Sleep wouldn't come.
The storm outside had softened to a drizzle, but inside me, everything was loud: my thoughts, my fear, my guilt. Caleb's words kept echoing: "Did you kill him?"
Victor's death should have brought peace. Instead, it brought Caleb. And with him, a storm I wasn't ready for.
I slipped out of bed just as dawn broke. The house felt empty without Victor's heavy footsteps or his grumbles. I'd hated that noise once. Now, I missed it, or maybe just the noise itself, something to break the silence.
I showered, slipped into a soft gray sweater and jeans, and tied my hair back loosely. Looking in the mirror, I didn't see a widow. I saw a woman faking calm.
Because I was scared.
Not of being alone.
Of what Caleb might do next.
I walked down the hallway, the sound of my bare feet soft against the floor. The manor was waking; housekeepers moved quietly, the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Life went on, even when hearts stopped.
Victor always said, "This house runs like a machine. Doesn't care who lives here."
He wasn't wrong.
By the front door, Rob, head of security, spoke quietly into his walkie-talkie. He glanced at me with a professional kindness that said, "I'm here, but I won't pry."
"Morning, Mrs. Dunrath," he said.
"Just Zarela," I corrected softly.
He nodded and went back to his watch.
I headed to the dining room, expecting it to be empty.
It wasn't.
Caleb was already there.
He sat at the far end of the long table, dressed casually in a dark shirt and jeans, eating toast like he owned the place. A black coffee steamed beside him. He didn't look up at first.
I hesitated.
When he finally looked, he smirked. "Didn't expect you up this early."
"I live here."
"So do I."
I ignored him and took a seat at the opposite end. A housekeeper brought me tea and eggs.
The silence between us was heavy and awkward.
"You haven't changed much," Caleb finally said.
"Neither have you."
He laughed bitterly. "Trust me, I have. More than you know."
I took a sip of tea. "Why are you really here?"
"To claim what's mine."
"Victor left you nothing."
His eyes hardened. "Doesn't mean I won't take it."
I set my cup down gently. "Is that a threat?"
"No," he said calmly. "A promise."
We ate quietly, barely touching our food.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Caleb had the same strong jawline as his father, but his expressions were different; controlled and calculated. He wasn't just angry. He was planning.
And that scared me.
Because Caleb had nothing left to lose.
And people with nothing left to lose were the deadliest.
After breakfast, I went back to Victor's study. It still smelled like leather, cigars, and scotch. Caleb hadn't touched anything, but his presence was like a warning.
I opened desk drawers, searching for anything Victor might have hidden.
There had to be a reason Caleb was here. Something more than bitterness.
One drawer creaked open to reveal a small, locked metal box. I frowned; I'd never seen it before.
Next to it was a tiny silver key, tucked between yellowed receipts. I picked it up carefully, then flipped the box over to find the matching keyhole.
Victor never left things like this out, not unless he expected to die. Or thought I'd never dare open his secrets.
I slid the box and key into my handbag and closed the drawer softly.
Later that day, I sat with Victor's lawyer, Edward Lang, in the sunroom. Late thirties, kind face, sharp mind. He'd been Victor's trusted adviser but discreet with me.
"I found this locked box in Victor's study," I said carefully. "Haven't opened it yet."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Did Victor have other safes?"
"Not that I know."
He looked thoughtful. "Want me to check it out?"
"Not yet. I'm not ready."
He nodded. "When you are, I can bring in a specialist, quietly."
I forced a smile. "Thanks. I'll think about it."
That night, I sat in the library, pretending to read. The fire crackled softly. Rain started again outside, soft and steady.
Caleb came in without knocking.
He poured himself a drink without a word.
"You spend a lot of time in Victor's favorite rooms," I said.
"I'm retracing his steps."
"For closure?"
"Secrets," he said.
I looked up. "What do you expect to find?"
"Don't know yet. But something."
He sipped his scotch, then stepped closer.
"Why did you really marry him?" Caleb asked.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You never loved Victor. So why marry him?"
I stood. "That's none of your business."
"It became my business the day you walked into my father's life."
"I didn't step in. I was dragged in. I needed protection, and Victor offered it."
"And you thought marrying him would save you?"
"I thought it might keep me safe from something worse."
He watched me for a long moment.
"You were running from someone."
I said nothing.
"You still are."
His voice was softer now, not accusing, but curious.
"Why do you care?"
"I don't. But if I'm digging through my father's lies, I have to start with the people he trusted most."
"I'm not a lie."
"Then prove it."
The next morning, I found Caleb's door cracked open in the east wing guest room.
I hesitated, then knocked.
"Come in," he said.
Inside, the room was untouched except for a leather duffel bag on a chair and some open books on the desk.
"I want to ask you something."
He looked up from his laptop. "Go ahead."
"If I give you something Victor hid; will you stop digging into me?"
"That depends on what."
"It's about him. And you."
I pulled out the silver key and placed it on his desk.
"I think it opens the lockbox from his study."
Caleb stared.
"Why give it to me?"
"Because if you're tearing this place apart, you might as well start with the truth."
His fingers brushed mine as he took it.
"Don't make me regret this."
"I won't."
But the look in his eyes made me wonder.
Sometimes the truth doesn't set you free.
Sometimes it buries you deeper.