Chapter 2: Secrets

The mansion loomed in the distance as Elliott trudged back up the hill, his coat soaked through and the rain still relentlessly pouring down. The warmth he had felt in the flower shop had already begun to dissipate, replaced by the familiar chill that seemed to hang around the mansion like a shadow. It was as if the house had an identity of its own—one built upon years of secrets and unspoken truths.

He didn’t want to go back inside.

The thought of returning to the house—returning to the silence, to the vacant rooms where his mother’s presence no longer lingered—made his chest ache. His mind kept racing back to her disappearance, a constant loop of unanswered questions that gnawed at him.

What had happened to her?

As he reached the large wrought-iron gates that marked the entrance to the estate, he slowed his pace. The mansion’s silhouette in the distance only heightened the oppressive feeling settling in his gut. He longed to call out for her—just to hear her voice again, to feel her warm embrace. But all he had now were memories, fading and slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

Elliott’s footsteps echoed on the wet cobblestones as he passed the entrance and approached the massive front door. He paused, his hand hovering over the handle for a moment before pushing it open.

The familiar creak of the door was deafening in the silence of the house. It felt like an announcement—an unwelcome arrival in a place that had never felt truly welcoming.

The inside of the mansion was just as he had left it—still, quiet, lifeless.

Elliott kicked off his wet boots by the door and hung his coat on the hook. He glanced around the hallway as though expecting to see someone—Dyllan, Ava, or even his father—but the house was empty, as it always seemed to be these days. A lump formed in his throat as he felt the weight of the loneliness pressing in.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore. Not with his thoughts, not with his fears. But there was no one to speak to—no one who would understand the pain that he carried inside.

“Elliott?”

His father’s voice—cold and distant—cut through the silence. Elliott flinched, his heart skipping a beat. He turned slowly to see Dr. Samuel Delacroix standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in his usual surgeon’s attire. His shirt was white, his pants neat and pressed, but his eyes were dark, sunken into his face. He looked tired. But then, his father always looked tired.

Elliott didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted his weight uncomfortably, avoiding his father’s gaze. The last thing he wanted right now was to talk to him. But there was no escaping it.

“Did you find anything?” His father’s voice held no warmth, only the usual clinical detachment that Elliott had grown accustomed to.

Elliott swallowed the bitter frustration rising in his throat. “No. She’s still gone. Nothing has changed.”

His father’s eyes flickered with a fleeting moment of something—guilt, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m sure they’ll find her eventually,” he said, the words rehearsed and empty. “Now, go to your room, Elliott. I’m busy.”

His father’s indifference stung more than Elliott cared to admit. He had grown used to his father’s coldness over the years, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Samuel Delacroix had never been a nurturing figure. He had been distant, buried in his work, leaving Elliott to fend for himself. And now, with his mother gone, he was more of a stranger than ever.

Elliott’s mouth went dry, but he nodded curtly. “Fine.” He turned away without another word and made his way up the stairs, the weight of his father’s presence lingering behind him.

The second floor was just as silent as the rest of the house. The narrow hallway stretched ahead, and Elliott’s footsteps felt unnaturally loud as he made his way toward his room. His door was slightly ajar, and as he stepped inside, he saw the dim light from his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room.

It was the same room he had grown up in, the same room where his mother had tucked him in at night, where she had whispered stories and lullabies to help him sleep. But now it felt cold, empty.

Elliott dropped the bouquet of hyacinths onto his desk. The flowers looked out of place here, their vibrant colors muted under the harsh lighting of the lamp. He ran a hand through his wet hair and sank into the chair by the window, staring out at the rain-soaked landscape below.

He tried to push away the anger that was threatening to rise inside him. The questions, the doubts, the fear—it was all becoming too much to bear. He had to know what had happened to his mother. He had to find the truth.

A knock at the door broke through his thoughts.

“Elliott?”

It was Ava’s voice, soft and hesitant.

He stood up slowly and opened the door, finding her standing in the doorway with a small tray of food in her hands. Her eyes searched his face with concern, her expression gentle.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” she said, offering him the tray. “You should at least try to eat something.”

Elliott didn’t take the tray. Instead, he looked at her with a mix of gratitude and frustration. “I’m not hungry, Ava.”

She didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped inside and set the tray on his desk, her gaze lingering on the bouquet of flowers. She knew. He didn’t have to say a word.

“How are you holding up?” Ava asked quietly, her voice soft. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how to. The pain was raw, a constant ache that had taken root in his chest.

“I just...” Elliott began, his voice thick with emotion. “I just want to know what happened to her.”

Ava’s expression softened, but there was something in her eyes that made him pause. A flicker of... something. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but held back.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes, Elliott, the truth isn’t always something we can handle.”

Elliott looked at her sharply, confused. “What do you mean?”

Ava hesitated, glancing down at the tray before her gaze returned to him. “I mean that... some things are better left unknown. There are things in this house... things your father has hidden.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice rising slightly.

Ava took a step back, clearly startled by his sudden intensity. “I—I didn’t mean to upset you. But there are parts of this house, parts of your father’s work, that I don’t think you’re ready to understand.”

Elliott’s mind raced. “What are you trying to say, Ava?”

Her gaze dropped, and she shook her head slowly. “I can’t say more. But be careful, Elliott. You might find more than you’re looking for.”

Elliott’s heart was pounding in his chest. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion. “What are you hiding?” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Ava looked at him one last time, her face a mask of concern. “Just... just be careful. Your father is not who you think he is.”

The words hung in the air, the weight of them settling heavily over him.

Ava turned and left the room, leaving Elliott standing in the middle of the floor, his heart racing with a thousand unanswered questions. His mind was spinning.

What was she trying to warn him about? What had his father hidden? What was the truth that everyone seemed so afraid to speak?

Elliott wasn’t sure if he was ready to find the answers. But he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t let his mother’s disappearance be another unanswered mystery in this house of secrets.

He had to know the truth.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***