Chapter 10: Shadows in the Library
The mahogany-paneled library was pitch black save for the amber glow of a single brass desk lamp casting long, distorted shadows across the towering bookshelves. I tiptoed across the Persian rug, clutching a small, leather-bound register I had retrieved from the estate manager’s office. Dominic had instructed me to find the original inventory logs from the night Sarah Roberts had disappeared, believing the physical records would contain receipts for the hush money Julianne had distributed.
My heart hammered against my ribs with every creak of the old floorboards. The Mercer mansion at three in the morning was a different world—cold, cavernous, and heavy with the ghosts of a hundred hidden domestic wars. I ran my fingers along the spines of the leather books until my fingertips found the gap behind the third shelf.
Suddenly, a sharp click echoed from the far end of the gallery.
I froze, pulling my hand back and pressing myself flat against the towering shelves. The double doors of the library slowly creaked open, spilling a sliver of hallway light across the Persian rug. Footsteps approached with a soft, deliberate click of heels. Julianne. She was wearing her signature gold silk robe, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves, holding a crystal glass of amber liquid.
“I know someone is playing in the dark,” Julianne’s voice rang out, smooth and venomous, cutting through the silence of the library. She didn't turn on the overhead lights; she seemed to revel in the gloom. “You think Dominic is going to protect you, little bird? Dominic cares about one thing—the Mercer name. The moment you become an embarrassment, he’ll pack your bags himself.”
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I held my breath, tucking the small leather register deep inside my pocket. I stayed completely motionless in the pitch blackness between two massive bookcases, my eyes locked on the faint silhouette of her figure moving past the mahogany desk. She paused, taking a slow sip from her glass, her eyes scanning the dark corners of the room as if she could smell my fear in the air.
“Show yourself,” she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, laced with a terrifying, calm malice. “Or next time, it won't just be the chandelier.”
