The morning after the gala was quiet. The golden sunrise had barely kissed the Manhattan skyline when Eva stirred in bed, still wrapped in yesterday's memories. She had cried herself to bed last night , barely remembering how she slept off.
Downstairs, the mansion felt colder without his presence.
Eva stood before the mirror. The woman staring back was no longer the silent novice who had once walked cloistered halls. Her eyes, once full of innocent devotion, now held a trace of steel. Eva slipped into a simple navy dress, tying her hair into a soft bun. She instructed Beatrice to prepare for her brief visit to her father's home. She said it lightly, but her heart weighed with a storm of emotions especially now, with the envelope burning a hole in her handbag. The one Ellen had left behind.
Before she could even leave her suite, her feet stopped near the stairwell. Her eyes drifted upwards.
The top floor.
That floor.
She had never been allowed there. No one was, except for Abrams Eliot, Jeremi's head of security. Eva had only heard whispers: that the top floor was where Jeremi retreated when the world became too much. Abrams monitored it fiercely, allowing no maid entry unless he stood guard even though cameras watched every inch.
Eva had only passed the staircase to the top floor a handful of times, but today her steps slowed. She looked up at the spiraling banister, at the double doors veiled in shadows.
That part of the house felt different. Still. Sacred. Guarded.
The maids had warned her indirectly.
"No one goes up there, madam. Only Mr. Jeremi and Mr. Abrams."
Once, when a vase had broken in the hallway nearby, Abrams himself had appeared within seconds, towering and unreadable. He'd escorted the maid away and replaced the broken vase the next day.
Today, Eva's curiosity burned hotter than her fear. She climbed the steps slowly.
One hand on the polished rail.
Her breath quiet, measured.
At the landing, she paused. The door was black with a silver handle plain, but heavy looking. Cold air seemed to seep through the cracks. She reached out and touched the knob. It didn't turn.
Locked.
Eva glanced over her shoulder. No footsteps. No sound.
She leaned closer, pressing her ear gently to the door. Nothing. Only silence... but it was the kind of silence that felt like it was watching you back. Just as she turned to go, a small click echoed from the hallway a camera rotating.
Eva froze.
Had she been seen?
She took a deep breath and descended, heartbeat quickening. By the time she reached her room, Beatrice was waiting with her coat and scarf.
"Is everything alright, madam?"
Eva nodded calmly. "Yes. Let's go."
But inside, her hands trembled slightly. Whatever Jeremi was hiding on that floor…
She had just scratched the surface.
And she wasn't going to stop until she knew everything.
The sun was warm against the glass windows of the Moretti dining hall, casting soft golden beams over the white linen tablecloth. Eva sat at the edge of her seat, sipping her tea slowly while Jeremi skimmed through news updates on a sleek tablet. For once, the air between them wasn't stiff only quietly polite.
Jeremi cut into his toast. "You're quiet."
"I plan to visit my father today," Eva said, folding her hands on the table.
He looked up, brows twitching. "Alone?"
"Yes. It's nothing serious. Just a short visit."
Jeremi placed his cutlery down, giving her his full attention now. "Take two escorts with you."
"That won't be necessary."
"I insist."
Eva met his gaze and found no room for argument. It wasn't a suggestion. it was a command softened by concern. She gave a small nod. "Fine."
The breakfast was cut short when Abrams whispered something into Jeremi's ears , he immediately got up and left immediately.
Eva immediately panicked , unsure Abram must have seen her and communicated that to Jeremi. But he had said nothing and so she maintained her steeze.
Her father's home hadn't changed. The curtains were still old and dust-clung, the furniture arranged in the same stiff formation it had been for decades. He was seated on his usual couch when she arrived, startled by her presence.
"You shouldn't be here," he said immediately, rising with a mix of guilt and dread. "Not so soon."
"Why?" Eva asked calmly, removing her gloves. "Because I might start asking questions?"
He didn't answer.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the torn envelope the one she had received from the foundation gala.
His eyes widened.
"someone send this to me, I think Ellen's death is not natural ," Eva said. "It means someone knows about me being fake too .?"
He stepped forward sharply, snatched the letter from her hand before she could stop him.
"Don't do this, Eva," he said gruffly, tearing the paper quickly in half, then again into quarters. "Leave this alone. You're not her."
"I deserve to know the truth!"
"No, you don't," he snapped. "You don't know what kind of eyes are watching you now. What deals were made to get you into that house. Do not mess it up by digging up graves. Stay in your place. Be the Ellen they all believe you were."
Eva stared at him, heart cracking at the sharpness of his words. He wasn't just hiding something he was afraid. But of who?
Of Jeremi?
Of himself?
She didn't speak again. She simply turned and walked out, fighting the sting in her chest.
Eva didn't return to her suite. Instead, she wandered toward Ellen's old room a place
that hadn't been touched since her death. She closed the door quietly behind her, the scent of faded perfume and old lavender still lingering in the air.
The room was eerily still. Like Ellen was just out at a party and would be back any minute.
Eva began opening drawers, peeking under books, inside boxes. Then, under a loose floorboard near the vanity, she found it:
A diary.
She opened it gently. The first page was signed in Ellen's familiar, flowing script.
"They don't know what he makes me feel. I ache when he's away. And when he's near—oh, I burn.
We've been intimate again and again, and I love every second of it."
Eva's heart stopped.
Another page:
"Our secret meetups are my favorite part of the week. The staff thinks I'm at piano lessons, but really, I'm with him. We've had sleepovers too, once in the city apartment. I can't let the public know. No one can know what we share. It would destroy everything."
She flipped to the last page Ellen had written.
"I finally sent him #JM# the letter. He'll read it before the wedding. I had to tell him. About the baby. About everything. I hope he understands."
Eva's hand trembled as she clutched the diary to her chest. "JM" it rang a bell and it was the only person she suspected all along
He.
Him.
She'd sent the letter to him that she was carrying his child. Eva looked up, her mind reeling, a single name screaming in her head
Jeremi Moretti.
Eva's eyes filled with tears. Something wasn't right.
She folded everything neatly and tucked it into her handbag. The truth was beginning to breathe beneath the lies.
And Eva wasn't sure she was ready to hear it.