The mansion was too quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed in your ears, too loud to ignore, too heavy to trust.
Eva sat at the edge of her bed, Damian's words echoing in her head like a ghost that refused to fade. I didn't kill your sister.
She had replayed the orchard encounter a hundred times. The look in his eyes. Not pleading—Moretti men never pleaded—but haunted. Like a man shackled to something far worse than guilt.
The door creaked.
Eva stood in an instant, her heart thudding against her ribs. But it was only Rosa, the maid. The one with quiet steps and eyes that had seen too much.
"You have a visitor," Rosa said softly. "Your cousin."
"I don't have a cousin," Eva said automatically.
"He says otherwise."
Eva followed Rosa down the hall, tension curling around her spine. Every step felt like walking a tightrope. At the far end of the sitting room, a man stood, dressed in charcoal gray, hair slicked back, a scar running down one brow.
He turned when she entered. Smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Evangeline. I was wondering when you'd show your mother's fire."
"Who are you?"
"Luca De Rossi. Your father and my uncle had... complicated ties."
She narrowed her eyes. "This isn't the time for lies."
"Good. Because I don't lie," he said. "Not to blood. And not to girls who have every reason to burn this house down."
Eva didn't sit. She folded her arms instead. "Say what you came to say."
Luca stepped closer, voice low. "Your sister didn't just die, Eva. She was silenced."
The room swayed. "By who?"
"I can't say. Not yet. But she was trying to expose something. Something inside the Moretti family. And Damian... he tried to protect her."
Eva's knees nearly gave out. "No."
"Yes. You think you're here for revenge. But you're just walking into the second act of someone else's war."
Eva left the room before he could say more. She didn't trust him. Didn't trust anyone. But as she reached her bedroom again, she noticed something she hadn't before—a slight crack along the wall by her wardrobe.
Curious.
She dug her nails into the edge, pulled. A panel popped loose with a click. Behind it, a folded piece of paper. Her sister's handwriting. If you're reading this, I failed.
Eva sat hard on the floor, heart in her throat as she read.
They'll lie to you. Smile to your face. Damian tried to help, but he's trapped too. Look for the ledger. Find the red key. Trust no one.
—S.
Eva clenched the letter in her fist.
Everything had changed.
And now, it wasn't just about revenge.
It was about finishing what her sister started.
---
That night, sleep did not come.
Eva waited until the hallways fell silent and the last light in the east wing went out. She slipped on a black hoodie and soft-soled shoes. Her sister's letter burned a hole in her memory, the words like a map she didn't yet know how to read.
The ledger. The red key.
Where?
She padded down the hallway, her steps ghostlike against the marble. The study. If anything was hidden, it would be there.
She picked the lock—thank you, late-night YouTube tutorials—and slipped inside.
Books lined the walls, organized with obsessive precision. There was no dust. No wasted space. But as she ran her fingers along the spines, she found one volume that gave slightly when pressed.
Click.
The bottom drawer of the desk sprang open.
Inside: a red key.
She stared at it like it might disappear. Carefully, she lifted it free. It was heavier than she expected. Beside it, a black leather-bound book. No title.
The ledger.
Eva opened it and found names. Numbers. Transactions. Codes. Some names she recognized—senators, judges, business moguls. Others were aliases, maybe. But they were all connected by one thing: blood money.
Her sister had been unraveling this.
A sudden noise behind her made her snap the book shut.
"You shouldn't be here."
Damian stood in the doorway, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his expression unreadable.
Eva held the ledger tight against her chest. "Neither should you."
He stepped closer. "I warned you not to go digging."
"And I ignored you. Lucky me."
His eyes dropped to the ledger. Something flickered in his gaze—fear?
"You think you know what you're doing," he said quietly. "But this... this goes beyond anything you've imagined."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
He didn't deny it. "Put it back, Eva. Walk away. While you still can."
She shook her head slowly. "That's not going to happen."
He moved toward her again, but this time, there was something desperate in his eyes. "They'll kill you."
"Let them try."
She walked past him, her fingers gripping the key like a weapon.
This wasn't just about vengeance anymore.
It was war.