The deeper Isabelle digs, the more
tangled Julian’s past becomes. His wife, Eleanor, had been the picture of grace–a woman adored by many, yet haunted by something unseen. Official reports claimed she drowned in the estate’s lake, but whispers of foul play had always surrounded her death.
Inside Eleanor’s study, Isabelle finds a stack of letters hidden in a locked
drawer. The ink is smudged in places, but one thing stands out-Eleanor had been afraid.
“I hear them outside at night. Watching. Waiting. Even Max growls at the door. Julian tells me it’s my imagination, but I know what I saw.”
Max. The dog.
But why would Julian’s wife write about him as if he were more than just a pet?
When Isabelle questions Julian, his
demeanor changes. The usual charm
fades into something unreadable
“Eleanor was… fragile,” he says carefully “She had a tendency to see threats where there were none.”
But Isabelle isn’t convinced. That night, as rain lashes against the mansion’s windows, she reviews old police reports. One detail stands out-Eleanor had bruises when she was found. Not from drowning. From something-or someone–else.
The wind howls outside, rattling the door to the study.
Then, just as Isabelle reaches for her
coffee, she hears it-a faint scratching sound at the door.
She turns sharply.
The door creaks open.
And something moved in the shadows.
