Chapter 3 - The Woman Behind The Hidden Camera
The person on the screen turned slowly.
I stopped breathing.
Because I knew her.
Not from a photograph.
Not from a rumor.
Not from someone else's story.
I knew her because she had been standing inside my house for almost a year.
The woman who had watched my life.
The woman who had access to every room.
The woman nobody questioned.
Lucia Moretti.
My mother.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The security room became completely silent.
Even the monitors seemed louder than before.
The woman on the screen stood outside the library door three days earlier.
She wasn't entering.
She wasn't leaving.
She was watching.
My mother.
The same woman who had hugged me that morning.
The same woman who had adjusted my wedding jacket and told me she was proud of the man I had become.
The same woman who had stood in the garden and defended Emma.
I looked at Marco.
He immediately looked away.
That bothered me more than anything.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
Marco remained silent.
My voice became colder.
"Marco."
He finally looked at me.
"Not this."
"Answer me."
He swallowed.
"I didn't know it was your mother."
"But you knew someone was watching the library."
His silence confirmed it.
I stepped closer.
"How long?"
"Two weeks."
Sophia looked shocked.
"Two weeks?"
Marco nodded.
"I found the hidden camera after reviewing system errors."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I was trying to confirm who installed it."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
His expression changed.
"Because whoever installed that camera had access to the highest security level."
The words landed heavily.
Only a few people had that level of access.
Myself.
Marco.
My father before he died.
And my mother.
I looked back at the screen.
Lucia was still frozen outside the library door.
A woman who had taught me never to trust appearances.
A woman who had spent her entire life telling me that family was the only thing that mattered.
But now I was looking at evidence that my own family had secrets.
"Play it," I said.
Marco hesitated.
"What happens next may change everything."
I looked at him.
"It already has."
He pressed play.
The footage continued.
My mother remained outside the library.
Then she looked down the hallway.
She wasn't alone.
Someone else approached.
A man.
Tall.
Wearing a dark coat.
His face was hidden.
But the way he walked was familiar.
Controlled.
Confident.
Someone who knew he belonged there.
The man stopped beside my mother.
They spoke quietly.
The audio was damaged.
Marco increased the volume.
Static filled the room.
Then one sentence became clear.
A man's voice.
"You promised she would never find out."
My blood turned cold.
My mother looked toward the library door.
Then she answered.
"I promised my son would be protected."
The footage stopped.
Nobody spoke.
Not even me.
Because the sentence created more questions than answers.
Protected from what?
From Isabella?
From the truth?
From someone else?
I looked at Sophia.
She was crying silently.
"Who is he?" I asked.
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
"You said someone came to talk about Isabella."
"Yes."
"Was it him?"
Sophia looked at the screen.
Her face changed.
"I don't know."
That wasn't an answer.
It was fear.
And I recognized fear.
I had seen it on the faces of people who knew they were trapped.
"Emma," I said.
The little girl looked up.
"Did you see that man before?"
She stared at the screen.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she slowly nodded.
My entire body went still.
"Where?"
"At the house."
Sophia immediately grabbed her daughter's hand.
"Emma."
The girl looked confused.
"What?"
Sophia lowered herself.
"Don't say anything you don't know."
Emma looked at her mother.
Then at me.
"He talked to the pretty lady."
I looked at Marco.
"Isabella?"
Emma nodded.
"The lady in the white dress."
My mind moved quickly.
Isabella.
My mother.
A hidden camera.
A stranger.
A child who knew more than anyone expected.
None of this was random.
"What did he say?"
Emma looked down.
"He said..."
She frowned, trying to remember.
"He said the wedding was important."
My heart tightened.
"What else?"
"He said after the wedding, everything would be finished."
The room became silent again.
Finished.
A dangerous word.
A word people used when they wanted something ended permanently.
Marco walked toward the main computer.
"I need to check something."
"What?"
"The security access logs."
He typed quickly.
The screen changed.
A list of entries appeared.
Names.
Times.
Locations.
People who had entered restricted areas.
He scanned the information.
Then stopped.
"No."
I stepped closer.
"What?"
Marco didn't answer.
He looked at me.
"Someone accessed the private archive this morning."
"When?"
"Before the ceremony."
"Who?"
He turned the monitor.
The name appeared.
My hands tightened.
Because it wasn't Isabella.
It wasn't Lucia.
It wasn't Marco.
It was me.
My own security code had been used.
Impossible.
I had never accessed the archive.
"Someone copied my credentials."
Marco nodded.
"Yes."
"Can you trace it?"
He looked uncertain.
"Maybe."
"Do it."
He continued searching.
The system processed.
Seconds passed.
Then a location appeared.
The access came from inside the mansion.
Not outside.
Not from a stranger.
Inside.
Someone had used my identity while standing under my roof.
I looked toward the hallway.
Toward the wedding guests.
Toward the people who had spent the last hour pretending everything was normal.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
One sentence.
You are looking in the wrong direction.
A second message appeared immediately.
Ask your mother why she buried the first recording.
My eyes moved back to Lucia's image on the screen.
The woman who had raised me.
The woman who had protected me.
The woman who might have been hiding the biggest secret of my life.
"Marco."
"Yes?"
"Find every recording."
He looked at me.
"Every single one?"
"From the beginning."
His face changed.
"Alessandro..."
"Everything."
He nodded.
Then he opened the oldest security folder.
The screen filled with dates.
Months.
Years.
Until one file appeared.
A file created before Isabella ever entered my life.
A file from twelve years earlier.
Marco stared at the date.
Then looked at me.
"Boss..."
"What?"
He slowly clicked the file open.
May you like
The first frame appeared.
And I saw my father.
