Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Dressing Room
The air inside Claire’s dressing room was frozen in time.
It didn't smell stale or moldy, thanks to the climate-controlled HVAC system that Adrian had quietly maintained for three decades, but it smelled of absence. It smelled faintly of Claire’s favorite lavender sachet, mixed with the expensive French perfume she had worn on the night she died.
The moonlight poured through the tall, uncurtained bay windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the Persian rug. Vanity mirrors, lined with burnt-out lightbulbs, stared back like blind eyes.
Natalie was the first to cross the threshold. Her breath hitched, a low, ragged sound breaking from her throat as she caught sight of a silk robe still draped over the back of an armchair.
"She hasn't touched this room," Natalie whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of the vanity. "You told me you locked it, Adrian, but... look at the vanity tray. The hairpins are moved."
Adrian stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the space.
Everything looked undisturbed at a glance. But as his military-trained eye—honed from years of corporate restructuring and competitive survival—began to map the layout, discrepancies emerged. A crystal perfume bottle was tilted three degrees to the left. The fringe of the Persian rug was slightly scuffed near the baseboard.
And then there was the closet.
Spanning the entire length of the north wall, the walk-in wardrobe was encased in floor-to-ceiling mahogany sliding doors. Inside hung Claire’s wardrobe: evening gowns, cashmere coats, designer woolens, all preserved in plastic dry-cleaning bags.
Adrian walked slowly toward the wardrobe. Behind him, Madison remained standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the hallway light, unmoving.
"Mommy," Emma whispered softly, burying her face deeper into Rachel’s shoulder. "It’s cold in here."
"Hush, sweetie," Rachel murmured, her eyes darting nervously toward Madison.
Adrian reached out and gripped the polished brass handles of the mahogany doors. He pulled them apart.
The doors slid open with a smooth, whisper-quiet glide.
Rows of clothes appeared, muted in the moonlight. Black, emerald, cream, navy. He pushed the heavy fabrics aside, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Halfway down the rack, his hand brushed against something metallic.
He pushed the dresses further to the right.
There it was.
Built seamlessly into the lath-and-plaster wall behind the wardrobe, concealed behind a false panel of matching aromatic cedar, was the small, secret compartment he had built with his own hands on their fifth wedding anniversary.
Claire had laughed when he finished it, pressing a glass of wine into his hand and saying, “Now where will I hide your birthday presents, master builder?”
The cedar panel was slightly ajar.
Just a fraction of an inch. But enough to let a sliver of darkness peek through.
Natalie gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. "Adrian... someone opened it."
Adrian didn't hesitate. He hooked his fingers into the edge of the cedar panel and pulled.
It swung open on oiled hinges.
Inside the recessed wall safe sat a collection of items that had vanished from the earth the night Claire died. There was her passport, stamped with a return flight from Zurich she had never taken. There were bundles of handwritten letters addressed to him—letters he had never received.
And resting right in the center of the wooden shelf, illuminated by the pale moonlight, was a red Cartier jewelry box.
Adrian reached inside. His fingers brushed the velvet exterior. It was cold to the touch. He lifted the box out, feeling the distinct weight of metal inside.
May you like
He didn't open it immediately. He turned slowly around, facing the doorway.
Madison was gone.
