The air in the grand hallway grew dangerously thin, the silence punctuated only by the heavy, ragged breathing of Victoria as she stared down the corridor.

The air in the grand hallway grew dangerously thin, the silence punctuated only by the heavy, ragged breathing of Victoria as she stared down the corridor. Elena stood frozen, the small silver key burning cold in her palm, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The revelation of room 317 had opened a door that could never be shut again. But before Elena could process the weight of the clue, a heavy shadow fell across the polished floorboards.

Footsteps echoed from the landing above—slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly familiar. Victoria spun around, her eyes widening in sudden panic as Mark stepped out from the shadows of the gallery, his face a mask of cold, unreadable anger.

"What is going on here?" Mark’s voice cut through the silence like a razor, cold and demanding.

Victoria’s composure fractured instantly. She rushed toward him, her hands trembling as she grabbed his arm. "Mark! Thank goodness! Elena is... she’s completely out of her mind. She’s breaking into things, making up insane lies about rooms that don't exist!"

Mark didn't flinch. He looked past his wife, his gaze locking onto Elena, who stood tall despite the tremor in her hands. "Elena. Explain."

"Sir, Victoria isn't just hiding secrets; she’s protecting a history that could destroy this family," Elena said clearly, holding up the small silver key. "I found this near the stairs after the incident with Emma. And I heard her talking on the phone three days ago about a room 317—a room this house supposedly doesn't have."

Mark stared at the key in Elena’s hand, then slowly turned his gaze back to Victoria. The color had completely drained from his wife's face.