Chapter 3 Hidden Secret

Morning air at the Blackwood mansion was colder than usual. But not because of the weather-

It was the heavy tension that lingered in every corner of the estate.

Elena's footsteps echoed faintly against the marble floor of the long hallway, her flat shoes barely making a sound. She walked alone, without a warm greeting, without a single smile. The walls were lined with portraits of the Blackwood family: Damien as a child with his parents, a glamorous wedding photo of Victoria-but not a single frame held a place for Elena.

As if she didn't exist.

And perhaps, that was her role-an unwanted substitute wife.

As she passed the grand dining hall, the sound of cutlery abruptly stopped.

"You still have the audacity to show your face at this table?" Victoria Blackwood's voice sliced through the air like glass. Sitting elegantly at the end of the table, she wore an emerald satin robe, her neck weighed down by a diamond necklace far too ostentatious for breakfast.

Elena bowed politely. "Good morning, Madam."

Victoria narrowed her eyes, sipping her tea with disdain. "I don't need pleasantries from a cheap woman who trapped my son."

A nearby maid almost dropped her cup. The room stiffened.

Elena inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm in her chest. "I didn't intend to trap anyone. I only stepped in for Clarissa-because of circumstances."

Victoria set her cup down with a loud clink.

"You think that makes you legitimate? Marrying Damien just because your sister ran away? There's no honor in what you did, Elena Hart."

Another maid brought a plate of omelet and placed it in front of Elena. But even the food felt like a slap in the face.

"And you," Victoria turned to the maid, "prepare something more appropriate for the stand-in bride. Don't treat her like an honored guest. From today onward, she's merely a temporary occupant of this house. Nothing more."

Elena stared at the food, then slowly placed her napkin down and stood.

"Excuse me, Madam. I've lost my appetite."

Victoria smirked coldly. "As expected. You won't survive here, Elena. This house isn't for weak women."

Elena met her gaze. "I never intended to be weak. But I won't bow just because you hate me."

Victoria's expression hardened.

"Let's see how long you last."

Every day, the mansion revealed its colder, deadlier face. The staff looked at Elena as though she were a disease. They didn't greet her. They didn't respond when she called.

Every step was watched. Every room felt like it had eyes.

One afternoon, when she tried to sit in the small second-floor library, a maid quickly approached.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. This area is for Blackwood family members only."

Elena looked at the book in her hand. "Aren't I part of the Blackwood family now?"

The maid gave a thin smile. "Not a real one."

The words were simple. But they stung more than a slap.

Three days passed in silence and pressure.

Damien didn't return to the mansion at night. He preferred his penthouse in the city. And when he did come home, he didn't say a word or spare her a single glance.

But Elena wasn't the type to crumble easily.

Behind her quiet demeanor, she observed everything: which staff were most loyal, who delivered reports to Victoria, secret passages between the basement and Damien's office, and-most intriguingly-a large door in the western wing that was always locked.

An old wooden door with no label, no guards, but a tiny hidden camera above it.

Elena's curiosity grew day by day.

One night, when the mansion was cloaked in darkness and only dim corridor lights remained on, Elena rose from bed. She slipped into a long robe and soft slippers, opening her bedroom door with care.

Silence.

She crept through the hall, step by step. She had learned which marble tiles creaked, where the cameras were pointed, and which corners offered hiding spots.

At the mysterious door, she pressed her ear against the wood.

Nothing.

Her hand touched the knob. Locked. But no alarm.

She remembered the antique key hanging from the belt of one of the head stewards earlier that day-a style far too outdated to be commonly used.

Elena backed away, filing the detail in her mind.

The next morning, she volunteered to help in the kitchen-something that visibly confused the staff. But she smiled warmly, offering to carry tea trays to the main hall.

As she passed, she spotted the key dangling from Briggs's neck, the senior steward.

One hallway turn, a small accident-and a swift movement.

The key was now in Elena's pocket.

The following night, she returned to the wooden door.

The old key turned smoothly. The soft click was barely audible, but satisfying.

The door creaked open.

The room was dark. The scent of old wood and dust filled the air. But at its center stood a long table, surrounded by shelves of documents, laptops, and several small monitor screens.

Elena stepped inside cautiously.

One of the monitors was still on. She approached and saw stock charts and business data-Blackwood Global Holdings.

"What is this...?" she whispered.

Her eyes scanned the files on the table: merger contracts, confidential agreements, and... surveillance reports on the Hart family.

She froze.

> Damien had been monitoring the Hart family long before this marriage even happened.

Elena turned quickly, intending to leave-but footsteps echoed down the hall.

Someone was coming.

Panic shot through her chest. She turned off the screen, closed the door carefully behind her, and ran down the corridor toward the back staircase.

By the time she reached her room, she was breathless. She pressed her back to the door, hand still clutching the stolen key.

> Damien is hiding something big... and I'm going to uncover it.