She looked at him with piercing eyes. “Let’s just say unfinished business tends to linger.” She lifted her wineglass. “But that belongs to the past.”
“You’ll soon understand why I chose you.”
After dinner, he wandered through the mansion’s corridors. The house was eerily quiet, broken only by the faint creak of floorboards beneath his feet. He passed several closed doors, their brass handles gleaming in the dim light. Each one seemed to whisper secrets he was not meant to hear.
As the days passed, Mark grew increasingly uneasy. The staff avoided eye contact and spoke in hushed tones when they thought he wasn’t listening. He caught fragments of conversations that made his stomach churn.
“Why him?”
“Does he know?”
“She never does anything without a reason.”
“He’ll find out sooner or later.”
“They always do.”
One night, while wandering through the library, Mark noticed Eleanor’s desk. Papers were scattered across it, and beside them lay a small, ornate key. It gleamed under the lamp, its intricate design catching his eye.
He glanced around the room. No one was there.
His heart pounding, he reached for it.
The key was heavier than he expected, cold to the touch. Mark’s mind raced. Was it for one of the locked doors? He looked toward the hallway, where shadows danced along the walls.
His breathing quickened as he slipped the key into his pocket.
That night, lying in his luxurious yet stifling room, Mark turned the key over in his mind. A million questions swirled, but one loomed above them all:
The mansion was wrapped in silence when Mark slipped into the hallway. The key felt like a lump of lead in his pocket, its cold surface pressing against his thigh. His pulse raced as he approached the door he had noticed before, its ornate knob faintly gleaming in the moonlight filtering through the windows.
Glancing over his shoulder, Mark turned the key in the lock. The soft click echoed in the silence, sending a chill through him. Slowly, he pushed the door open.
The room was a time capsule, frozen in another era. Dusty furniture and faded wallpaper surrounded him. Photographs in tarnished silver frames covered a table, their images capturing happier times: a younger Eleanor, a man who must have been her late husband, and another couple Mark didn’t recognize.
But it was the stack of papers on the desk that caught his attention. Mark flipped through them, eyes wide. Legal documents detailed failed business dealings between Eleanor’s husband and Mark’s father.
One letter in particular, written in sharp, slanted handwriting, accused Mark’s father of fraud. You ruined everything. My family was left with nothing because of your lies…
His breath caught when he reached the final page—a marriage license. His name and Eleanor’s stared back at him starkly on the paper. It was dated weeks before the wedding, far earlier than he had imagined.
On the desk lay an old, leather-bound journal. Mark hesitated, then opened it. The entries were Eleanor’s and revealed a calculated plan to trap Mark in a marriage that would serve her ultimate goal of settling old scores.
Mark froze at the sound of the door creaking behind him.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Eleanor’s voice was icy, slicing through the shadows like a blade. He turned, guilt and fear written across his face.
“Eleanor, I—”
“Did you think you’d find answers here?” She stepped into the room, her silhouette sharp against the dim hallway light. “Curiosity killed the cat, Mark. What do you think you’re doing?”
Her voice was low but firm.
“Why did you marry me?” Mark demanded. “Is it because of my father? Is this revenge?”
Eleanor’s gaze hardened, her usual façade cracking.
“It’s not your place to ask questions, Mark. Just do as you’re told, and you’ll leave this marriage better off than when you entered it. Isn’t that enough?”
Mark clenched his fists. “Enough. You lied to me. You manipulated me. This isn’t a marriage—it’s a trap.”
Eleanor’s lips curved into a faint smile that never reached her eyes. “A trap? Perhaps you should have thought twice before signing those papers.” She stepped closer, her tone venomous. “You may think you’re clever, Mark, but you’re just like your father—blind to the damage you cause until it’s far too late.”
Mark glared at her, once again feeling the weight of his father’s legacy. “If you hated him so much, why take it out on me? I had nothing to do with what he did to your family.”
Eleanor stared at him for a long moment, the silence tightening like a drawn wire. Finally, she turned on her heel.
“You’re in deep trouble, Mark. Stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”
With that, she left the room, her footsteps fading down the hall.
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