Amelia wandered through the expansive halls of the Blackwood estate, the click of her heels echoing against the marble floors. The house was massive, filled with rooms she hadn't even seen yet, but it always felt cold and lonely. Lucas had been distant since their moment at the gala, burying himself in work and meetings. She barely saw him, and when she did, his walls seemed higher than ever.
Her curiosity had grown as she explored the mansion during her free time. There were paintings of stern ancestors, chandeliers that sparkled like stars, and furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. But one thing stood out: a single door at the end of the west wing, always locked. It was different from the rest. Unlike the open, grand rooms, this door was plain, almost hidden, with an old-fashioned lock. Something about it piqued Amelia's interest.
She had noticed Lucas entering and leaving that room late at night when he thought no one was watching. He was always careful, locking it behind him. Whatever was inside, he didn't want anyone else to see. The mystery gnawed at her, and today, her curiosity got the better of her.
Amelia glanced around to ensure no one was nearby before stepping closer to the door. Her fingers brushed the cold doorknob, and she gave it a light twist. As expected, it didn't budge.
"What could be in there?" she muttered to herself.
Her mind raced with possibilities. Was it a room full of secrets? A collection of rare art? Or something darker? She felt a shiver run down her spine but shook it off. Surely it couldn't be anything sinister could it?
She decided to keep an eye out for a chance to discover what lay behind the door. That evening, she lingered in the west wing, pretending to admire the artwork on the walls while secretly waiting for Lucas. Her patience paid off when she heard the faint creak of footsteps behind her. Quickly, she ducked behind a column, her heart pounding.
Lucas appeared, holding a small key in his hand. He looked tense, his jaw clenched as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Amelia leaned out slightly, watching as the door closed and the faint click of the lock echoed in the hall. What was he hiding? And why did he seem so on edge every time he went there?
The next day, Amelia decided to confront him. Over breakfast, she casually brought it up. "Lucas, what's in the room at the end of the west wing?"
Lucas's fork paused mid-air, and his eyes narrowed. "Why are you asking?"
She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's the only locked room in the house. Naturally, I'm curious."
"It's none of your concern," he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Amelia frowned, but she didn't push further. His reaction only made her more determined to find out the truth.
Later that night, Amelia couldn't sleep. The house was silent, the staff long gone to their quarters. She sat by the window, staring at the moonlight streaming into her room. The locked door kept invading her thoughts. What was Lucas hiding? She decided she couldn't wait any longer. Quietly slipping out of her room, she tiptoed down the hall, her bare feet muffled against the carpet.
When she reached the west wing, her heart was racing. She approached the door and leaned in, her ear against the cold wood. Nothing. The room was silent. She tried the handle again, knowing it would be locked but hoping for a miracle. Of course, it didn't move.
Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her. "What are you doing?"
Amelia froze, her blood running cold. She turned slowly to see Lucas standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face.
"I—uh—couldn't sleep," she stammered, trying to think of an excuse. "I was just walking around."
Lucas stepped closer, his gaze piercing. "And you just happened to end up here?"
Amelia swallowed hard. "I was curious. You keep going in there late at night, and I wanted to know why."
Lucas sighed, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looked almost...tired. "Amelia, some things are better left alone. This is one of them."
"That's not an answer," she said, surprising even herself with her boldness.
Lucas hesitated, his jaw tightening. "It's personal. That's all you need to know."
"But I'm your wife, remember? Even if it's just for show, don't you think I deserve some honesty?"
His expression softened slightly, but he shook his head. "This isn't about trust. It's about protecting you."
"Protecting me from what?" she pressed, frustration bubbling up inside her.
"From things you don't need to be involved in," he said firmly. "Now go back to bed, Amelia."
She opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. It wasn't anger—it was something deeper, something she couldn't quite place. Reluctantly, she nodded and walked back to her room, though her curiosity was far from satisfied.
The following days were tense. Lucas seemed more guarded than ever, avoiding her whenever possible. Amelia, however, couldn't stop thinking about the locked room. She started watching him more closely, looking for any clues that might reveal what he was hiding.
One evening, while Lucas was out at a business dinner, Amelia took a chance. She remembered seeing a ring of spare keys in the kitchen, used by the house staff. She slipped downstairs and found the keys hanging by the pantry door. Her hands trembled as she grabbed them, hoping one of them would fit the lock.
Back at the west wing, she tried each key, her heart pounding with every failed attempt. Finally, one clicked, and the door creaked open. Taking a deep breath, Amelia stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, with only a single lamp casting a warm glow. It wasn't what she expected. There were no piles of money, no secret documents, no sinister artifacts. Instead, the walls were lined with shelves holding photo albums, journals, and other personal items. In the center of the room was a desk, and on it, a framed photograph caught her eye.
She picked it up, her breath catching. It was a picture of a young Lucas, smiling warmly, standing beside a woman who looked remarkably like him. His sister, perhaps? There was a sadness in his eyes that Amelia hadn't seen before.
As she placed the photo back on the desk, she noticed a journal lying open. The words on the page were in Lucas's handwriting, and they spoke of loss, regret, and guilt. Amelia's chest tightened as she realized the room wasn't about secrets—it was about pain. This was where Lucas kept the parts of himself he didn't want anyone to see.
Just as she turned to leave, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Lucas stood in the doorway, his face a mixture of anger and vulnerability.
"I told you not to come here," he said, his voice low but filled with emotion.
Amelia looked down, guilt washing over her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy. I just...I wanted to understand you."
Lucas stepped into the room, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Some things aren't meant to be understood, Amelia. They're just meant to be carried."
For the first time, she saw the weight he bore, the cracks in his armor. And in that moment, Amelia realized that Lucas Blackwood wasn't just a cold, calculated businessman. He was a man haunted by his past, struggling to protect himself from more pain.
"I won't tell anyone," she promised softly.
Lucas nodded, his eyes meeting hers. "I know you won't."
They stood in silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. Slowly, Lucas closed the door, locking away his secrets once more. But for Amelia, the door to understanding him had just begun to open.