Chapter 3 - The Person Who Was Inside
The lights went out.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
The mansion became completely silent.
Not normal silence.
The kind of silence that made every instinct inside me scream.
I stood in the hallway with my phone still in my hand, staring at the black screen.
The photograph was still there.
Noah sleeping in his room.
Taken from inside the house.
Whoever sent it had been close enough to stand beside my employer's son while he slept.
And they wanted me to know it.
"Emma."
Adrian's voice came from behind me.
I turned.
Even in the darkness, I could see his expression had changed.
The calm, controlled man everyone feared was gone.
What remained was a father.
A terrified father.
"Where is Noah?"
His first question wasn't about the message.
It wasn't about the person inside.
It was about his son.
I looked toward the stairs.
"His room."
Adrian immediately moved.
I followed him.
We didn't speak.
There was no need.
The entire mansion was awake now.
Doors opened.
Footsteps echoed.
The security guards appeared with flashlights, moving through the halls.
But something bothered me.
They weren't surprised.
They were prepared.
I noticed it immediately.
The way they checked corners.
The way they avoided certain areas.
The way they looked toward the old hallway where Noah's locked room was located.
They had done this before.
Many times.
When we reached Noah's bedroom, Adrian opened the door quickly.
The boy was sitting on his bed.
Awake.
Holding his stuffed animal.
But he wasn't crying.
He wasn't scared.
He was staring at the corner of the room.
Like someone was standing there.
"Noah."
Adrian rushed to him.
The child looked at his father.
Then at me.
"He's angry."
I stopped.
"Who?"
Noah didn't answer.
Instead, he looked toward the window.
"Because you found the picture."
Adrian froze.
"What picture?"
I slowly looked at Noah.
"The message."
The child's expression changed.
Like he realized he had said too much.
"Who sent it, Noah?"
He lowered his eyes.
"I don't know his name."
"Have you seen him?"
A small nod.
"Where?"
Noah whispered:
"In Mommy's room."
The entire room became silent.
Adrian's face changed.
"That room has been locked for four years."
Noah looked at him.
"No."
The boy shook his head.
"He locked it after she died."
Nobody spoke.
Because that sentence was impossible.
Noah was four years old.
He was barely old enough to remember anything from that time.
But he spoke like he had been there.
Like he understood everything.
Adrian sat beside him.
"Noah, tell me what you saw."
The child looked at his father.
For a moment, I saw something heartbreaking.
Noah wanted to answer.
But he was afraid.
"He told me not to tell."
"Who?"
The boy squeezed his stuffed animal tighter.
"The man who looks like Daddy."
My eyes moved toward Adrian.
This time, even he couldn't hide his reaction.
Because he knew.
He understood.
Someone had been inside the house.
Someone who looked like him.
Someone who had been close to his son.
After that night, Adrian increased security around the mansion.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Every employee was questioned.
Every camera was checked.
But the strangest part was this:
There was no evidence.
No fingerprints.
No broken locks.
No signs of an intruder.
It was as if the person had simply appeared.
And disappeared.
That should have made me feel better.
It didn't.
Because I knew something the security team didn't.
Someone had been inside Noah's room.
Someone had taken that photograph.
And someone knew I was searching.
The next morning, Adrian found me in the library.
"You should leave."
I looked up.
That wasn't what I expected.
"You hired me."
"I know."
"Then why are you telling me to go?"
He stared out the window.
"Because everyone who gets close to this family gets hurt."
I closed the file in front of me.
"Is that a warning?"
"No."
He looked at me.
"It's a fact."
I studied him.
"You knew your wife was afraid before she died."
His expression changed slightly.
That was enough.
I had my answer.
"What happened?"
He looked away.
"My wife discovered something."
"What?"
"I don't know."
I frowned.
"You don't know?"
He gave a bitter smile.
"You think powerful people always know everything."
His voice lowered.
"They don't."
Then he walked toward a cabinet and opened it.
Inside was a small box.
Old.
Worn.
He placed it on the table.
"This was hers."
I opened it carefully.
Inside were letters.
Photographs.
A small necklace.
And a notebook.
The cover had a single word written on it.
"Noah."
I looked at Adrian.
"She wrote this about him?"
He nodded.
"She wrote everything down after she became afraid."
I opened the notebook.
The first pages were normal.
Notes about Noah.
His first words.
His first steps.
Small memories from a mother.
Then the writing changed.
The letters became messier.
The sentences shorter.
I read the first strange entry.
"Someone is watching our son."
My hands became colder.
The next page.
"He knows things he shouldn't know."
The next.
"I saw him standing outside Noah's room."
I stopped.
Because the next line was underlined.
"I saw Adrian."
I looked up.
The room felt smaller.
"What does this mean?"
Adrian didn't answer.
I turned the page.
There was only one sentence.
"He is not my husband."
I stared at the words.
My first thought was impossible.
My second thought was worse.
"What happened to your wife?"
Adrian remained silent for a long time.
Then he finally spoke.
"The night she died..."
He stopped.
Like saying the words hurt.
"She called me."
"And?"
"I answered."
"What did she say?"
His eyes moved to the notebook.
"She said..."
He swallowed.
"Don't trust the man coming home."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Adrian."
He looked at me.
"What?"
"Where were you that night?"
The question hung between us.
For the first time, I saw something I never expected.
Guilt.
"I was at a business meeting."
"Can anyone confirm that?"
His silence was my answer.
That afternoon, I went back to Noah's room.
I needed to understand him.
Not the rumors.
Not the stories.
Him.
I sat on the floor while he played with his toys.
"Noah."
He looked at me.
"Did your mommy tell you anything before she left?"
His hands stopped.
"She didn't leave."
My heart tightened.
"What do you mean?"
He looked at the door.
"She was taken away."
I forced myself to stay calm.
"Who took her?"
He picked up a wooden figure.
Then he placed another figure beside it.
"This one."
The figure was taller.
Different.
"Who is that?"
Noah whispered:
"The fake Daddy."
I looked at the toy.
Then at him.
"Noah, can you tell me what he looks like?"
The boy nodded.
"He has Daddy's face."
A pause.
"But his eyes are different."
I didn't know what to say.
Then Noah reached under his bed.
He pulled out a small envelope.
My name was written on it.
Emma.
I stared at it.
"Where did you get this?"
Noah looked confused.
"Mommy gave it to me."
My fingers touched the envelope.
Impossible.
Unless...
Unless someone had been planning for me to come here.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman holding a baby.
Noah.
And standing beside them...
Was Adrian.
But on the back of the photo, there was handwriting.
A woman's handwriting.
One sentence.
"Emma, if you are reading this, it means I was right."
I looked at Noah.
Then back at the photograph.
Because beneath that sentence was another line.
A name.
A name that made my blood run cold.
The woman who wrote it wasn't dead.
She was waiting for me.
May you like
And the next message on the back of the photo said:
"Come to the basement before he finds you."
