Chapter 3 — The Woman Behind Vanessa
Chapter 3 — The Woman Behind Vanessa
Vanessa was sitting across from me when she finally stopped crying.
The mansion had become strangely quiet.
Margaret had disappeared upstairs.
Ryan had gone into his father's old study.
And I had locked every door that led into the east wing.
For the first time since Vanessa entered my home, we were alone.
She looked exhausted.
The woman who had walked through my front door that evening with a perfect smile and an enormous fake belly was gone.
Now she looked frightened.
Young.
Almost lost.
I placed a cup of tea in front of her.
She stared at it.
“You're not going to hurt me?”
I almost smiled.
“No.”
“Even after what I did?”
“You didn't come here because you wanted to destroy my marriage.”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
“No.”
“Then tell me why.”
She wrapped both hands around the cup.
“I need you to believe me.”
“I'll believe the evidence.”
She nodded.
“That’s fair.”
I leaned back.
“Who hired you?”
Vanessa remained silent.
“Was it Margaret?”
She shook her head.
“Then who?”
Her fingers tightened around the cup.
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
“I don't know her real name.”
“That's not good enough.”
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“She called herself Eleanor.”
I frowned.
“Eleanor who?”
“I don't know.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“At a hotel.”
“Which one?”
“The Grand Meridian.”
“When?”
“About nine months ago.”
My stomach tightened.
Nine months.
Almost exactly when the fake pregnancy story had begun.
“What did she offer you?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
I stared at her.
“For pretending to be pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
Vanessa looked embarrassed.
“Because I had been seen with Ryan.”
“So you were already part of his social circle.”
“Yes.”
“She knew that?”
“She knew everything about me.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“She knew my debts.”
I said nothing.
“My mother's medical bills.”
She swallowed.
“My brother's tuition.”
I watched her carefully.
“She knew where I lived.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Your brother's name?”
Vanessa nodded.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
That answer frightened me more than anything else.
Someone had investigated her thoroughly.
Someone with access to private information.
Someone powerful enough to know exactly what pressure would make Vanessa obey.
“What were you told to do?”
Vanessa looked at me.
“Make you believe Ryan was having a child.”
“Why?”
“To make you leave the marriage.”
I already knew that part.
“What happens after I leave?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“They never told me.”
“Never?”
“No.”
I studied her face.
“You're still hiding something.”
She looked away.
I waited.
Finally she whispered:
“They told me you had to leave before the anniversary.”
I frowned.
“Which anniversary?”
“Your wedding anniversary.”
My heart skipped.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“When?”
“Three days from now.”
Silence filled the room.
Three days.
Something was supposed to happen three days from now.
I looked toward the locked east wing.
The brass key Ryan had given me suddenly felt heavier in my mind.
“What else did Eleanor tell you?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“She said the divorce had to be final before midnight.”
“Why?”
“She didn't explain.”
“Did she give you documents?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
Vanessa reached into her purse.
She pulled out a thin envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a copy of a contract.
My name.
Ryan's name.
A clause from our marriage agreement.
I read it carefully.
My father's trust.
The inheritance.
The condition regarding our marriage.
And at the bottom—
a handwritten note.
When Olivia leaves, control transfers.
I looked at Vanessa.
“Who wrote this?”
“I don't know.”
I turned the page.
There was a signature.
Not Margaret's.
Not Ryan's.
Not anyone I recognized.
But I'd seen it before.
On the documents from my father's safe.
Eleanor Vale.
My blood went cold.
“That's her real name.”
Vanessa nodded.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?”
“She never introduced herself that way.”
“Then how do you know?”
“She signed the payment agreement.”
I stared at the signature.
“Where is the original?”
“I gave it back.”
“To Eleanor?”
Vanessa nodded.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Where?”
“She came to my apartment.”
“Did she come alone?”
Vanessa's face changed.
“No.”
“Who was with her?”
“I couldn't see his face.”
“Why?”
“He stayed in the car.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall.”
“Anything else?”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“A silver watch.”
I froze.
“What kind?”
“Very expensive.”
“Did you see the face?”
She shook her head.
But then her eyes widened.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“He had a scar.”
“Where?”
“On his left hand.”
I felt a chill.
I had seen that scar before.
On someone who had been inside my home.
Someone I trusted.
Before I could ask another question, the study door opened.
Ryan walked in.
He looked exhausted.
“What are you doing?”
“Talking to Vanessa.”
He looked at her.
“Did she tell you?”
“Yes.”
“About Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
Ryan's expression changed.
“Then we have a problem.”
“What?”
He closed the door behind him.
“Because Eleanor Vale is dead.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She died twelve years ago.”
Vanessa's face went white.
“No.”
Ryan walked toward us.
“I checked.”
“That's impossible.”
“She was a financial consultant.”
I looked at the contract.
“Then who signed this?”
Ryan took it.
His face changed.
“This signature is real.”
I stared at him.
“Then how can she be dead?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Vanessa whispered:
“She told me she had been watching your family for years.”
“Did she say why?”
“No.”
“Did she mention my father?”
Vanessa nodded.
