Chapter 3 ☆☆

I barely slept.

I kept hearing that voice. Not even the words - just the way they sounded. Cold. Calm. Like whoever it was wasn't rushing anything. Like they already knew exactly where I'd be, and when.

"You shouldn't walk alone, Ava."

I hate that it stuck in my head. Hate that it made my fingers tremble even now, as I traced the grain of the mahogany banister while descending the stairs.

I didn't go outside this morning. I couldn't. The thought of the garden - my garden - made my stomach twist. I just kept picturing the car. The call. The eyes I couldn't see.

Instead, I wandered through the house, restless. It was too early for anyone else to be awake. The staff wouldn't appear for another hour. Which meant... I was alone.

And alone meant I could search.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for. Proof? Clues? Something to tell me I wasn't losing my mind? But whatever it was, I felt it pulling me down the west hall, past the gallery, past the formal rooms I rarely entered - until I stopped in front of my father's study.

It was locked.Of course it was. It always is.But I noticed something for the first time.

The key was missing from the lock.

That shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. My father was meticulous about details, especially when it came to security. If the key wasn't in the door... it meant he was hiding it.

Or someone else had it.

I stood there for a long moment, debating with myself. He would be furious if he knew I'd even tried to get in. But I wasn't trying to start a fight. I just... I needed to know something. Anything.

The silence of the hallway wrapped around me like a breath held too long.I turned away. Walked back toward the central staircase - and stopped again.

The guest room across from my father's was slightly ajar.No one had stayed there in months.I stepped inside quietly.

It still smelled like linen and dust. I walked past the perfectly made bed, past the antique writing desk, to the built-in drawers tucked behind the closet.

They were locked too.

But the key - this one - was in the drawer itself.

I don't know what I expected. Receipts? Old cufflinks?

Instead, I found files.

Manila folders, thick and pressed flat, like someone had taken the time to make them look unimportant. The first was blank on the front. But inside...

Photos.

My photo.

I froze, breath caught in my throat.They weren't just pictures from the estate. Some were from campus. Outside my old university building. At a coffee shop. One of me walking with a classmate I hadn't seen in months.

I kept flipping, my heart now slamming.There were documents, too. Legal ones I couldn't make full sense of - references to companies I'd never heard of. A handwritten note at the bottom of one:

"Move forward before her next birthday."

I dropped the folder.My knees felt weak.What the hell is this?

Why does he have surveillance photos of me?

And who is moving forward with what?

I stumbled back from the drawer, breath coming faster now. I shoved everything back in, locked the drawers, returned the key, and left the room without looking back.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.A chill ran down my spine.

No one rings the bell. Not here. Anyone meant to be here is already inside.

I stepped to the hallway window - slowly - and peeked through the sheer curtain.

The black car was gone.

In its place was a man in a dark suit.

No face I recognized.

No smile.

Just a phone in his hand - and the feeling that the countdown had already begun.