Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Isabella's Lies
Grace pressed herself against the cold stone wall, hardly daring to breathe.
The frightened voice below had shaken her to the core.
"I just want to go home."
Before she could take another step, another voice echoed through the darkness—calm, measured, and unmistakably feminine.
"You must be patient, Daniel."
Grace stiffened.
She slowly leaned forward until she could see the faint glow of a lantern below. A woman stood at the foot of the staircase with her back turned. She wore an elegant cream-colored coat that looked strangely out of place in the damp underground passage.
Her dark hair was tied neatly at the nape of her neck.
Grace recognized her instantly.
Isabella Blackwood.
Jonathan Blackwood's new wife.
Just three months earlier, the tabloids had celebrated their whirlwind romance. They had described Isabella as graceful, intelligent, and compassionate—a successful architect who had supposedly transformed Jonathan's lonely life after years of grief.
Yet here she was, standing beneath the mansion in the middle of the night.
"What do you mean, I must be patient?" the boy cried. "You promised I'd see my father."
"I know what I promised."
"You lied."
Silence followed.
Grace held her breath.
Finally, Isabella spoke again.
"I'm trying to protect you."
Daniel laughed bitterly.
"That's what everyone says."
The words lingered in the air long after they were spoken.
Grace cautiously retreated up the staircase before either of them could notice her. Once she reached the hidden hallway, she quietly closed the iron door and slid the bookshelf back into place.
Her heart pounded all the way to her room.
The next morning, Isabella appeared exactly as she always did.
She entered the breakfast room wearing an ivory dress and a warm smile that instantly captivated everyone around her.
She greeted each employee by name.
She thanked the chef for preparing breakfast.
She complimented the gardeners on the fresh roses arranged throughout the dining room.
No one would have guessed she had spent part of the night in a hidden chamber beneath the estate.
Grace studied her carefully.
There was no trace of fear.
No sign of guilt.
Only perfect composure.
It was almost unsettling.
Later that morning, Grace was asked to clean Isabella's private sitting room.
The room reflected its owner perfectly.
Everything was immaculate.
Books were arranged by height.
Fresh lilies stood in crystal vases.
A silver clock ticked softly on the fireplace mantel.
As Grace dusted the shelves, she noticed a leather notebook lying half-hidden beneath a stack of architectural drawings.
She hesitated.
Then she opened it.
Most of the pages contained sketches of historic buildings and restoration notes.
Nothing unusual.
Until she reached the final section.
There, instead of drawings, were dates.
Every date had a single word beside it.
Basement.
Again.
And again.
And again.
One entry, written only two nights earlier, caught her attention.
"He almost trusts me now."
Grace frowned.
Who was "he"?
Jonathan?
Daniel?
Or someone else entirely?
Before she could read further, footsteps approached.
She quickly slipped the notebook back into place and resumed dusting.
The door opened.
Isabella stood in the doorway.
For a brief second, neither woman spoke.
Then Isabella smiled.
"You're very thorough, Grace."
"I try to be."
"I appreciate people who pay attention to details."
Her tone was pleasant.
Yet Grace felt as though she were being tested.
Isabella stepped into the room and glanced toward the notebook.
Everything appeared untouched.
"Thank you," Isabella said softly. "That will be all."
Grace nodded and left, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Isabella had noticed far more than she let on.
That afternoon, Grace visited Walter in the greenhouse.
The elderly groundskeeper was trimming orchids in complete silence.
"I saw her," Grace whispered.
Walter didn't look up.
"I know."
"You know?"
"I've known for months."
"Then why hasn't anyone told the police?"
Walter finally raised his tired eyes.
"Because nothing in this house is what it seems."
"Daniel is alive."
"I know."
"He's trapped."
Walter's expression darkened.
"Yes."
Grace stared at him in disbelief.
"You've known all this time?"
Walter slowly removed his gardening gloves.
"If I had spoken sooner, I'd already be dead."
The words were so calm that they frightened Grace more than if he had shouted them.
That evening, Grace couldn't stop thinking about Isabella's notebook.
One sentence echoed in her mind.
"He almost trusts me now."
If Isabella was the one imprisoning Daniel, why would she need his trust?
The question refused to leave her.
She decided to search Isabella's room again after midnight.
The mansion fell silent.
One by one, the lights disappeared.
Grace waited until the grandfather clock in the entrance hall struck twelve.
She slipped quietly into the east wing.
Isabella's bedroom door stood slightly open.
The room was empty.
The bed untouched.
Grace searched quickly but carefully.
Inside a locked desk drawer she found a bundle of letters tied together with blue ribbon.
Every envelope was addressed to Jonathan.
None had ever been mailed.
She unfolded the first letter.
"Jonathan, if you ever discover the truth, you'll never forgive me. But keeping Daniel hidden is the only way to keep him alive."
Grace's eyes widened.
Hidden?
Alive?
The words made no sense.
A floorboard creaked outside.
She extinguished her flashlight.
Someone entered the room.
Through the narrow gap beneath the wardrobe door, Grace watched a pair of polished black shoes cross the carpet.
Not Isabella's.
A man's shoes.
The visitor walked directly to the desk.
He opened the drawer.
Paused.
Then spoke in a low, controlled voice.
"You're getting careless, Isabella."
Grace recognized the voice instantly.
Jonathan Blackwood.
A second later, another voice answered from the doorway.
"I don't think I'm the one who's running out of time."
Grace looked through the crack in the wardrobe.
Jonathan and Isabella stood facing each other in silence.
Neither looked frightened.
Neither looked surprised.
It wasn't the conversation of a husband confronting his wife.
It sounded like two opponents who had been hiding secrets from each other for a very long time.
May you like
And for the first time, Grace realized one terrifying possibility.
Perhaps Isabella wasn't the only one who had been lying.
