Chapter 102 Chapter 102

Chapter 102 Chapter 102

Hailey’s POV

My heart was pounding as I approached the door. My hands shook slightly as I sorted through the keys, looking for the one that would fit the old-fashioned lock.

It took three tries before I found the right key.

I inserted it into the lock and heard the mechanism click open.
I glanced around one more time to make absolutely sure no one was watching.

Then I pushed the door open and stepped inside Elena’s room for the first time.

The smell of dust and stale air hit me immediately. 

The smell of dust hit me the moment I stepped fully into the room, thick and musty, making my stomach turn. My pregnancy had made me sensitive to smells, and this stale, closed-up air was almost overwhelming.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake me.

But I didn’t leave. I couldn’t leave. Not when I was this close to finding answers.

I took shallow breaths through my mouth and forced myself to look around the room more carefully.

What immediately caught my attention was the far wall, which was lined with built-in bookshelves. But these weren’t filled with normal books. Instead, they were packed with magazine covers in protective sleeves, fashion photography books, and what looked like modeling portfolios.

I moved closer, my curiosity overcoming my discomfort.
Vogue. Harper’s Bazaar. Elle. All the major fashion magazines, organized by year and season. And not just any issues these were vintage, some of them going back decades.

I pulled out one of the large table books and flipped through it. High fashion photography from the 1990s. Models in avant-garde poses, wearing designs from legendary fashion houses.

Elena had collected all of this. Built this mini library dedicated to fashion and modeling.

I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, and a realization struck me. Elena had clearly had an eye for fashion. A passion for it. But from everything I’d heard about her, she’d been a businesswoman running a jewelry shop. 

She’d never pursued fashion. Never worked in the industry.
She’d loved it but wasn’t able to do it. Maybe because of the family business. Maybe because of obligations to Damien and his organization.

The thought made me sad. To have such an obvious passion and never be able to pursue it.

I continued moving through the room, carefully examining everything, looking for anything that might be cut or torn, anything that might have once contained the note my mother had found.

Then I stubbed my toe hard on the leg of a chair I hadn’t seen in the dim light.

“Ah!” I moaned, the pain shooting sharp and immediate through my foot.

I hopped on one leg, clutching my injured toe, tears springing to my eyes from the sudden hurt. I limped to the edge of the bed and sat down heavily, cradling my foot.

“Stupid chair,” I muttered, wiping at my eyes.

I sat there for a moment, letting the pain fade from sharp to a dull throb, when I noticed something odd.

The floor tile beside Elena’s bed looked different from the others. It was the same color and material, but there was something about it that caught my eye. 

Forgetting about my throbbing toe, I slid off the bed and moved closer to examine it.

I pressed my hand against the tile, and it made a different sound than the others. Hollow. Like there was empty space beneath it.

My heart started racing.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the tile, feeling for any kind of seam or gap. Then I pressed down harder on one corner, and something clicked.

The tile shifted.

I pressed again, this time intentionally, and felt the mechanism give way. The tile popped up slightly, revealing a small compartment hidden beneath the floorboard.

I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat. I hadn’t even known what I was doing, hadn’t been trying to open anything. It had just happened.

With shaking hands, I lifted the tile completely and set it aside.
In the hidden compartment below, there was a small box. Wooden, about the size of a shoebox, with a simple latch.
I pulled it out carefully, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I sat back on my heels and opened the latch.

Inside were books. 

Elena’s diaries. Her private journals.

I pulled out the first one with trembling hands. The cover was decorated with stickers and doodles, clearly from when Elena was much younger.

I opened it and saw teenage handwriting, bubbly and enthusiastic. Entries about school, about friends, about boys she liked.

This was Elena’s teenage diary. Her most private thoughts from years ago.

I set it aside carefully and reached for another journal from the box. This one was more recent, the cover plain leather, the handwriting inside more mature and measured.

I flipped through the pages quickly, scanning for anything relevant, anything that might explain the warning note.
Then I stopped on an entry dated just two weeks before Elena’s death.

My eyes scanned the words, and I felt my blood run cold.

“This safehouse is not safe anymore.”

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

Elena had known. She’d known something was wrong with this place. Had felt the danger closing in.

I wanted to turned the page when I heard footstep in the hallway. Coming closer to Elena’s room.

Panic shot through me like electricity.

I quickly shoved the journal back into the box, my hands fumbling in my haste. I closed the box and placed it back in the floor compartment, then grabbed the tile and fitted it back into place as quietly as I could.

The footsteps were getting closer. 

I scrambled to my feet, my injured toe protesting, and rushed toward the door as quietly as possible.

If I could just slip out before whoever it was realized the door was unlocked, before they realized someone had been inside Elena’s sealed room…

I reached for the door handle, praying I could sneak out without being caught.