Chapter 31: Ghosts in the Nursery

The nursery door groaned open, echoing down the hallway like a cry long buried.

Veronica stood in the doorway, her hand still on the knob, eyes scanning the room she hadn't dared to enter until now.

Amy's old nursery.

The one left untouched for years. Preserved like a time capsule—as if someone believed she might one day return and pick up where her childhood left off.

The pastel walls were faded, but they still held soft, hand-painted clouds and dancing animals. A crystal mobile dangled above the tiny cradle in the corner, motionless yet somehow menacing. On a shelf sat plush toys arranged in a perfect line—far too neat for any real child.

Too sterile. Too staged.

Like a performance.

Like a lie.

Veronica stepped in. Each footfall felt heavier, like the carpet remembered and resented every intruder.

Lucas followed silently, his presence like a living shadow behind her.

The air was heavy. Not with dust, but something worse.

Memories. Secrets.

And buried somewhere in all that—the truth.

She crossed the room to the white toy chest under the window. A childish flower sticker still clung to the edge. Veronica hesitated, then opened it.

Inside: a mix of plastic building blocks, fabric dolls, and a sealed envelope addressed in the same handwriting as the note from Amy's mother.

To: "My Sun, for when you start to remember."

Veronica's throat constricted.

She peeled it open with care.

Inside wasn't another letter.

It was a small key, wrapped in lace ribbon.

"What the hell were you trying to protect, Amy?" she murmured.

Behind her, Lucas's low voice rumbled. "You're shaking."

She hadn't realized.

"I'm fine," she said automatically.

"You're not," he countered, stepping closer, his tone quiet but piercing. "You flinch every time something doesn't fit the script. Because you know Amy's story was never written in her handwriting."

Veronica turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed.

"You said you'd burn with me," she said softly. "But would you dig too? Would you unearth something even if it made me hate you?"

Lucas didn't hesitate. "I'd tear open the grave if you asked."

Their eyes locked.

Heat simmered beneath her ribs. She hated how easily he read her. How he didn't recoil from her darkness, but reached for it.

He was too close again. Always.

And still, never close enough.

She looked away first. "Then follow me to hell, Lucas. Because that's where this key goes."

An Hour Later — Amy's Secret Storage Unit

The gate lifted with a groan of rusted metal.

Veronica stepped into the dim unit. Lucas stayed just behind her, one hand near his jacket—always ready, always armed.

The air smelled of mildew and stale paper.

The box was small. Dust-covered. Protected beneath layers of outdated ballet costumes, old piano books, and broken dolls.

Veronica lifted it with trembling hands.

The same sticker as before—a sun with a scar running through it—marked the lid.

She used the lace-wrapped key.

Inside the box lay a cassette tape.

Analog. Ancient.

Her chest clenched.

Lucas spoke behind her. "I have a player in the car."

Of course he did.

Of course, he was always prepared.

Ten Minutes Later — Inside Lucas's SUV

The tape hissed as it began.

Then: a girl's voice.

Faint. Whispering.

Veronica's hands clenched in her lap.

"I don't remember much, but… I know I'm not safe."

It was Amy.

Amy's real voice.

Soft, uncertain, filled with fear.

Veronica held her breath.

"He told me to forget. That I was 'lucky' to be adopted. That no one wanted the daughter of a traitor."

Lucas's head snapped toward her.

But the tape kept playing.

"They say she was crazy. My real mom. That she killed people. But I remember her singing to me… and calling me her 'sun.'"

Veronica swallowed hard. Her vision blurred.

"He comes at night sometimes. Brother. But I don't think he's my brother. He smells like iron. Like fear."

Veronica stiffened. "Rewind that."

Lucas did.

The voice repeated:

"Brother. But I don't think he's my brother. He smells like iron."

Iron.

Blood.

Veronica's fingers dug into the armrest. "Whoever 'Brother' is—he was the one watching her. Controlling her."

Lucas's voice was grim. "And possibly the one who killed her."

She stared at the dashboard, at nothing, mind spinning.

Amy wasn't just a forgotten heiress. She was someone raised inside a gilded cage built on lies. Gaslighted. Muzzled.

Controlled.

Lucas reached over and—hesitated—then rested his hand gently over hers.

She looked down at their hands. Her instinct was to pull away.

But this time, she didn't.

"Why do you stay?" she asked, voice hoarse. "You could walk away. I wouldn't stop you."

Lucas's thumb traced the back of her hand, slowly, like he was memorizing it.

"I don't want to walk away," he said. "I want to be the person who doesn't flinch when you show your scars."

She blinked.

"I want to be the one you let in."

Her chest twisted.

"I'm not sure I know how."

"Then I'll wait. At the door. Every day."

The tape clicked. It was done.

Silence pressed in.

Veronica pulled her hand back, not cruelly, but because she needed space to think. To breathe.

"What now?" Lucas asked.

Veronica's eyes sharpened. "Now we find out who that man was. 'Brother.' And why Amy's real mother was labeled a traitor."

Lucas nodded. "I'll pull records. Discreetly."

She reached for the tape and tucked it into her coat.

"But some ghosts," she said, "aren't found in databases."

Lucas leaned back in his seat. "Then where?"

She stared out the window, toward the towering Lin Estate in the distance. Toward the past.

"In the house where it all began."

That Night — Lin Estate, Basement Archives

The family kept a private vault. Not just for jewelry, but for records. One only elders were allowed to access.

But Veronica was no ordinary heiress anymore.

She cracked the lock. Lucas disabled the sensors.

The basement smelled of mold, ink, and the rot of sealed secrets.

Veronica found the drawer labeled "Lin — Extended Family" and pulled it open.

Her heart stilled.

Inside was a faded file labeled "Lin Yara — Blacklisted. Declared rogue at 28. Deceased."

She opened it.

Photo: A woman with Veronica's eyes. Sharper. More sorrowful. Holding a baby.

Scrawled at the bottom:

Daughter: Amy Lin (classified).

Lucas read over her shoulder. "Your birth mother."

Veronica nodded slowly.

"She wasn't just shunned," she said. "She was erased."

And then, her eyes widened as she noticed the signature at the bottom.

The same man who runs the elite council today.

Lucas's jaw clenched. "They wiped her from the records. And used Amy as a pawn."

Veronica's eyes burned.

"They tried to do it again with me."

Lucas looked at her, gaze dark and steady.

"Not anymore."

Her fists curled around the file. "Now it's my turn to erase them."