CHAPTER 1: Emily Carter had always been quiet in the library.
The room was the warmest place in the mansion, even though it was built of dark wood, tall shelves, and old leather chairs that made every sound feel smaller. In that room, Emily could still believe her mother was close. She would sit on the brown sofa with her knees pressed together, wearing the same soft white dress her father said made her look like a little angel, and open the picture book her mother had left for her.
It was not an expensive book. It was not rare. It had worn corners, a faded cover, and pages that had been turned so many times the spine had begun to bend. But to Emily, it was the only thing in the house that still knew how to hold her gently.
Her mother had written her name inside the front cover.
For months after the funeral, Emily traced those letters with one finger whenever she felt lonely. She did not tell anyone. Not even her father. Ethan Carter loved his daughter more than anything, but grief had buried him inside work. Every phone call, every late-night meeting, every glowing laptop screen became another wall between him and the child who needed him.
That afternoon, the mansion was silent except for the soft rustle of pages. Emily sat on the sofa and read slowly, whispering the words as if the story might disappear if she spoke too loudly.
Then the library door opened.
Vivian entered without knocking.
She was dressed perfectly, as always. Cream blouse, tailored white trousers, dark hair falling neatly over her shoulders, and a face so controlled it looked carved instead of alive. She was the woman Ethan had allowed into the house because he believed Emily needed a new motherly presence.
Emily had never called her that.
Vivian stopped behind the sofa and stared down at the book.
“Still reading that?” she asked.
Emily’s fingers tightened on the cover. “It was Mommy’s favorite.”
Vivian’s expression hardened. “Your mother is gone, Emily.”
The little girl lowered her eyes. “I know.”
“No,” Vivian said, stepping closer. “I don’t think you do.”
Emily tried to close the book and hold it against her chest, but Vivian’s hand came down first. She pulled it away with a sharp movement. The girl gasped and reached for it.
“Please don’t,” Emily whispered. “That’s mine.”
Vivian opened the book, turning the pages with slow disgust. Her eyes paused on a bright illustration of a child standing beneath a tree. To anyone else, it was just paper and ink. To Emily, it was one of the pages her mother had read while lying beside her on stormy nights.
Vivian held the page between both hands.
Emily stood up suddenly. “Please.”
The sound that followed was small, but it destroyed the room.
Rip.
The page split down the middle.
For one second, Emily did not move. Her face froze, her lips parted, and her eyes filled with a disbelief too heavy for a child to carry. Then the shock broke open.
She screamed.
Not the kind of scream that comes from fear of punishment. It was the sound of something sacred being taken away. She clutched the torn book against her chest, sobbing so hard her shoulders shook.
Vivian looked down at her without a trace of regret.
“Now maybe you’ll stop living in the past,” she said.
May you like
But she did not know the scream had already traveled through the mansion.
And in the next room, Ethan Carter looked up from his laptop.
