The sound of the antique lock clicking closed was as final as a gavel, cutting the sisters off from the outside world. Their earlier adrenaline—Seraphina's anger and Elara's fearful judgment—quickly turned to a chilling fear of being trapped.
"I was really hoping this wouldn't be necessary, Elara," Julian's voice came through the thick mahogany library door, smooth and infuriatingly patronizing. "But I couldn't risk either of you making a bad decision based on incomplete information."
Elara reacted instinctively. She threw herself at the door, her fist pounding on the aged wood. "Julian, this is insane! This is kidnapping! You can't hold us here! "
Julian let out a theatrical sigh, a sound that conveyed endless patience being strained by childish antics. "Kidnapping? My dear, you are simply having a lovely, impromptu late-night library session at your family's estate. The security log shows you both entered the library at exactly 1:07 AM, and neither of you has left since. Given Seraphina's obvious psychological distress with the Gallery sale and your sudden appearance, I took the precaution of securing the room so she wouldn't hurt herself or damage Father's priceless collection. You, Elara, are just doing your duty as a concerned sister."
His carefully chosen words were a skilled act of manipulation, trying to frame the situation as a protective measure against Seraphina's supposed instability. Elara recognized this controlling tactic from their childhood.
"He's stalling," Seraphina hissed, ignoring the door. She had already crossed the Oriental rug, her eyes scanning the room like a predator. She snatched Julian's crumpled blackmail note from the carpet and the antique silver lighter from the desk. "He knows we have his main leverage—the note proving he has the original Medusa contract and is actively forging another. But he needs us locked up until the papers are signed tomorrow and the Medusa copy is safe."
Elara, shaking off her shock, pulled out her phone. The screen displayed the universally maddening message: No Service. She tried to think logically, considering possible scenarios.
"Did he cut the power? No, the lights are on. There has to be a repeater somewhere, a signal booster…"
"Stop wasting time," Seraphina cut in sharply. "This room is designed to be a vacuum. It was Father's main negotiation chamber. The walls have copper mesh under the paneling, creating a complete Faraday cage, installed after a serious corporate espionage incident in the mid-nineties. It blocks any signal, any listening device, any remote activation. Julian knew that. He didn't just lock the door; he put us in a sealed box. He must have activated the lockdown when he heard the safe's mechanism turn."
Julian's voice returned, now closer, filled with a chilling confidence that reinforced his control over them. "You see, Elara, your dedication to preservation is your ultimate flaw. It's an admirable flaw, I admit, at the heart of your identity as a Thorne. But it's still a flaw. You rushed to get the document not because you care for Seraphina, but because you value the Thorne Gallery—the family legacy, the purity of the collection—over your own safety or even your sister's freedom. That's your virtue trap. It's what allowed me to predict every single panicked move you both made."
He paused, allowing the silence of the sealed room to absorb his accusation's weight. "You can't sacrifice the innocent document for the guilty sister, can you? That moral paralysis is what keeps you frozen. That document, that bait, is doing its job perfectly."
Seraphina ignored his attack, her mind working through decades of knowledge about the family home. She moved quickly, not toward the front of the safe, but to the wall where the shelving unit met the heavy stone fireplace mantle. She traced the nearly invisible line where two panels met.
"He thinks he's clever, but Julian was always an outsider here," Seraphina muttered, her breath shallow. "He spent his time in auction houses and boardrooms. He learned the history of every artwork, but never the architecture of this house, which Father valued above all."
She found the seam, a hairline crack in the elaborate woodwork. Instead of pushing or pulling immediately, she reached up and gripped the base of a decorative bronze lamp mounted above the safe's niche, using it as a lever. She pulled down sharply while pressing the panel she had located.
A low grinding sound echoed within the wall, causing a slight shift in the room's air pressure.
"Father had this whole section redesigned in '98, but not for security cameras," Seraphina explained, pulling harder. "It was meant to keep out unwanted visitors during late-night retreats. It's not a secret passage to the study, but an access point to the unused servant staircase in the west wing, which was sealed off after… well, never mind. Only a Thorne knows the combination of the lamp and the panel."
