Chapter 2 - The Name Hidden Behind The Badge
The phone kept ringing.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Adrian Moretti stared at the screen as if the device in his hand had become something dangerous.
My name was glowing across it.
Nia Bennett.
For a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Because that was impossible.
I had never called him.
I had never given him my number.
I had worked inside that mansion for almost two months, and Adrian Moretti had barely looked at me long enough to remember my name.
But now my name was on his phone.
And he looked terrified.
"Answer it," Victor said quietly.
Adrian didn't move.
His jaw tightened.
"How did this happen?"
I looked at the envelope still sitting in his other hand.
The same handwriting.
The same strange connection.
The same feeling that something buried in the past had just found its way back into the present.
The phone stopped ringing.
The silence returned.
Then it started again.
Adrian finally answered.
"Hello?"
His voice was different.
Careful.
Almost afraid.
Nobody spoke on the other end.
I could only hear a faint sound through the phone.
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Broken.
Adrian's face changed.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for someone who didn't know him to notice.
But I noticed.
The anger disappeared.
The coldness disappeared.
For the first time, Adrian Moretti looked like a lost boy.
"Who is this?" he whispered.
A pause.
Then his hand tightened around the phone.
"That isn't possible."
My heart started racing.
Victor stepped closer.
"Adrian."
Adrian ignored him.
"Tell me your name."
Another pause.
Then the phone fell from his hand.
It hit the marble floor.
The sound echoed through the entire hallway.
I looked down.
The call had ended.
"Who was it?" Victor asked.
Adrian didn't answer.
His eyes were fixed on me.
Not with anger.
Not with suspicion.
With confusion.
Like he was looking at a person he had seen before but couldn't remember.
"Nia."
I swallowed.
"Yes?"
"Where were you born?"
The question caught me off guard.
"What?"
"Answer me."
His voice was sharper now.
But underneath it was panic.
"I was born in Chicago."
"When?"
I stared at him.
"Why are you asking me this?"
"Just answer."
I looked at Victor.
The older man looked equally confused.
"I was born on September 18th."
Adrian went completely still.
Because that date meant something.
I could see it.
"What?" I whispered.
He looked away.
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something.
But he stopped himself.
That was when I realized something.
Adrian Moretti wasn't hiding anger.
He was hiding a memory.
The next morning, I almost didn't return to work.
I sat on the edge of my small apartment bed, staring at the old wooden box beside me.
The box I hadn't opened in years.
Inside were the few things my mother left behind before she disappeared.
A photograph.
A necklace.
A hospital bracelet.
And a small piece of paper with a name written on it.
Moretti.
I had found it when I was sixteen.
My mother had been sick for years, and after she passed away, I searched through her belongings hoping to understand more about the woman she had been.
But every answer led to more questions.
Why did she keep a photograph of the Moretti mansion?
Why did she write Victor Moretti's name?
Why did she hide everything from me?
I had tried asking.
But she always said the same thing.
"Some families carry secrets that are too heavy for innocent people."
At the time, I thought she was talking about someone else.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I touched the old photograph.
A younger Victor Moretti stood outside the mansion.
Beside him was a woman.
A woman I recognized.
My mother.
My fingers started shaking.
Because I had spent years believing my mother was just a woman who worked too hard and disappeared too soon.
But she had known the Morettis.
And somehow, Adrian knew something too.
When I arrived at the mansion, everything felt different.
The employees were quieter.
Nobody looked at me the same way.
News traveled fast in places like this.
Especially when the son of the house suddenly apologized to someone.
I walked into the kitchen and found Elena, one of the younger maids, staring at me.
"You talked to him?"
I placed my bag down.
"Who?"
She lowered her voice.
"Adrian."
I didn't answer.
She shook her head.
"I've worked here for four years. I've never seen him apologize."
"People can change."
Elena gave a small, sad smile.
"Maybe."
Then she looked toward the hallway.
"But Adrian Moretti doesn't change without a reason."
Before I could ask what she meant, Victor appeared.
"Nia."
Everyone immediately became silent.
"I need you upstairs."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because Adrian requested it."
The words surprised everyone.
Including me.
I followed Victor upstairs.
But instead of Adrian's office, he took me to a room I had never seen before.
A private study.
Dark wooden shelves.
Old books.
Family photographs.
A room that felt untouched by time.
Adrian stood beside the window.
His back was facing me.
"I need answers."
That was the first thing he said.
No greeting.
No apology.
No explanation.
I crossed my arms.
"So do I."
He turned around.
For once, he didn't look like a powerful man's son.
He looked exhausted.
"I found something."
He placed the envelope on the desk.
The paper was old.
Inside was a photograph.
He pushed it toward me.
I picked it up.
And my hands went cold.
It was my mother.
Standing inside this exact room.
Years ago.
Beside Victor Moretti.
And beside them was a little boy.
A young Adrian.
I looked up.
"What is this?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
"I found that picture hidden in my father's private files."
My breathing slowed.
"Why would he have a picture of my mother?"
Adrian looked at me.
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."
I put the photograph down.
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
The accusation hurt.
But I understood why.
Everyone lied to Adrian.
Everyone hid things from him.
"I swear I don't know."
He studied my face.
Then something changed.
A small crack appeared in the wall he had built around himself.
"I believe you."
The words surprised me.
"You do?"
He looked away.
"No."
A pause.
"That's the problem."
I didn't understand.
"What does that mean?"
Adrian walked to the desk and opened a drawer.
Inside was another object.
A necklace.
My necklace.
The one my mother gave me before she died.
I froze.
"Where did you get that?"
Adrian's expression darkened.
"Because it was found in my father's office."
I stepped back.
"No."
"Nia."
"No."
My voice shook.
"That belongs to me."
"I know."
"How?"
He looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes.
"Because I remember seeing it before."
The room became silent.
"You were there."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"When I was a child."
My heart stopped.
Adrian picked up the necklace carefully.
"My father told me my memories were wrong."
He swallowed.
"But I remember a little girl."
I couldn't move.
"A little girl who came into this house."
My hands started trembling.
"What did she look like?"
Adrian looked directly at me.
"She had your necklace."
A cold feeling moved through my body.
I wanted to deny it.
I wanted to tell him he was mistaken.
But somewhere deep inside, I knew.
The pieces were connecting.
My mother.
The mansion.
The necklace.
The badge.
The words scratched into the metal.
Still worth saving.
"Why didn't you tell me yesterday?" I whispered.
Adrian looked toward the door.
"Because someone doesn't want you to remember."
I followed his gaze.
"What do you mean?"
Before he could answer, the lights suddenly went out.
The room went completely dark.
A second later, Adrian grabbed my hand.
Not aggressively.
Protectively.
"Stay here."
I heard footsteps outside.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone was walking down the hallway.
Adrian released my hand and moved toward the door.
"Who is there?"
No answer.
Then a voice came from the other side.
A voice I had never heard before.
But Adrian recognized it immediately.
Because his face changed.
"Nia..."
He whispered my name like a warning.
The door handle slowly turned.
May you like
And someone on the other side said:
"I finally found her."
