Page 66 of Vows of Silence

As much as I didn’t want this to end, I was so looking forward to the next stage in the game.

Every day Isabelle dug herself deeper beneath my skin. Every day she looked at me with less fear and more understanding. Every day she adapted to me in ways no one else ever had.

I wanted more of it like a starving man wanting his next breath. And considering what I had planned next, her new skills would benefit me greatly.

When my eyes drifted back to the monitor and I saw Isabelle press against the hidden mechanism, watching the wall slowly shift open with wide eyes and parted lips, I felt absolutely no regret.

Only pride.

“That’s it, little bird,” I murmured quietly to the screen, my voice coming freely now that I was alone. “Look deeper.”

Chapter 23

The Flame

Déjà vu overwhelmed me as the bookcase revealed another secret room.

I blew out a deep breath, watching the bookcase shift, hardly daring to believe I had got it so right.

My heart was hammering in my chest, but it was pure adrenaline alone. I wasn’t scared. Silas wouldn’t have put this here if he didn’t want me to find it.

Before the bookcase had fully shifted, I found myself moving, propelled forward by nothing more than sheer curiosity.

Only to stop dead when I took in the room behind.

“What the fuck…” I whispered, my eyes not knowing where to focus first.

I was everywhere. That much was obvious.

There were pictures of me all over the walls. From my eighteenth birthday, all the way up to the night Silas had taken me.

I stepped further into the room, reading some of the notes made near the pictures.

Isabelle and friends. Bad influences.

Isabelle and Sophie.

Isabelle and Marco. Tolerable.

Isabelle and Frank.

Frank had been circled in red, making my stomach drop.

Isabelle the night of the crash.

I grimaced at that photo. I was unconscious, blood dripping down my temples and splattered over my dress. I dropped the photo without looking too closely.

Why the fuck would he take a picture of that?

I left the photos alone, and focused on the stack of papers with my name on top.

Flicking through them, I saw a complete dossier on myself. It covered the hospital I had been born in, the nursery and schools I had attended. I saw myself at high school discos, school trips, days out.

I wasn’t overly concerned. As an heiress to a fortune, most of this could probably be found online.

Next came the more intimate stuff. The stuff you had to dig for. The stuff you had to learn.

There were medical reports, my birth control, my menstrual dates, my last checkup at the doctor’s. There were files covering the therapy I had received when my uncle was murdered, and the PTSD diagnosis I’d received.