Chapter 2 - The House of GlassThe iron security shutters slammed down with a deafening hydraulic hiss, sealing the master bathroom and the connecting hallway into an inescapable tomb of white marble and flashing red lights.
Damian didn't flinch. Years of corporate warfare and ruthless hostile takeovers had forged his nerves into steel, but this was different. This was inside his fortress. He slammed his body weight against the heavy iron shutter, but it was solid reinforced titanium—impenetrable from the inside.
"Miller!" Damian roared, spinning around to face the hallway.
The spot where Miller and the second guard had been standing was empty. The polished marble floor was pristine, save for a single dropped security earpiece lying beside a puddle of water. They hadn't just retreated; they had vanished into the mansion's hidden architectural network—a series of service corridors and panic rooms that only Damian, his late father, and the original head architect knew about.
Or so he thought.
"Daddy, it’s loud," Lily cried, burying her face into Sophie’s shoulder. The little girl’s cheerful innocence was finally cracking under the weight of the flashing crimson lights and the terrifying vibrations shaking the floorboards.
"Hush, my sweet angel, look at me," Sophie whispered fiercely, her eyes wide with a terror that went far beyond a simple security breach. She looked up at Damian, her chest heaving beneath her maid's uniform. "Mr. Vance, we can't stay here. The panic room in the east wing... someone has overridden the main server. They're venting the oxygen levels in the primary zones."
Damian crouched down beside them, pulling the small waterproof pouch from his pocket. He extracted the tiny micro SD card and the folded note. Under the strobe-like red emergency lights, the handwriting on the paper looked agonizingly familiar. It wasn't printed; it was scrawled in fountain pen ink—the exact brand of vintage German ink his wife, Elena, used before her tragic drowning in this very pool three months ago.
Elena.
The thought struck him like a physical blow. The official police report had ruled her death an accidental drowning caused by severe postpartum depression and vertigo. But looking at the handwriting, a sickening realization churned in his gut. Elena hadn't slipped. She had discovered something inside this house, and someone had silenced her. And now, they were coming for Lily.
"Sophie," Damian said, gripping the maid by her shoulders with terrifying intensity. "Elena kept a secondary journal. Not the leather-bound one in the study. The titanium lockbox behind the master vanity. Where is the key?"
Sophie’s breath hitched. Her eyes darted away, refusing to meet his gaze. "I... I don't know what you're talking about, sir."
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"Don't lie to me!" Damian shouted over the wailing siren. "Miller didn't run because of a memory card. He ran because he knows what's on this card implicates everyone on this payroll—including you. Now, where is the key?"
Bruno suddenly let out a sharp, ferocious bark, slamming his massive paws against the glass shower enclosure. From inside the ventilation shaft overhead, a soft, metallic scraping sound began to echo, drawing closer by the second.
