Chapter Five: Beneath the Shadows
The world already knew.
Every newspaper, every news channel, every whisper in Mora City carried the same chilling headline: Clarissa Morelle, daughter of Lord Damien Morelle, kidnapped from her private villa under mysterious circumstances.
The gates of the Morelle mansion had become a wall against the chaos outside. Reporters camped beyond the fences, camera flashes slicing through the night like lightning. Inside, however, silence ruled — cold, heavy, suffocating.
Lord Damien had doubled the guards and tightened every entrance, but none of it could fix the gaping hole her disappearance had left. And now, the family's private investigator, Mr. Ryan, had returned with something new — something that made everyone uneasy.
He stood in the grand study, his coat still wet from the rain, his sharp eyes fixed on the file in his hands. Across from him sat Lord Damien, silent and grave.
"She was on the phone," Ryan began, his voice calm but edged with tension. "Fifteen minutes before the abduction. The call came from an unregistered number. A burner line. I've traced the signal to an old district near the east side of Mora City — a place abandoned years ago."
Lord Damien's brow furrowed. "Do you know who she was supposed to meet?"
Ryan shook his head. "No. The number was destroyed hours after the call. Whoever she was going to meet knew how to cover their tracks."
Lady Helena, Clarissa's mother, sat near the window, her hands trembling. "She said she was going to take a drive… that she needed to clear her head," she whispered. "I should have stopped her."
Ryan looked down at his notes. "There's more. I reviewed the surveillance logs from the villa. The security cameras went dark at exactly the same time the call ended. Someone disabled them manually — not from outside, but from within the system."
Damien's expression turned sharp. "You're saying it was an inside job?"
Ryan nodded slowly. "It's possible. Only family and trusted staff knew her access codes."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
After a long pause, Damien stood. "Do whatever it takes, Ryan. I don't care who you suspect. Find out who she was going to meet — and find out who helped take her."
Ryan gave a short nod. "Yes, my lord."
As he left the room, his thoughts were already circling around one name — Ethan Morelle.
Clarissa's husband.
The one who looked perfect in public, but whose eyes told stories no one could quite read.
---
Later that evening, the corridors of the east wing glowed dimly. Ethan stood by the window in his private quarters, staring out into the storm. His reflection in the glass looked as tired as he felt. He hadn't slept properly in days. The world now saw him as the man whose wife had been taken under mysterious circumstances.
But that wasn't the only secret haunting him.
Behind him, a soft knock echoed.
He turned, and there stood Amira Lane — Clarissa's childhood friend, her closest companion since they were girls. Amira's eyes were filled with fear and something else… something she could no longer hide.
"Ethan," she whispered, stepping inside. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
He looked at her for a long moment. "If anyone sees you here—"
"I don't care," she said quickly. "I had to see you. The things they're saying in the house… Ryan is asking questions. He's looking into you."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Of course he is. I'm the husband, aren't I? The easiest man to blame."
Amira walked closer. Her voice dropped. "He suspects something. You have to be careful. If he finds out about us—"
"Then it's over," Ethan finished, his voice low. "Everything."
They stood in silence for a while, the sound of rain pattering against the glass. The weight of their secret pressed down on them.
Amira reached out, her hand trembling slightly as it brushed his sleeve. "You think I don't feel guilty?" she whispered. "She was my friend. My sister. And I… I—"
Ethan turned, his eyes locking onto hers. "We can't undo what's already been done."
"But we can stop making it worse," she said, her voice breaking slightly.
Ethan looked away. "Clarissa was supposed to meet someone that night," he murmured. "Ryan told me. I don't know who. But if she had secrets of her own, then maybe this isn't what we think it is."
Amira frowned. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated. "What if she wasn't just at the villa to rest? What if she was waiting for someone — someone she didn't want any of us to know about?"
Amira blinked. "Ethan, that's absurd."
"Is it?" he asked quietly. "Ryan said the call came from a burner number. And the cameras went off right after. What if she wasn't taken… What if she left willingly — and something went wrong?"
The idea unsettled Amira more than she wanted to admit. "No. No, she wouldn't just vanish. Not like that."
Ethan's gaze was unreadable. "We all have secrets, Amira."
There was a long pause. Then, softly, she said, "Including us."
Their eyes met again — heavy with guilt, memory, and something neither could suppress.
But outside in the rain, Mr. Ryan was already watching the east wing from the courtyard below. He could see the faint glow of Ethan's window, two silhouettes moving inside — close, too close.
He scribbled something in his notebook.
Ethan Morelle. Amira Lane. Suspicious familiarity.
He slipped the notebook into his coat pocket, his face set in quiet determination. "Let's see what you're hiding, Mr. Morelle," he muttered under his breath.
Inside, Ethan and Amira stood a heartbeat too close, unaware they had already become the next pieces on Ryan's invisible chessboard.