Chapter 11 - A Knock in the Dark
I froze in the middle of the room.
My heart seized, pounding violently against my ribs. Who could possibly be knocking on the penthouse bridal suite at two o'clock in the morning? The floor was entirely reserved for Daniel and me; hotel security had strict orders not to let anyone up without Daniel's explicit permission.
Daniel stirred on the sofa, opening his eyes groggily. "Clara? What was that?"
*Knock. Knock.*
The knocks sounded heavier this time, measured and devoid of urgency, yet commanding.
"Stay here," Daniel said instantly, his fatigue vanishing as his protective instincts kicked in. He stood up, adjusted his shirt, and moved cautiously toward the heavy mahogany door.
"Daniel, wait," I whispered, following him with a tight knot forming in my stomach. "Check the peephole first."
Daniel leaned in and peered through the brass lens. His brow furrowed in deep confusion.
"There's nobody there," he muttered, reaching for the security phone mounted on the wall. "Security, this is Suite 1400. Did you send someone up—"
He stopped abruptly.
A faint scratching sound came from the bottom of the door.
Both of us looked down.
Sliding slowly beneath the door frame was a thick, vintage manila envelope, sealed with a distinctive disc of dark red wax.
Stamped into the wax was a crest I recognized instantly. It wasn't the Vance crest. Nor was it the Montgomery crest.
It was the private family seal of my biological father—a man Victoria had told me died in an overseas car accident before I was even born.
Daniel stepped forward, ripped the door open into the hallway, and lunged outside. "Hey! Who's there?!"
The corridor stretched out in total silence, empty under the dim recessed lighting. The elevator banks were still; the emergency stairwell door was shut tight.
Daniel walked back inside, locking and latching the door with a loud click. He picked up the envelope from the floor, his face pale as he examined the dark red wax.
"Clara..." he murmured, turning it over in his hands. "Look at the handwriting on the front."
My breath hitched in my throat as I looked at the bold black ink scrawled across the envelope.
It read:
*To my daughter, Clara.*
May you like
*Victoria was only the puppet. The real game has just begun.*
*Open this alone.*
