Mila stared at the white rose.
It lay perfectly still on her windowsill, dew still fresh on the petals as if it had just been picked.
But her windows had been locked all night.
She backed away slowly, her pulse quickening.
Someone had been in her room.
No knock. No sound. Just a silent message.
A white rose. The same as the ones in the hidden garden.
She snatched the flower, ran to her door—and nearly collided with Miss Rowan.
"Good morning, Miss Mila," she said, perfectly composed in her charcoal-gray uniform.
Mila held up the flower. "Did you put this in my room?"
Rowan's face remained blank. "Why would I do that?"
"It was on my windowsill."
Rowan studied the rose, then looked at the door behind Mila. "You should be more careful at night. This house... it isn't always safe."
That wasn't comforting.
Before Mila could respond, Elias appeared at the end of the hall. Shirt rolled at the sleeves, hair damp like he'd just come from the gym.
His gaze flicked from her to the rose in her hand. His expression darkened.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded, striding toward her.
"It was in my room," she said. "On my window."
He snatched the rose, turned it over, and immediately pulled a blade from his pocket. He sliced the stem open.
A single slip of paper fell out.
Mila's blood turned to ice.
He unfolded it carefully, read it, then crushed it in his fist.
"What did it say?" Mila whispered.
"Nothing important," Elias said coldly.
But his eyes said otherwise.
---
Training that day was cancelled.
Instead, Mila was told to stay in the east wing, under constant surveillance by Kade and another guard. She wasn't allowed near the west wing, the north corridor, or the basement.
Which made her very curious about the basement.
When Kade stepped out to take a call, Mila slipped through the back hallway, hugging the shadows. She didn't know what she was looking for—just that answers never came when you waited politely for them.
She passed rows of antique mirrors, winding staircases, and creaking wooden doors until she found one slightly ajar.
It led downward.
Exactly where she wanted to go.
She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
The descent was cold and damp. The air smelled of old stone and something else — something faintly metallic.
Blood?
No. That was just her imagination.
Probably.
---
The basement was a maze of corridors. Some doors were bolted. Others had strange symbols carved into the wood. Mila wandered slowly, trying to stay quiet, until she heard it:
A sound like... breathing.
Ragged. Heavy.
She froze.
There was a barred cell at the end of the hallway.
Inside, a man sat hunched over on the floor, his back to her. His hair was white and long, tangled with dirt and sweat. He wore a tattered robe, and shackles rattled as he moved.
She inched closer.
He turned.
And Mila gasped.
It was the man from the photo in Elias's files.
Elias's grandfather.
He was alive. Here. Caged.
And he was smiling.
"I knew you'd come," he rasped, voice dry as sand. "Just like she did."
"Who?" Mila whispered.
"The girl. The one before you. She came to me. She thought Elias loved her too."
Mila's heart dropped.
"He doesn't, you know," the old man said. "He only saves the ones he plans to use."
She shook her head. "No. You're lying."
"You don't know what's happening here," the man growled, eyes wide and sharp. "This house — it feeds on secrets. On fear. Do you hear them at night? The whispers in the walls?"
"I think you've been down here too long—"
He lunged at the bars with a growl, chains clanging.
Mila stumbled back.
"They killed her!" he bellowed. "Elias let it happen! Ask him what happened on the solstice! ASK HIM!"
Footsteps thundered down the stairs behind her.
Kade burst into view, gun drawn. "Step away from the cell!"
Mila froze.
Kade grabbed her arm, yanking her back. "You're not supposed to be here."
"He knew I'd come," she said, dazed. "He said there was another girl. That Elias let her die."
Kade didn't look surprised. "That old monster says a lot of things. Most of them lies. Come on."
But as he dragged her back up the stairs, Mila glanced over her shoulder one last time.
The old man stood perfectly still now, eyes glowing in the shadows.
He whispered one final thing:
"Run, girl. Before you end up like her."
---
That night, Mila waited until the hallway was quiet, then crept to Elias's private study.
She still had the key he'd given her two days ago — "in case you ever need answers."
She needed them now.
She slipped inside, closed the door, and started digging.
More files. More photos. A small black safe tucked behind a bookshelf.
It was open.
Inside, she found a silver locket.
Inside the locket, a photograph.
A girl.
Smiling. Alive.
The same girl from the ballroom painting she'd seen days ago.
Not just a lover.
A fiancée.
Mila's stomach twisted.
The girl looked nothing like her, but there was something eerily familiar in her smile — the same fire. The same challenge.
No wonder the old man had seen the resemblance.
Suddenly, the door creaked behind her.
Elias stood in the doorway.
His eyes dropped to the locket in her hand.
"I was going to tell you," he said quietly.
"When?" she asked. "Before or after I ended up dead like her?"
His jaw tightened. "You think I had anything to do with her death?"
"I don't know what to think anymore."
He stepped closer. "Then ask me."
She did.
And he told her everything.