When we left the archive room, the corridor outside was already deserted. It wasn't yet ten o'clock, but even the usual sounds of patrolling footsteps had vanished.
"Have you noticed something?" I asked Qin Yan quietly as we walked. "This entire castle has no room marked as 'the master's chamber.'"
Qin Yan frowned slightly, considering it. "We know the lady's room is in the west wing on the second floor… so surely, as her husband, Laine must've had a place of his own."
I nodded. "We've never checked the end of that corridor. Maybe the answer lies there."
Silently, we made our way past the stairs and into the dim, narrow hallway opposite the lady's chambers. The temperature dropped noticeably. Paintings on the wall had faded over time; some were deliberately torn, their frames crooked, as if the corridor itself wanted to forget.
At the far end stood a door, thick with undisturbed dust. Unlike other rooms, this one wasn't simply closed as it had been nailed shut, iron pegs driven deep into its frame, sealing it off.
I took out a small crowbar from my satchel, one we had packed just in case. "Quiet," Qin Yan murmured, standing guard.
With care, I worked the crowbar into the cracks. The nails creaked, metal resisting metal, until finally the door gave way with a low groan, releasing a cloud of stale air and dust. I coughed, turning my face to the side.
The room was dark, its interior revealed only by the dim light from the hallway. But what we could see confirmed our suspicion—this had been a bedroom.
A large bed sat against one wall, its sheets long since lost to age. A vanity, wardrobe, and desk were arranged with practiced symmetry. Everything was blanketed in thick dust. The bed showed faint signs of past use—a subtle indentation, a slumped pillow.
"He… really lived here," I murmured.
Qin Yan walked to the desk. "Then why was it sealed off?"
I pulled open a drawer. At the very bottom lay an old journal. Its cover was cracked with age, the pages brittle.
The handwriting inside was neat at first. The first page read: "Private Journal of Laine C. Whitmore."
Most entries in the beginning were mundane such as meetings, accounting notes, dinner guests. But halfway through, the tone shifted. The handwriting grew erratic. Angrier.
"Today, Evelyn humiliated me again. She dismissed my plans and replaced them with her own—in front of the staff. I feel like a ghost in my own home."
"She controls everything. I used to lead this estate, now I'm reduced to nothing. A puppet."
Then came the entries about Evelyn's younger sister— Vivienne.
"She's different. Soft. Unspoiled. She smiles when she sees me. No judgment. No cold eyes."
"She said she loved me. She didn't want to go back home. I told her… we could run away together."
"I put the drug in Evelyn's tea. Not enough to kill, but just to make her weak. Bedridden. By the time she realises, we'll be gone."
The next page was missing. Torn clean off. Only the beginning of a sentence remained:
"I plan to—"
We exchanged a look.
"That's why she's bedridden," I whispered. "They poisoned her."
I dug through the drawer again. Beneath a stack of books, I found a folded letter.
The handwriting was unmistakably elegant.
My beloved Laine,
As I write this, I don't know if you'll ever see it. I know what we've done is beyond wrong, but I never imagined it would go this far.
At first, I was just curious. You were always so quiet, so distant, with eyes full of shadows no one seemed to notice. Evelyn was always the strong one. You… you felt like someone who needed to be seen.
I started to pay attention. I listened through the door when you spoke in your study. The way you told those old family stories—I hadn't laughed like that in years.
Slowly, I realised I waited for your glances, your footsteps, your pauses outside my door. It wasn't just me—you looked back. I know you did.
Evelyn is my sister. I admire her. I owe her everything. But I couldn't stop what was happening. I couldn't stop loving you.
I don't know if we'll succeed in leaving… but I want to try. Not because I want to hurt her. But because I believe in the love that bloomed between us, however wrong, however hopeless.
If this letter is still with you… then at least it proves we had something. Once.
—Vivianne
I lowered the letter in silence.
Qin Yan's voice was grim. "We don't know if they ever escaped. Maybe… someone found out before they could."