Chapter 2 - The Photograph That Ruined The Wedding
I turned the heavy brass lock on the office door. The click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Outside, the muffled sounds of the canceled engagement party echoed through the hallway. Guests were murmuring. Valets were shouting for cars.
But inside the mahogany-paneled office, there was only the sound of Adrian’s heavy breathing.
He dropped the second photograph onto his leather desk pad.
“Look at it,” he commanded. His voice wasn't angry. It was hollow. That was much worse.
I hesitated, wiping my hands on my apron before stepping closer.
The photograph showed Vivian sitting in a dimly lit diner. Across from her was a man with a scarred jawline, wearing a heavy wool coat. But it wasn't a romantic meeting. Vivian looked furious, sliding a thick manila envelope across the table.
Sitting next to the man was a little boy, maybe six years old.
The boy was clutching a worn, stuffed bear. He looked terrified.
“I don’t know who the man is, Mr. Moretti,” I said softly.
“His name is Marcus Vance,” Adrian said, staring at the scarred man. “He’s a debt collector for a rival family on the South Side. But that’s not what I care about.”
Adrian pointed to the little boy.
“Look at the child’s eyes, Sophie. Look at the shape of his face.”
I leaned in. My heart skipped a beat. The boy had the exact same striking, dark-green eyes as Adrian. The same strong brow.
“Is he…?” I couldn't finish the sentence.
“My brother,” Adrian whispered. “Domenico.”
I stared at him in shock. “I thought your brother passed away as an infant.”
“So did I,” Adrian said. “My father told us he died of a fever while I was at boarding school. But this photo was taken last week. Look at the digital timestamp.”
Before I could process this, the brass doorknob rattled violently.
“Adrian!” Vivian’s voice shrieked from the hallway. “Open this door! You are humiliating me in front of the governor!”
Adrian didn't move. He picked up the third photograph from Evie's envelope.
“Answer one question, open two more,” Adrian muttered, flipping the photo over.
I looked at the back of the third photo. It wasn't a picture of Vivian. It was a picture of the estate’s greenhouse, taken at night. Written on the back in Evie’s shaky handwriting was one sentence:
The truth is buried under the white roses.
Vivian pounded on the door again. “Adrian! I know that old witch gave you something! She’s lying!”
“Let her in,” Adrian said, his voice turning to ice.
I unlocked the door. Vivian stormed in, her diamond necklace flashing. She reached for the photos on the desk, but Adrian slammed his hand down on them.
“Who is the boy, Vivian?” Adrian asked.
Vivian froze. Her perfect posture shattered. “He’s… he’s nobody. A charity case my family sponsors.”
“You’re lying,” Adrian said.
I looked closer at the first photo on the desk. Something caught my eye. The man, Marcus, was wearing a silver watch. A very distinct, heavy silver watch with a cracked face.
“Mr. Moretti,” I interrupted, stepping forward. “That watch.”
Vivian glared at me. “Shut up, you stupid little maid!”
“No,” I said, standing my ground. “I know that watch. When I worked at the free clinic in the South Ward, that man came in. He didn't call the boy Domenico. He called him Leo. And he said the boy’s mother was a wealthy woman from the North Shore.”
Vivian lunged at me, her manicured hands raised.
But as she moved, her diamond bracelet caught on the edge of the desk and snapped.
Dozens of diamonds scattered across the floor, but something else fell from her sleeve.
A small, tarnished brass key.
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Adrian stared at it. “That’s the key to the greenhouse.”
TITLE: The Secret Under The Roses