With a smooth hiss, the entire section of shelving next to the safe slid inward, revealing a tight, dusty passage and a steep flight of narrow wooden stairs leading into darkness. The stale air that rushed out carried the scent of old dust and stone.
"You're telling me this 19th-century manor has a secret exit from the library we never knew about? " Elara stared at the opening, feeling the weight of a decade's worth of family secrets and the enormity of Julian's betrayal.
"It has twelve, if you count the dumbwaiter in the east wing, which I wouldn't recommend," Seraphina replied, her eyes fixed on the passage. She grabbed the heavy, worthless bait-document and shoved it under her arm like a rolled map. "Julian will spend the night guarding the library door, convinced his cage is secure. He thinks the Thorne sisters will submit to the inevitable."
Seraphina paused at the mouth of the passage, the moonlight from the library window illuminating her face. It stripped away her party-girl image, revealing a determined figure.
"We have about six hours before the caterers arrive, the security team is briefed, and the estate staff finds us gone," Seraphina said, her voice dropping to a serious, cold whisper filled with focus. "He can lock the room, but he can't stop the inevitable truth we now hold. We know where the second forgery of the Regret of Medusa is: it's in his private vault, miles from here, deep in his commercial warehouse downtown. Our goal isn't to save the Gallery anymore, Elara. We passed that point when we were locked in this room."
She extended her hand into the darkness of the passage. Her face showed calculated fury.
"We get to that painting, we destroy that second copy, and then we have nothing left to lose and everything to expose," Seraphina declared. "This is no longer about preserving Father's legacy. This is about destroying the man who tried to imprison us and ruin our lives. Are you with me, or will you stay to protect his worthless, staged document? "
Elara looked from the open safe—the symbol of her moral compromise—to the dark passage and her sister, who now offered her purpose. Julian had accused her of being trapped by her own virtue; now, Seraphina offered her an escape through abandoning that virtue. The choice was clear: the path of moral high ground had led her to a locked room. The path of necessary revenge was the only way out.
She reached out and took Seraphina's hand. Their grip was strong, binding them in a silent agreement for revenge.
"We destroy him," Elara confirmed, giving weight to their words. "But we take the bait with us. If this document proves he forged the contract, we keep it for insurance."
Seraphina nodded, recognizing the tactical sense. "Fair enough. Come on. And try not to make any noise. Julian might be at the door, but this house still has ears."
They slipped into the passage. The air was cool and heavy, the dust thick enough to muffle their steps. Seraphina, in her thin silk robe and bare feet, moved down the steep, narrow wooden steps with surprising ease, her childhood explorations surfacing under pressure. Elara, weighed down by her clothes and the situation's horror, stumbled slightly, clutching the rough stone wall for balance.
As they descended, the hidden bookshelf door quietly shut behind them, its mechanism sighing gently, leaving the library, the open safe, and the staged theft scene alone in the moonlight.
The passage opened onto a dimly lit, tiled service hallway for utility access. They were deep in the west wing, far from the main foyer.
"The window at the end of this hall leads to the side terrace," Seraphina whispered, her eyes sharp in the shadows. "It has an alarm, but the sensor is old, a simple pressure pad. We have to jump past it."
They moved like shadows, their forms stretching in the faint light from the corridors. When they reached the window, Seraphina used the silver lighter to illuminate the latch. A quiet snick, and the window opened, letting in cool night air and the sound of crickets.
Julian's last taunt echoed in Elara's mind: "Sleep well, ladies. You have a big day tomorrow."
Elara took a deep breath of the fresh, cold air. The next six hours wouldn't be about sleep; they would focus on sabotage. Their escape from the library was complete, but they had just stepped into another trap designed by Julian, where the only way out was through total destruction. They silently dropped onto the dew-covered lawn. The estate stretched before them, their car keys locked inside the library.
"We need transportation, and we need to move quickly," Seraphina whispered, adjusting the rolled contract under her arm. "The warehouse district is over an hour away. Do you remember the old service road? "
Elara nodded, her mind shifting from defense to offense. "And the gate code. We need to find the gate." Their next stop: the center of Julian's financial empire. Time was running out until the final, destructive dawn.