Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Gallery
The grand staircase of the Thornton estate felt like a tightrope walk over an abyss.
According to Ethan’s strict instructions, I needed to locate his personal study on the second floor and retrieve a physical hard drive hidden behind a portrait of his grandfather—a digital insurance policy containing decades of Jason’s corporate embezzlement and illicit wire transfers.
"If anyone asks," Ethan had murmured before I left the room, "you're looking for the library to find a book on interior design. Play the naive, overwhelmed bride. It’s a role you’re already half-playing anyway."
The corridors were eerily quiet. The afternoon sunlight cast long, geometric shadows across the priceless Persian rugs and antique busts lining the walls. As I approached the double doors of the private study, a low murmur of voices drifted through the heavy wood.
I froze, pressing my back flat against the cool wallpaper just around the corner.
"...are you sure the nurse can be trusted?" Vivian Thornton’s voice cut through the air like a sheet of plate glass.
"Completely, Grandmother," Jason replied, sounding far too smug. "She’s heavily in debt from her brother's medical bills. A hundred grand deposited in a Cayman account bought her absolute loyalty. Every twelve hours, she increases Ethan’s sedative drip by just enough to keep his brain trapped in the dark, while making the monitors look steady."
My blood ran instantly cold.
The nurse. The quiet, unassuming woman who stood behind Ethan's wheelchair at the wedding. She wasn't just a caregiver—she was a slow-acting executioner.
"Good," Vivian replied coldly. "The board meeting is in forty-eight hours. Once Jason assumes full proxy voting rights, we sign off on the European restructuring. If Ethan's heart happens to give out naturally during the transition, well... dead men don't contest wills."
"And what about the bride?" Jason chuckled. "The little beggar girl my uncle dragged in? What do we do with her?"
"Let her play nursemaid until the funeral," Vivian dismissed dismissively. "She’s insignificant. A disposable accessory."
My fingers curled into tight fists at my sides, my fingernails biting painfully into my palms. Disposable accessory. They thought I was a helpless lamb led to slaughter, completely unaware that the wolf was already awake and listening.
I waited until their footsteps receded down the opposite hallway before slipping into the study.
The room smelled of old paper, leather, and fine scotch. I rushed across the room to the imposing oil painting of the estate's founder. With trembling hands, I caught the heavy wooden frame and swung it outward on its hidden hinges.
There it was: a small wall safe glowing with a digital keypad.
Think, Lily, think, I told myself. Ethan had given me a string of numbers during our hurried briefing, warning me that it was a combination only he and his grandfather knew.
0-8-1-4-9-4.
I punched the digits into the pad with lightning speed. A soft green light blinked, and the heavy steel door clicked open. Inside sat a sleek, black titanium hard drive.
I grabbed it just as a sharp sound echoed from the hallway outside.
May you like
"Did you leave your tablet on the desk, Jason?" Vivian’s voice echoed closer than before.
Panic seized my chest. There was no time to close the safe, no time to swing the painting back. I dove behind a massive mahogany writing desk just as the heavy oak doors creaked open.
