Chapter 1 - The Chair That Blinked
Emma Lawson pulled the forbidden chair three inches across the marble floor and whispered, “There.”
The senior butler rushed toward her, pale with terror.
Victor Blackwood entered seconds later and found a tiny red light blinking beneath the chair.
Three words were scratched into the wood underneath.
DON’T TRUST ANYONE.
Victor suddenly stopped breathing.
The slap had come so quickly that Emma barely understood what had happened.
Her head snapped to the side.
The dining hall fell silent.
Crystal trembled on the massive oak table. A silver spoon rolled across a porcelain plate and dropped onto the marble floor with a tiny metallic sound.
Emma slowly turned her face back toward the senior butler.
He was breathing hard.
His white-gloved hand hung beside him.
“I warned you,” he said.
Emma touched her cheek.
“You slapped me.”
“No one touches that chair.”
She looked toward the ornate chair standing at the head of the table.
It was beautiful.
Dark carved walnut.
Floral patterns cut into the arms.
Cream-colored upholstery decorated with faded gold vines.
For twelve years, according to the staff, nobody had sat in it.
Nobody cleaned beneath it.
Nobody moved it.
Emma had thought that was ridiculous.
She had been hired at Blackwood Manor three months earlier.
She had cleaned bathrooms, polished silver, carried trays, folded sheets, and learned which doors squeaked.
She had also learned that the mansion contained rules nobody explained.
Never enter the west study.
Never open the locked basement door.
Never disturb the portrait of Eleanor Blackwood.
And never touch the chair.
But that morning, the chair had been crooked.
Emma had noticed it while preparing dinner.
Everything around it was perfectly aligned.
The table.
The place settings.
The candles.
The serving carts.
Only the chair sat several inches away from where it should have been.
So she had fixed it.
That was all.
Until the butler slapped her.
Emma stared at him.
“I only moved it three inches.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
The butler's eyes flicked toward the doorway.
Nobody spoke.
Then footsteps echoed from the corridor.
Slow.
Heavy.
Measured.
Every servant in the dining hall immediately lowered their head.
Emma turned.
Victor Blackwood entered.
She had seen him before.
Everyone in the mansion had.
But never this close.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black. His dark hair was slicked back, his beard neatly trimmed. Tattoos disappeared beneath his sleeves and climbed toward his neck. A gold cross rested against his chest.
His expression was unreadable.
Until he saw the chair.
He stopped.
“What happened?”
The butler swallowed.
“She moved it.”
Victor's eyes went to Emma.
“How far?”
“Three inches, sir.”
Silence.
Victor walked toward the chair.
Emma stepped back.
His gaze never left the wooden frame.
“Why?”
“It was crooked.”
Nobody moved.
Victor crouched.
He ran his fingers along the carved leg.
Then he looked beneath it.
Emma saw the exact moment his expression changed.
“What is that?”
She followed his gaze.
A tiny red light blinked beneath the chair.
Once.
Twice.
Victor stood.
“Everyone out.”
The servants immediately obeyed.
The butler hesitated.
Victor looked at him.
“Now.”
Within seconds, only Emma and Victor remained.
Emma stared at the chair.
“What is it?”
Victor didn't answer.
He crouched again.
His hand disappeared beneath the carved wooden frame.
When he pulled it back, a small black device rested between his fingers.
Emma's stomach tightened.
“A camera?”
Victor turned the device over.
“A listening device.”
Emma stared.
“For twelve years?”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“Maybe.”
She looked at the chair.
“Your mother sat there?”
His eyes hardened.
“Yes.”
“When did she die?”
“Twelve years ago.”
Emma looked back at the device.
Something cold moved through her.
“If someone planted this after she died, they wanted to hear what happened at this table.”
Victor said nothing.
“And if it was planted before she died…”
He looked at her.
Emma stopped.
Victor's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Then someone was listening to my mother.”
He turned the device over again.
There was a tiny engraved number.
R-17.
Emma noticed it.
“What does that mean?”
Victor stared at the marking.
“I don't know.”
But his face said otherwise.
Emma studied him.
“You do.”
Victor looked at her.
Before he could answer, the dining room door opened.
The senior butler stood there.
His face was white.
“Sir.”
Victor turned.
“What?”
The butler looked at Emma.
Then at the device.
Then back at Victor.
“We found another one.”
Victor's expression went still.
“Where?”
The butler swallowed.
“In your mother's bedroom.”
Victor walked toward the door.
Emma followed.
The butler raised one trembling hand.
“Sir, there's something else.”
Victor stopped.
“What?”
The butler looked at Emma.
“It wasn't recording the room.”
A pause.
“It was transmitting.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
“To where?”
The butler slowly held up a phone.
“We traced the signal.”
The screen showed a location.
Victor looked at it.
Then his face changed.
May you like
Because the signal was coming from somewhere inside Blackwood Manor.
And the location was—
