? Fuck that." I cut the call, the phone clattering to the dresser, my breath ragged. No. I'd find the answers myself.
A soft sound from the door, creaking wood, a faint breath. I spun, catching a glimpse of eyes peering through the ajar opening, wide and frightened. I strode over, yanking the door open, but the watcher bolted, footsteps pattering down the hall. I gave chase, my longer strides closing the gap, grabbing the collar of a the man in a servant's uniform. Ray, the chief maid's son, his face pale, eyes darting like a trapped animal. He was in his late 20s but he looked younger or maybe justsmaller. Scrawny, narrow-shouldered, limbs too thin for his uniform. His skin was sallow, his hair messy like he hadn’t brushed it in days.
"Why were you peeping?" I demanded, pinning him against the wall, my forearm across his chest, not hard but firm, my voice a low growl.
Ray gasped, his hands raised. "N… nothing, sir! Just... passing by. Cleaning rounds."
"Liar," I snarled, leaning closer, my rage from the photo, from Boris, spilling over. "Tell the truth, or I'll make you."
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, sweat beading on his brow. "I... I have to tell you something. But... it'll endanger my life, my mom's. She's worked here forever, sir. Please..."
I eased off slightly, but kept him pinned, my eyes boring into his. "Talk. Now."
He opened his mouth, words forming, but footsteps echoed from the foyer, heavy, authoritative. Father's voice boomed, "Keith? Is that you?"
Ray's eyes widened in terror, and he twisted free, bolting down the hall like a rabbit, disappearing around the corner. I started after him, but Father appeared at the top of the stairs, his silver hair gleaming under the chandelier, his suit impeccable, his eyes narrowing at the scene. "Keith. What the hell's going on? Chasing the help?"
I ignored him, my blood pounding, the photo crumpled in my fist. Answers? Ray had them, or part of them. The girl, the burnt face, Mother's diary... it all connected, a web of secrets Father had spun. But confronting him now, with rage clouding my judgment isn’t the best idea. I turned, brushing past him without a word, my shoulder clipping his, the silence my answer as I stormed down the stairs.
The girl. Who was she? And Ray's fear... what did he know that endangered his life? I'd expose the trafficking, the betrayals, until nothing remained but ash. For Aurelia. For Mother. For the girl whose face was erased.
But first, Aurelia. It killed me, the distance, but pushing would shatter us further. Soon, I'd go to her, explain, beg forgiveness. But not until the web was untangled, the dangers neutralized. She deserved that. A clean start, free from my family's poison.
Chapter 26
Keith
Father's voice had called after me, "Keith, come back here!" but I'd ignored it, my boots pounding the polished stone as I strode down the long hallway, my mind a whirlwind of Ray’s terrified eyes peeking through the door crack. Father, emerging just in time to interrupt, his presence a calculated barrier. Coincidence? Hardly. In this house, nothing was accidental, everything was a move in an endless game of power and deception.
I couldn't leave without answers. Ray was the key with that look of someone who'd carried a burden too long. He'd fled down the hall like a rabbit from a hawk, but the mansion was a labyrinth, and I knew every twist. I turned toward the staff quarters, the back staircase creaking under my weight as I descended. The servants' wing was quiet, doors closed, the faint hum of a vacuum from somewhere distant. "Ray!" I called, my voice sharp, echoing off the narrow corridor. No answer. I knocked on unit 4, the door marked with a brass number, but silence greeted me. I tried the handle, locked. Peering through the small window, the room was empty, bed made, no sign of life.
Frustration boiled over, my fist slamming the wall with a thud that rattled the frame. "Damn it." He was hiding, or gone, scared off by Father's arrival. I needed his contact, now. Storming back upstairs, I found Elias in the foyer, polishing a silver vase, his elderly face impassive but his eyes watchful. "Elias," I said, my tone clipped, "Ray. I need his contact information. Now."
“Ray, sir?” he looked puzzled.
“The maid’s son?”
Elias paused, setting down the cloth, his expression turning neutral, years of service making him a master of discretion. "Of course, sir. One moment." He moved to the side table, pulling out a leather-bound ledger, flipping through the pages with deliberate slowness that grated on my nerves. "Ray Thompson. Phone: 555-0192. Lives in the staff cottages. His mother, Maria, has the day off, but he might be running errands."
I snatched the number, committing it to memory. "If you see him, tell him to call me. Immediately. And Elias, no word to Father about this. Understood?"
"Perfectly, sir," he replied, his voice even, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Pity? Warning? I didn't care. I left, the mansion's doors closing behind me like a tomb sealing, the driveway gravel crunching under the tires as I peeled out, the engine's roar a match for the fury in my chest.
The drive back to the hotel was a haze. The photo was tucked in my coat pocket, a constant reminder, the burnt face a accusation I couldn't ignore. Who was she? The thought made bile rise in my throat.
Back in the suite, the door clicking shut behind me, the silence was oppressive, Aurelia's absence a void that echoed. Two weeks. Two weeks of radio silence, her fleeing to Galena, to her family'sarms, away from me, from the betrayal Boris's dying words had unveiled. Father had approved her sale, perhaps unknowingly, but the stain was there, tainting me by association.
I'd called, texted, left voicemails pleading for a chance to explain. I didn't know, I'd never been part of the trafficking side. Victor's watcher reported she was safe but withdrawn, barely leaving the house, her brother Killian hovering like a guard dog. Good! She needed that protection, that space. But the emptiness clawed at me, nights spent staring at the ceiling, her touch a ghost on my skin, her laughter a memory that haunted.
I sank into the armchair, dialing Ray's number, the line ringing in the quiet room, each tone a hammer on my patience. Pick up. The call connected on the fourth ring, avoice answering, hesitant and shaky. "Hello?"
"Ray," I said, my tone low, authoritative, leaving no room for evasion. "It’s Keith. We need to talk."
A sharp intake of breath, the sound of fumbling, perhaps the phone nearly dropped. "Mr. Krogen? I... oh God, I didn't expect... how did you get my number?"
"You were peeping in Mother's room. You had something to say. Tell me. What is it?"
Silence stretched, broken by his ragged breathing, the faint hum of traffic in the background suggesting he was outside. "I... I can't over the phone, sir. It's too dangerous. If anyone hears... my mom, she's worked there forever. Please, we need to meet. Somewhere public, crowded. Safe from... from him."
