Chapter 2 - The Voice Behind the Gate
“Victor…”
The voice came through the rain again.
He didn't move.
Poppy was pressed against his chest, her tiny fingers twisted into his shirt.
Marcus stood three steps ahead, one hand inside his coat, his body angled toward the darkness.
Victor stared at the headlights.
“Who are you?”
No answer.
Only rain.
Then the driver's door opened.
A man stepped out.
Victor's hand tightened around Poppy.
The stranger was tall, wearing a black raincoat, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a hood.
Marcus raised his weapon.
“Stop right there.”
The man stopped.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then he slowly lifted both hands.
“I didn't come for the girl.”
Victor's eyes narrowed.
“Then why are you here?”
The stranger looked toward him.
“To warn you.”
Marcus took another step.
“About what?”
The stranger's gaze shifted to Poppy.
The little girl immediately buried her face against Victor's shoulder.
The man's expression changed.
“You still don't know who she is.”
Victor's voice became dangerously quiet.
“I know exactly who she is.”
“No.”
The stranger shook his head.
“You know the name written on her papers.”
Victor felt something cold settle inside him.
“Who are you?”
The man reached into his coat.
Marcus raised his weapon higher.
“Slowly.”
The stranger pulled out a small envelope.
He placed it on the hood of the car.
Then he stepped back.
“Open it.”
Victor didn't move.
“What is it?”
“Something Gregory didn't want you to find.”
At the mention of Gregory's name, Victor's eyes hardened.
Marcus glanced at him.
“I'll get it.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
He stepped forward.
Poppy clung tighter to him.
Victor crossed the wet gravel alone.
He reached the car.
The envelope was already soaked at the edges.
His name was written across the front.
Not Castellano.
Just Victor.
In handwriting he hadn't seen in twelve years.
His fingers stopped.
Marcus noticed.
“Victor?”
Victor stared at the letters.
The same sharp V.
The same narrow slant.
The same tiny break in the ink at the end of the r.
Elena's handwriting.
Impossible.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Bent.
Water-stained.
Victor lifted it beneath the security light that had flickered back on.
His breath stopped.
It showed a hospital room.
A young Elena sat in a bed.
She was holding a newborn baby.
Victor recognized her immediately.
The photograph had been taken twelve years ago.
Three days before Elena died.
But there was something wrong.
Victor turned the photograph over.
On the back were four words.
SHE WAS NEVER YOURS.
His eyes narrowed.
“Where did you get this?”
The stranger said nothing.
Victor turned toward him.
“I asked you a question.”
“She gave it to me.”
“Who?”
The stranger looked at Victor for a long moment.
“Your wife.”
Marcus's expression changed.
Victor felt his pulse hammering.
“Elena is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then don't use her name.”
“She told me you would say that.”
Victor stepped toward him.
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“That if you ever discovered the truth, you would blame the wrong person.”
Victor's jaw clenched.
“What truth?”
The stranger looked toward Poppy.
“That girl.”
Poppy lifted her head.
The stranger's eyes softened.
“She was born under another name.”
Victor looked down at her.
“What name?”
The stranger didn't answer.
Victor grabbed the man's coat.
Marcus immediately moved closer.
“Victor.”
Victor ignored him.
“What name?”
The stranger didn't fight back.
Instead, he whispered something that made Victor release him.
“Castellano.”
Silence.
Victor stared at him.
“No.”
“She was registered under another name because someone wanted her hidden.”
“Who?”
“Ask Gregory.”
Victor's eyes went dark.
“Where is he?”
The stranger stepped backward.
“Too late.”
A distant engine roared.
The stranger turned.
A black SUV appeared at the far end of the private road.
Its headlights cut through the rain.
Marcus raised his weapon.
“We've got company.”
Victor looked back at the stranger.
“Who sent them?”
The stranger was already walking toward his car.
“You.”
Victor frowned.
“What?”
The man opened the driver's door.
“Someone wants you to believe you are chasing the wrong enemy.”
Then he got inside.
Victor shouted.
“Wait!”
The car accelerated.
Marcus ran toward the road.
The SUV behind them suddenly stopped.
Three men stepped out.
Victor pulled Poppy closer.
“Inside.”
Marcus didn't hesitate.
He drew his weapon.
The first gunshot cracked through the rain.
The bullet struck the stone wall beside Victor.
Poppy screamed.
Victor turned and ran.
“Marcus!”
“Go!”
Another shot.
Marcus returned fire.
Victor carried Poppy through the back entrance.
The estate guards appeared from the darkness.
“Get the child upstairs!”
Victor shoved Poppy into the arms of a guard.
“Stay with her.”
“But Mama—”
“I know.”
Poppy started crying.
“Mr. Victor!”
He stopped.
She held up the stuffed rabbit.
