The manor loomed like a shadow over her future. After being purchased like a trinket, Elise was relocated into the gilded prison that was Silas Lancaster's estate. Her room was luxurious, yes, but the silence was too loud, and the walls too white. She was dressed in clothes she didn't choose, given food she didn't ask for, and forced into a rhythm she had no say in.
Silas didn't demand anything of her—yet. He was always polite, distant even, like a man observing a ticking time bomb. But there was something about the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching. A sadness. Or guilt. Or something heavier that even he couldn't put into words.
She spent most of her time pacing. Reading. Walking through the gardens like a ghost. But when she stumbled upon a locked room at the end of the east wing, curiosity bloomed. Why was it locked? Why did Silas flinch when she mentioned it later at dinner?
"Stay out of that room, Elise," he said, voice low. "Some things are better left buried."
She didn't believe in buried secrets. Not anymore.