Chapter 1 - The Room Behind the Portrait
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER!”
William Sterling’s voice cracked across the gallery so hard that the string quartet stopped in the middle of a note.
Two hundred guests turned at once.
Behind a six-foot gold-framed portrait of William’s late wife, a narrow section of the white paneled wall stood open. Inside that dark space, three-year-old Charlotte was crouched on the floor in a dirty cream dress, both arms locked around a worn stuffed rabbit.
Emma Hayes, one of the house staff, was on her knees trying to pull her out.
And Isabella Crane—William’s fiancée—had one hand wrapped around Charlotte’s wrist.
“She wasn’t supposed to be in there!” Isabella snapped.
The words hung in the room.
Not, What happened?
Not, Is she hurt?
She wasn’t supposed to be in there.
William crossed the polished floor in three strides. He tore Isabella’s hand away from Charlotte and lifted his daughter against his chest.
Charlotte grabbed his tuxedo lapel. Her whole body shook.
“Daddy.”
“I’ve got you.” William’s voice dropped. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Isabella smoothed the front of her champagne-silver gown as if this were an awkward social mistake. “William, you’re making a scene.”
“A scene?” Emma said. Her face was pale with fury. “I found her locked behind a wall.”
A wave of whispers moved through the gala.
William looked at the hidden compartment. It was barely wide enough for an adult to stand sideways. There was a blanket on the floor. A plastic bottle of water. A child’s hair clip.
This had not happened by accident.
“Who put her in there?” he asked.
Charlotte buried her face in his shoulder.
Isabella stepped closer. “She hides when she gets upset. You know how dramatic children can be.”
William stared at her. “She’s three.”
“And she wanders.”
Emma stood. “No. The panel was latched from the outside.”
Isabella’s face changed for half a second.
William saw it.
So did Emma.
Charlotte squeezed the rabbit. The toy’s left ear was almost torn off, and a fresh rip ran along its belly seam.
William felt her hand tremble against his chest.
“What happened to Bunny?” he whispered.
Charlotte looked across his shoulder at Isabella.
Isabella’s jaw tightened.
Then Charlotte whispered the sentence that turned William’s anger cold.
“She wanted Mommy’s letters.”
The entire room went silent.
William’s late wife, Claire, had been dead for eighteen months.
He looked down at the rabbit.
May you like
A corner of folded paper was sticking through the torn seam.
And Isabella was staring at it like it was a loaded gun.