“Several times.”
My heart pounded.
“What did she say?”
“She said your father promised her something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
Ryan looked at me.
“Olivia.”
I turned.
“What?”
“You need to see this.”
He opened his hand.
Inside was a photograph.
A woman stood beside my father.
Young.
Elegant.
Dark-haired.
I recognized her immediately.
It was the same woman in the photograph from the documents in my father's safe.
Eleanor Vale.
I looked at the date.
Eight years ago.
The day before my father disappeared.
I looked at Ryan.
“Your father knew her?”
“Yes.”
“My father knew her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is she supposed to be dead?”
Ryan had no answer.
Vanessa suddenly stood.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“She wasn't alone when I met her.”
“You said that.”
“No.”
Vanessa pointed at the photograph.
“That man.”
I looked at the picture.
Standing several feet behind my father and Eleanor was a young man.
His face was partially turned away.
But his left hand was visible.
A silver watch.
And a scar across his knuckles.
I stared.
Ryan stared.
Vanessa whispered:
“That's him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
I took the photograph.
Then I noticed something else.
My father's hand was resting on Eleanor's shoulder.
But Eleanor was holding a folder.
The folder had one word written on it.
GUARDIAN.
I remembered the documents from the previous night.
The trust.
The protected shares.
The hidden network.
Everything was connected.
But there was one thing I couldn't understand.
If Eleanor was dead—
who was pretending to be her?
That night, I searched every record I could find.
Death certificate.
Burial records.
Property records.
Financial reports.
Everything.
Eleanor Vale had indeed died twelve years ago.
Official cause:
Cardiac arrest.
Age:
Thirty-six.
No surviving spouse.
No children.
No known relatives.
But there was one strange detail.
Her death certificate had been issued by a private clinic.
The same clinic that had treated my father.
I stared at the document.
Then at the date.
Something was wrong.
The death certificate had been filed three days after her supposed death.
Why?
I called the clinic.
The number no longer existed.
I searched the address.
The building had been demolished.
I leaned back.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Who is this?”
A woman's voice whispered:
“You're looking in the wrong place.”
I froze.
“Eleanor?”
A pause.
Then:
“Don't say that name.”
“Who are you?”
“You need to stop asking questions.”
“No.”
“Olivia, listen to me.”
I sat upright.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know everything about you.”
“Who are you?”
The woman breathed heavily.
Then whispered:
“Your father trusted me.”
“Prove it.”
“I know what he gave you when you were nine.”
My heart stopped.
Nobody knew that.
Not Ryan.
Not Margaret.
Not even Daniel.
My father had given me a small silver music box when I was nine.
He had told me never to lose it.
The woman continued:
“The key is still inside.”
I stood.
“What key?”
“The key your father hid inside the music box.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Who are you?”
“I told you.”
“No.”
My voice hardened.
“Tell me your name.”
Silence.
Then:
“I'm the woman who was supposed to protect your father.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
Then ran upstairs.
The music box was in my bedroom safe.
I opened it.
My hands shook as I lifted the lid.
The familiar melody played.
Beneath the velvet lining was a tiny compartment.
I had never noticed it.
I removed the lining.
A brass key fell into my hand.
The same design as the key Ryan had shown me.
But smaller.
I stared at it.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned.
Ryan stood in the doorway.
“What did you find?”
I showed him the key.
His face changed.
“That key…”
“What?”
“That's my father's.”
I frowned.
“No.”
Ryan shook his head.
“My father had one exactly like it.”
“Where?”
“In the east wing.”
My heart started racing.
“What does it open?”
“I don't know.”
“Then let's find out.”
We walked toward the east wing.
Halfway there, Vanessa came running down the stairs.
“Olivia!”
I turned.
“What?”
She was terrified.
“She called me.”
“Who?”
“Eleanor.”
My heart stopped.
“What did she say?”
Vanessa looked at Ryan.
“She said I was supposed to die tonight.”
Silence.
Ryan's face went pale.
“What?”
“She said I knew too much.”
I stepped toward Vanessa.
“Where is your phone?”
She handed it to me.
The call log showed an unknown number.
I called it.
No answer.
Then a message arrived.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE.
Another appeared immediately.
NOW THE HUSBAND WILL HAVE TO CHOOSE.
I looked at Ryan.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, a loud crash came from downstairs.
We ran.
The front window had shattered.
A stone lay on the floor.
Attached to it was a piece of paper.
I picked it up.
Five words were written in black ink.
ASK RYAN WHO HIS FATHER KILLED.
Ryan stopped breathing.
I looked at him.
“Ryan?”
He didn't move.
“Who did your father kill?”
He stared at the message.
Then slowly looked at me.
“I don't know.”
But his face told me he knew exactly where the question had come from.
And somewhere in the darkness outside the mansion, someone was watching us.
Someone who knew my father.
Someone who knew Vanessa.
Someone who knew Ryan's family.
And someone who had just made one thing clear:
The fake pregnancy had never been the real crime.
It was only the first move.
May you like
And now that I refused to leave—
the person behind Vanessa had no reason to play quietly anymore.
