Chapter 5 - The Face in the ShadowsThe darkness inside the wardrobe seemed to spill out like thick smoke, smelling faintly of salt water, old iron, and decaying lavender—Eleanor's favorite scent.
Julian squinted, his eyes struggling to adjust to the pitch-black interior. As the light pierced the cavity, the horrifying reality came into focus.
Tied securely to a heavy support beam inside the wardrobe was a woman. Her limbs were bound with thick nautical rope, and a gag made of coarse cloth was tied tightly across her mouth. Her once-luxurious auburn hair was matted and wet, clinging to a face gaunt, hollow-cheeked, and pale as parchment. But it was her eyes—wide, luminous, and burning with a mix of fury and pure, unadulterated terror—that hit Julian like a physical blow.
It was Eleanor.
She wasn't dead at the bottom of the Atlantic. She had been here, hidden away in plain sight, breathing stale air, surviving on scraps, kept alive in a state of suspended animation.
Julian staggered backward, colliding heavily with the edge of the vanity table. A porcelain perfume bottle tipped over, shattering on the floor with a sharp crash, releasing a cloud of artificial floral scent that did nothing to mask the stench of confinement.
"How..." Julian choked out, pointing a shaking finger at the woman inside the wardrobe. "How is she... I checked the yacht. I checked the logs. You said..."
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"I said nothing," Clara’s voice cut in, cold and sharp as a scalpel. She walked up behind him, her reflection in the mirror showing a face devoid of all human warmth. "You assumed she drowned because it was convenient for you, Julian. Because you wanted her money, her estate, and her social standing to fund your grand ambitions. But you were sloppy. You forgot that cleaning up a mess requires someone who knows where all the bodies are buried."
Eleanor’s muffled cries echoed from inside the wooden prison. She thrashed against her bonds, her eyes locked entirely on Julian, screaming silent curses that needed no translation.
