18. Eliana #3
The isolated cottage suddenly felt less like a romantic escape and more like a place designed to keep someone away from the rest of the world.
The locked room at the end of the hallway no longer seemed like an insignificant private space.
Sophia's frightened expression returned to my mind, followed by the mysterious messages on Adrian's phone, the visit to Doctor Lara's clinic, and every unanswered question I had pushed aside because I wanted to believe Adrian.
Most disturbing of all were the memories of his behavior toward me.
The way he always seemed to know where I was, the way he noticed every change in my mood, the way he became protective whenever someone came too close, and the way he had asked me to remain inside the cottage until he returned all seemed different now.
At the time, I had thought his request came from concern. He had been worried about his grandmother after the fire, and I had assumed he simply didn't want me wandering around an unfamiliar property alone.
Now I wasn't so certain.
I looked down at the diary again, unable to tear my eyes away from the final words.
SAVE ME.
My fingers trembled around the worn leather cover.
What if the woman who had written those words had been trapped here? What if Adrian had brought her to this cottage just as he had brought me?
The thought made my stomach turn.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "That doesn't make sense."
I wanted it to make sense. I wanted to believe there was an explanation that would make all of this disappear.
Perhaps the diary belonged to someone Adrian had known years ago.
Perhaps she had suffered from an illness that had affected her memory and judgment.
Perhaps the woman had misunderstood everything that had happened to her.
There had to be another explanation.
But then why had the diary been hidden? Why had several pages been torn out? Why had the writer mentioned the same cottage I was standing in? And why had she described Adrian with such affection before slowly becoming terrified of him?
I closed the diary and stood from the armchair.
My legs felt unsteady beneath me.
I carried the diary back toward the hallway, intending to put it exactly where I had found it. If Adrian returned and discovered that I had been reading it, I didn't know what I would say.
But as I reached the doorway, my eyes moved toward the far end of the hall.
The locked room.
I stopped.
I had seen that door when we first arrived. Adrian had noticed my curiosity immediately and given me an explanation that now sounded strangely rehearsed.
He had lost the key years ago.
At the time, I had accepted it.
Now I couldn't.
My gaze remained fixed on the door.
The woman in the diary had written about being unable to leave. She had written about Adrian keeping the keys with him. She had written about hearing women on the phone. She had written about being afraid.
And the final thing she had written was a plea for help.
My heart began beating faster.
I thought about Adrian's face the night Eleanor had given him the antique key. He had closed his fingers around it immediately, and for the first time since I had met him, I had seen something close to fear in his expression.
I had wondered what the key opened.
Now I wondered whether it had anything to do with this cottage.
I took a step toward the locked door, then another. With every step, the questions in my mind became harder to silence.
I remembered Adrian telling me that this was the place he never wanted anyone else to see. I remembered the sadness in his eyes whenever I asked about his past. I remembered the strange familiarity between us that I had never been able to explain.
I remembered the way he looked at me sometimes, as though seeing me was both the happiest and most painful thing in his life.
Ethan's voice returned to me. "That man isn't who you think he is." I had defended Adrian and told myself Ethan was jealous, bitter, or simply trying to frighten me, but now I couldn't dismiss him so easily.
My hand moved toward the doorknob. It was locked, but I turned it anyway. Nothing happened. I tried again, harder this time, and the handle rattled beneath my fingers while the door remained firmly shut.
I stepped back, my gaze falling on the fireplace across the room. Beside it rested a heavy iron poker. For several seconds, I simply stared at it, knowing exactly what I was considering.
I walked toward the fireplace and picked up the poker. Its weight surprised me, and I carried it back to the locked door before gripping the handle with both hands. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears.
"Please let this be nothing," I whispered.
I raised the poker and hesitated for one final moment. Then I remembered the words written on the diary's final page, the desperate plea that had brought me to this door in the first place.
SAVE ME.
I swung the poker against the lock.
The impact echoed through the cottage. I recoiled slightly and stared at the damaged lock. It had bent under the force, but it hadn't broken.
I tightened my grip and struck it again.
The metal gave way with a sharp crack, and the door fell slightly inward. I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the narrow opening. Whatever was behind that door had been hidden from me for a reason, and now I was about to find out why.
I pushed the door open and broke the lock completely.