THE SHADOW BEHIND THE DOOR

Emma's voice barely left her lips.

"What did you do, Father…?"

The words echoed in the cavern of her chest, too soft to be heard by anyone but herself, but loud enough to shatter the ground she thought she stood on.

She stared at the photo again, her fingers trembling. Caleb and Lillian Rolister. Smiling. Hands intertwined. And behind them—no, with them—her father. Not a stranger. Not some passing guest. Comfortable. Known.

Trusted.

The air turned thick.

She flipped the photo over once more.

Dated: April 17th — Two days before the fire.

The same day the factory had its last inspection.

The same date that kept appearing in those old reports.

She turned to the next file. A project summary with bold red ink slashed across the cover:

PROJECT N-14: TERMINATED

Confidential. Valeria Holdings – Lead Investor.

And below it—

Termination Date: April 19th.

The same day Jake's parents died.

Emma staggered back a step, her spine pressing against the wall of books behind her. Her heartbeat had turned to a frantic drumbeat in her ears. The floor didn't feel stable beneath her. The walls of her childhood home were closing in.

"No," she whispered, barely able to breathe. "No, that can't be—"

The sound of footsteps cut through her spiraling thoughts.

She went rigid.

They were heavy, deliberate. Coming closer.

Her father.

She moved fast—stuffing the photo and memo into her robe pocket and sliding into the shadows behind the tall velvet curtains before the study door creaked open.

From behind the heavy fabric, she watched him stride into the room, phone in hand.

"You said he was silenced. Why the hell is the story resurfacing?" he snapped. "I don't care how you do it. Find the leak and fix it."

Emma's blood turned to ice.

He wasn't just involved—he was still covering it up.

"I already told David what to do," Alistair continued, voice sharp as glass. "If the man's still talking by sunrise, it's on your head."

Emma's breath caught.

David. Her father's most ruthless enforcer. A name whispered with fear. If David was involved, someone's life was in danger.

"This isn't just some disgruntled worker," her father went on. "He has access to security logs. Footage. Files. If any of that reaches the press, Valeria Holdings will burn."

Another pause. Then a name that made Emma's blood chill.

"Rhea Carson. She knows. I don't know how, but she knows."

Rhea?

Emma's mind scrambled to connect the dots. Rhea had confronted her parents at the university… she'd spoken up for Jake… had she known something?

"What about her?" came Verona's voice now, cool and composed as she entered the room. "Do we let the girl run her mouth?"

"We watch her. Closely. But if she oversteps…" Alistair didn't finish. He didn't need to.

Verona's heels clicked softly against the wood floor.

"And Emma?" she asked. "She's… fragile right now. Her behavior's erratic. First the outburst at the university, now locking herself in her room. Should we be concerned?"

Alistair scoffed. "She's a child. She doesn't understand the weight of this legacy."

Verona's voice shifted, a hint of concern threading through. "She's always been obedient, but lately... I don't know. It's like she's slipping out of our hands."

Emma's pulse pounded.

She watched their silhouettes move across the room, her own breath caught painfully in her chest. Every word twisted deeper into her.

"They don't see me. Not as a person. Just a piece on their board."

Then the line that turned her blood to stone:

"Where is she?" Alistair asked.

"In her room," Verona replied. "I checked. She's asleep."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Why?"

Alistair's eyes swept the study, narrowing. "Something feels off."

Verona laughed, but it was uneasy. "You're just being paranoid."

That's when it happened.

Emma shifted just slightly, trying to balance her weight—

And her elbow bumped the ornate wooden frame of the window behind the curtain.

Thud.

Soft. Barely audible. But enough.

Alistair's head snapped toward the sound.

"What was that?"

Verona's eyes followed, sharp now. "Did you leave a window open?"

He took a step toward the curtain.

Emma's body went rigid. Every instinct screamed. Her lungs seized. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop any sound from escaping.

Another step.

Alistair's shadow fell across the curtain.

"Someone's here," he growled.

Verona's hand landed on his arm. "Wait. What if—"

"Only three people have access to this room," he muttered. "Me. You. And Emma."

They both turned toward the curtain.

Inches.

That was all that separated Emma from them.

Inches of fabric.

Inches of breath.

Her heart was screaming. Her skin felt electric, her mind spiraling with fear and fury and confusion. The photo in her pocket burned like a brand.

She knew too much.

And now… they were about to know she knew.

"If they find me…"

The thought fractured into a hundred what-ifs. None of them ended well.

Her father's fingers reached toward the curtain.

The fabric shifted.

Emma clenched her fists, bracing.

And—

TO BE CONTINUED.

End of Part 7