That night, the Blackwood mansion felt like a maze of cold marble and secrets. Alexander had disappeared into his study immediately after the dinner with Victoria, leaving me alone in the vast silence.
I couldn't sleep. My mind kept replaying the two-week deadline. Restless, I began to wander the hallway of the west wing. Most of the doors were locked, but one at the very end stood slightly ajar.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed it open. It wasn't a bedroom. The air inside was heavy with the scent of old paper and a perfume I didn't recognize—something floral and haunting.
The room was filled with paintings, all covered in white sheets, except for one on a large easel in the center. I pulled back the cloth, and my breath caught in my throat.
It was a portrait of a woman. She was wearing a silk dress, her eyes full of life. But it wasn't the beauty of the painting that terrified me.
It was her face. She looked exactly like me.
"I told you there are places in this house you should never enter."
I spun around. Alexander was leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette tall and menacing in the shadows. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were burning with a dark intensity.
"Who is she, Alexander?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
He stepped closer, the moonlight hitting the sharp angles of his face. "She is the reason you are here, Elena. And she is the reason you will never be more than a pawn in this game.