Chapter 6 - The Secret Behind Hazel’s Name
“Ask Hazel why she really came to the Kretti mansion.”
The message remained on Vincent’s phone.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Nobody spoke.
I felt every pair of eyes in the room move toward me.
Especially Vincent’s.
The same eyes that had protected his daughter.
The same eyes that had looked at me with suspicion from the moment I entered his house.
Now they were different.
Not angry.
Not yet.
But searching.
Trying to find a lie.
I looked at the message again.
Unknown number.
No explanation.
No proof.
Just a sentence designed to destroy trust.
And it was working.
“Vincent.”
My voice came out quieter than I expected.
“I don’t know who sent that.”
He did not answer.
That hurt more than anger.
Because silence meant he was considering it.
Considering the possibility that I was part of this.
Adrian looked between us.
“Vincent.”
“Stay out of this.”
The warning in Vincent’s voice stopped him.
I understood then.
This was not about a text message.
It was about something deeper.
Vincent Kretti had spent years surrounded by people who wanted something from him.
Money.
Power.
Protection.
Everyone around him had a reason to be there.
And now he was wondering if I did too.
“I was hired,” I said.
Vincent looked at me.
“By who?”
I hesitated.
That was my mistake.
Because hesitation looks like guilt when people are already suspicious.
His expression hardened.
“Answer me.”
“By your company’s recruitment department.”
“Which person?”
“I don’t know.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know who hired you?”
I looked at him.
“I applied through a normal agency.”
“That doesn’t exist.”
The room went quiet.
“What?”
Adrian stepped closer.
“The agency listed on your documents closed eight months ago.”
My stomach dropped.
I looked at Vincent.
Then Adrian.
“That’s impossible.”
Adrian pulled out his phone.
He showed me a document.
A company record.
The agency name.
The address.
The registration.
Everything.
Closed.
I stared at it.
My mind raced.
“No.”
The word came out automatically.
“I used that agency.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Adrian looked at Vincent.
“She was placed here through a fake company.”
Vincent’s eyes returned to me.
And suddenly I understood.
Someone had wanted me inside this mansion.
Someone had arranged everything.
The interview.
The paperwork.
The timing.
The position.
But why?
I had spent my whole life being invisible.
Why would someone choose me?
“I didn’t know.”
Vincent remained silent.
“I swear, I didn’t know.”
He studied my face.
Then he looked at Zara.
The little girl was standing near the door.
Watching.
Waiting.
And I knew what he was thinking.
If I was lying, Zara was the one person who could be hurt.
That was the only thing that mattered to him.
“Where were you before this job?” Vincent asked.
I frowned.
“My apartment.”
“No.”
His voice became sharper.
“Before that.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Answer.”
I swallowed.
“Boston.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Working.”
“Where?”
I felt something change.
This was no longer a conversation.
It was an investigation.
“I was a caregiver.”
“For who?”
I looked away.
“My mother.”
The room became quiet.
“She had cancer.”
Nobody spoke.
“She passed away two years ago.”
Vincent’s expression shifted slightly.
A tiny change.
But I saw it.
Because for a moment, he was not looking at me as a suspect.
He was looking at me as a person.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The words sounded strange coming from him.
Almost unfamiliar.
I nodded.
“After that, I moved.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed a new start.”
Nobody said anything.
Because that was the truth.
At least most of it.
Then Zara spoke.
“Hazel?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“Did you know my mommy?”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
She looked confused.
“Then why do you have her bracelet?”
My hand immediately moved to my wrist.
The bracelet.
The one I had worn every day.
The one covering the scar.
I had forgotten it was visible.
Vincent noticed.
“What bracelet?”
I froze.
I had never mentioned it.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.
“It’s nothing.”
But Vincent was already looking at it.
“Show me.”
I stepped back.
“Mr. Kretti—”
“Show me.”
The room became tense.
Slowly, I removed the bracelet.
The scar on my wrist became visible.
But that was not what caught his attention.
It was the bracelet itself.
A simple old bracelet.
Silver.
With a tiny engraved symbol.
Vincent stared at it.
Adrian moved closer.
“No.”
The reaction shocked me.
“What?”
Adrian looked at the bracelet.
Then at me.
“Where did you get that?”
I covered my wrist.
“It belonged to my mother.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Your mother?”
I nodded.
“She gave it to me before she died.”
Adrian looked at Vincent.
Then whispered:
“That symbol…”
“What?” I asked.
Neither answered.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Hazel.”
I looked at him.
“Who was your mother?”
The question felt strange.
I had answered it a thousand times in my life.
But suddenly it felt important.
“Evelyn Brennan.”
The room went completely silent.
Vincent’s face changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Impossible recognition.
“You knew her?”
I asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Adrian did.
“She worked for Isabella.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Your mother was one of Isabella’s closest employees.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
I stepped back.
“That’s not possible.”
I would have known.
My mother would have told me.
She would have said something.
Anything.
“She never talked about the Kretti family.”
Vincent looked at the bracelet.
“She wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Isabella probably told her not to.”
My breathing became uneven.
“What are you saying?”
Vincent looked at me.
“For two years, we believed Isabella’s closest assistant disappeared after the accident.”
My fingers tightened.
“My mother died.”
“Yes.”
His voice became softer.
“But someone wanted everyone to believe she disappeared.”
The room felt smaller.
Cold.
I thought about my entire life.
My mother.
Her secrets.
The nights she woke up crying.
The locked drawer she never let me open.
The one she told me was “just old memories.”
I suddenly understood.
Maybe they were not memories.
Maybe they were evidence.
“I didn’t come here because of Isabella.”
Nobody moved.
“I came here because I needed a job.”
Vincent watched me.
“But someone wanted you here.”
The words landed heavily.
Because they were true.
Someone had placed me inside this mansion.
But they had not expected me to care about Zara.
They had not expected me to find the box.
They had not expected me to ask questions.
A security alarm suddenly interrupted the conversation.
Everyone turned.
A guard rushed into the room.
“Mr. Kretti.”
Vincent immediately reacted.
“What happened?”
The guard looked nervous.
“There was movement in the east wing.”
“Security cameras?”
“Disabled.”
Vincent’s face darkened.
“Again?”
The guard nodded.
“And we found this.”
He handed him a small envelope.
Vincent opened it.
His expression changed.
“What is it?” Adrian asked.
Vincent did not answer.
He handed the paper to me.
My hands trembled as I read the words.
Because the handwriting was familiar.
Not Isabella’s.
Not my mother’s.
Mine.
A sentence written in my handwriting.
A sentence I had never written.
“I know what you did to Isabella.”
I looked at Vincent.
“I didn’t write this.”
He believed me.
I could see it.
But before anyone could speak, Zara screamed from upstairs.
A scream filled with pure terror.
“Hazel!”
I ran.
Everyone followed.
The bedroom door was open.
The wooden box was gone.
And on Zara’s bed was a single photograph.
A photograph of me.
May you like
Standing outside the Kretti mansion.
Taken before I ever applied for the job.