“Mama put something inside.”
Victor stared at it.
“What?”
Poppy shook her head.
“She said only you could open it.”
Victor took the rabbit.
It felt heavier than it should.
He squeezed the body.
Something hard was hidden inside.
Victor looked at Marcus.
“Get everyone out of this hallway.”
Marcus understood.
Within seconds, the corridor emptied.
Victor pulled the red thread from the rabbit's damaged ear.
A tiny metal key fell into his palm.
Attached to it was a strip of paper.
One number.
Victor stared at it.
Marcus walked over.
“Storage?”
Victor nodded slowly.
“Maybe.”
“What does seventeen mean?”
Victor looked toward the old east wing.
“Room seventeen.”
Marcus frowned.
“There hasn't been a room seventeen in this house for years.”
Victor looked at him.
“Exactly.”
They moved through the mansion.
Victor remembered the old estate plans.
Harrow Point had been built in stages.
The original house contained seventeen rooms.
After Victor inherited it, several rooms were sealed during renovations.
One of them had been the old nursery.
Room seventeen.
Nobody used it.
Nobody entered it.
And Victor had forgotten it existed.
Until now.
They reached the east corridor.
A heavy wooden door stood at the end.
Dust covered the handle.
Victor inserted the key.
It fit.
Marcus looked at him.
“Why would Hannah have this?”
Victor didn't answer.
He turned the key.
The lock clicked.
The door opened two inches.
Cold air moved through the hallway.
Victor pushed it wider.
Inside was darkness.
He reached for the light switch.
Nothing.
Marcus raised his flashlight.
The beam moved across the room.
Old furniture.
A broken crib.
A faded rocking horse.
A stack of children's blankets.
Victor stopped.
On the wall was a photograph.
He stepped closer.
It was Elena.
She was younger.
Much younger.
She was holding a baby.
Victor stared at the child.
Then he saw the bracelet around the baby's wrist.
A tiny silver bracelet.
His family's crest engraved on the clasp.
Victor's breathing changed.
Marcus looked at the photograph.
“Is that…”
“Yes.”
Victor touched the glass.
“That bracelet belonged to my mother.”
Marcus was silent.
Victor looked around the room.
There were boxes everywhere.
Medical records.
Old photographs.
Hospital bracelets.
Documents.
And dozens of photographs of Poppy.
Poppy at six months.
Poppy at one year.
Poppy learning to walk.
Poppy sleeping.
Poppy sitting beside Hannah.
Poppy standing outside Harrow Point.
Victor stared.
“How long?”
Marcus picked up one photograph.
“This was taken four years ago.”
Victor looked at him.
“Poppy is three.”
Marcus's face tightened.
“That means someone was photographing her before she was born.”
Victor's eyes moved to another photograph.
Hannah was pregnant.
Standing outside a hospital.
Beside her was Gregory.
Victor froze.
He took the photograph.
On the back was a date.
October 17.
Twelve years ago.
His fingers went numb.
“That's impossible.”
Marcus studied the image.
“Hannah wasn't working here then.”
“I know.”
“Then why was she with Gregory?”
Victor didn't answer.
A sound came from the hallway.
Both men turned.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Victor reached for his weapon.
Marcus raised his flashlight.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
The footsteps stopped.
Victor stepped toward the doorway.
Then he saw something on the floor.
A child's shoe.
Tiny.
White.
Wet.
Victor stared at it.
Poppy was wearing no shoes.
Marcus whispered, “Someone else was in here.”
Victor crouched and touched the shoe.
Cold.
Recently wet.
Then a small sound came from inside the room.
A music box.
Victor turned.
The old music box on the shelf had begun playing by itself.
A soft melody filled the darkness.
Victor knew that melody.
His mother had played it for Elena.
And Elena had played it for Leo.
A song Victor hadn't heard since the night his family died.
The music suddenly stopped.
A voice came from behind the wall.
“Victor.”
He turned.
There was no one there.
Marcus moved toward the wall.
“There's a hidden passage.”
Victor looked at the old wooden panel.
It had no handle.
Only a narrow keyhole.
The same shape as the key from Poppy's rabbit.
Victor inserted it.
The panel clicked.
Then slowly began to open.
Cold air poured through the gap.
Victor raised his weapon.
Marcus stood beside him.
“Wait.”
Victor stared into the darkness beyond the hidden door.
A single light flickered at the end of the passage.
And beneath it stood a woman.
Long dark hair.
White dress.
Her face hidden in shadow.
Victor stopped breathing.
Marcus whispered, “That's impossible.”
The woman slowly lifted her head.
Then she spoke in a voice Victor had spent twelve years trying to forget.
“Victor…”
He took one step forward.
May you like
The woman stepped into the light.
And Victor finally saw her face—
