CHAPTER 2 — THE ROOM SHE WAS NEVER ALLOWED TO ENTER
Alexander closed the bathroom door behind them.
For the first time that evening, Sofia was alone with her father.
He turned on the faucet and gently washed the black polish from her hands.
The water turned gray.
Then black.
Then gray again.
Alexander kept scrubbing carefully between her fingers.
Sofia watched him in silence.
“You don't have to clean it,” she whispered.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I should have noticed.”
Sofia looked away.
Alexander dried her hands with a soft towel.
Then he noticed the red mark on her shoulder.
His expression darkened.
“Did Veronica do that?”
Sofia hesitated.
“She didn't mean to.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Sofia's eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
Alexander closed his eyes for a moment.
He was trying very hard not to lose his temper.
“How long has she been treating you like this?”
Sofia didn't answer.
“Sofia.”
“Since you started traveling.”
Alexander stared at her.
“How often?”
“Sometimes.”
“Every week?”
She shook her head.
“Every day?”
Silence.
That silence was enough.
Alexander sat down in front of her.
His voice broke.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Sofia's lower lip trembled.
“Because she said you'd be angry with me.”
“Angry with you?”
“She said if I told you, you'd think I was trying to ruin your marriage.”
Alexander felt something crack inside him.
“You were twelve years old.”
Sofia shrugged.
“I didn't want to make Daddy unhappy.”
Alexander pulled her into his arms.
“You could never make me unhappy by telling me the truth.”
Sofia finally cried.
Not loudly.
Just quiet tears against his shirt.
Alexander held her tighter.
“I’m sorry.”
He repeated it again.
“I’m so sorry.”
After Sofia fell asleep, Alexander carried her to her bedroom.
He tucked the blanket around her.
Then he stood in the doorway for several seconds.
He looked at his daughter.
Then at the mansion around him.
Something had been wrong for a long time.
He had simply refused to see it.
Alexander walked downstairs.
Veronica was waiting in the living room.
She was holding a glass of wine.
“You frightened her.”
Alexander stopped.
“She should be frightened of what you did.”
Veronica laughed softly.
“You're really going to believe a twelve-year-old over your wife?”
“She isn't lying.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know my daughter.”
Veronica put down her glass.
“Your daughter has been manipulating you since she was little.”
Alexander stared at her.
“Enough.”
Veronica's smile faded.
“You're defending her now?”
“I'm protecting her.”
“She needs discipline.”
“No.”
Alexander stepped closer.
“She needs a mother.”
Veronica's expression hardened.
“I am her mother.”
“No.”
The word came quietly.
But it landed like a slap.
“You're my wife.”
Veronica stared at him.
“You don't get to rewrite what I am to this family.”
Alexander walked past her.
Then stopped.
“Where is my father's study key?”
Veronica's face changed.
Only for a second.
But Alexander saw it.
“I don't know.”
“You used to keep it.”
“I gave it to the estate manager.”
“He says you have it.”
Veronica folded her arms.
“Why are you suddenly interested in that room?”
Alexander turned.
“Because it's my father's house.”
“No.”
Veronica's voice became colder.
“It's our house.”
Alexander stared at her.
“My father built this mansion.”
“And he left it to you.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why do you care what's inside one locked room?”
Alexander didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
But now he wanted to find out.
That night, after Veronica went upstairs, Alexander entered the old hallway.
At the end stood a dark wooden door.
His father's study.
The room had been locked since his death.
Alexander tried the handle.
Locked.
He searched his pockets.
Nothing.
Then he remembered the small brass key he had found years ago inside his father's desk.
He had kept it without knowing why.
He pulled it from a drawer in his bedroom.
The key fit.
The lock clicked.
Alexander slowly opened the door.
Dust covered everything.
Bookshelves.
A massive oak desk.
Old photographs.
His father's chair.
Alexander stepped inside.
Something about the room made his skin crawl.
He opened the desk.
Nothing.
He checked the drawers.
Nothing.
Then he noticed one drawer was slightly misaligned.
He pulled it.
It didn't move.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Finally, he found a hidden latch beneath the desk.
Click.
A secret compartment opened.
Inside was a thick envelope.
Alexander pulled it out.
His father's handwriting was on the front.
FOR ALEXANDER — ONLY AFTER MY DEATH.
Alexander tore it open.
Inside was a photograph.
His father.
His mother.
Elena.
And a little girl.
Sofia.
Alexander frowned.
Sofia was only a few months old in the photograph.
But something was strange.
His father had written a date on the back.
A date from three weeks before Sofia was born.
Alexander turned the photograph over.
Below the date were seven words:
Sofia was never supposed to be yours.
Alexander's hands began to shake.
He read the sentence again.
Then again.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps outside.
Someone was coming.
Alexander quickly turned off the lamp.
The study door slowly opened.
Veronica stepped inside.
She thought the room was empty.
She walked directly toward the desk.
Then she whispered into her phone:
“He found the letter.”
A man's voice answered through the speaker.
“What did he see?”
Veronica looked around nervously.
“The photograph.”
Silence.
Then the man said:
“Then there's only one thing left to do.”
Veronica swallowed.
“What?”
His answer was barely audible.
“Get Sofia out of the house before Alexander learns who her real father is.”
May you like
Behind the bookshelf, Alexander stood completely still.
He had heard every word.
