Chapter 7: A Moment of Vulnerability

The stillness between us stretched so thin I felt it may crack. Williams was still standing in the doorway, staring at the letter I was holding. Something raw and illegible was replacing the polished veneer he normally wore.

"Where was that found?" I could hear the tension beneath his steady, low voice.

With caution, I raised the letter like a white flag and said, "In the library." "It was concealed among the books."

Sharply, he took two steps across the room and snatched the letter from me. With each word, his jaw tensed as he read it rapidly. His face was unreadable as he turned to face me again, but his eyes—they were haunted.

After folding the letter and putting it in his pocket, he stated curtly, "This doesn't concern you."

"If it involves me, it does," I firmly asserted. “What does it mean, Williams? Who penned it? And who’s the child?”

He shook his head and laughed without humour. "You believe I know everything? You wouldn't believe how many secrets this family has, Freda.

"So why don't you let me in?" I posed a challenge. "Don't you think I should know what I'm getting myself into if we're in this together?"

In a rare display of frustration, he turned aside and ran a hand through his hair. "You won't run into anything. You're in it already.

For the remainder of the evening, the tension between us persisted. I was left to ruminate in my mind while Williams vanished into his study. The letter, the Harrington family history, and his family's critical scrutiny all whirled about in my head like a hurricane from which I was unable to break free.

Desperate for some clarity, I withdrew to my bedroom at last. However, sleep refused to come. Rather, I found myself gazing at the ceiling while my mind raced.

The faint sound of piano music flowing through the penthouse was not audible to me until the early hours of the morning. I listened while sitting up. It was quiet, melancholy, and completely different from anything I had anticipated hearing in this house.

My curiosity overcame me. With my bare feet soundless against the cool marble floors, I slipped out of bed and followed the music down the hall.

I followed the sound to the living room's grand piano. With his back to me, Williams sat at the bench and skilfully navigated the keys with his fingers. My chest tightened as I listened to the music, which was hauntingly beautiful and full of deep despair.

Unwilling to interrupt, I stood in the doorway. However, he stopped playing and turned to face me as though he could sense my presence.

"Had trouble sleeping?" His voice was softer than normal as he enquired.

"You couldn't either," I answered, taking a step forward.

He wiped a palm across his face and sighed. "Letting the music speak is easier sometimes."

After some hesitation, I took a seat on the closest chair's arm. "You know you're full of surprises?"

He gave a snort of laughter, but it was not funny. "I'm definitely full of something."

We both remained silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, seemingly unwillingly.

His fingers brushed the keys absently as he remarked, "My mother used to play." When I was a child, she taught me. It was among the few things we had in common.

I cocked my head, feeling the impact of what he said. "Whatever became of her?"

Despite the anguish in his voice, he stated simply, "She died." "I was thirteen at the time. cancer.

"I apologise," I murmured quietly.

He shrugged, but the anguish in his eyes could not be ignored. "That was so long ago."

The vulnerability he displayed stuck with me even though I didn't push him any further. I had never seen this side of Williams before—a man who was weighed down by his family's expectations and by grief. And for the first time, I questioned how much of his calculating, icy manner was a self-defence ruse.

That moment remained between us as the days went by. Although he wasn't particularly friendly, Williams' treatment of me subtly changed. He appeared less defensive and slower to ignore me.

However, his family's scrutiny only increased. Margaret's penetrating eyes seemed to follow me everywhere, while Marcel and Sophia were unrelenting in their subtle barbs and pointed queries.

I was by myself in the library one evening once more, looking for answers. Even though the letter Williams had stolen was gone, I still had the uneasy feeling that there might be more to discover.

My fingers grazed the spines of ancient books as I looked around the shelves. I was particularly drawn to a leather-bound book without a title on the spine. I took it out and opened it to find a number of antique photos and records.

It appeared harmless at first—a family album, maybe. However, I froze after turning a page.

A portrait of a woman who resembled me uncannily was there, staring back at me. There was no denying the likeness, even if she was younger and had an outdated hairstyle.

The name *Elizabeth Harrington* appeared beneath the picture.

As I turned the pages and discovered more photos and documents, my heart was pounding. When I saw the name *Freda Elizabeth Harrington* on a birth certificate, I almost put the book down.

This isn't possible. Adams was my last name, not Harrington.

The sound of footsteps forced me to close the book before I could comprehend what I was seeing. Marcel was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a cunning look on his face as I turned around.

With a mocking tone, he enquired, "Finding something interesting?"

My thoughts were racing as I held the book close to my chest. "Just taking a look around."

He took a step forward, his eyes keen. "Freda, you should exercise caution. You risk getting into danger if you dig too deep.

Even though his comments made me shiver, I made myself remain composed. I edged towards the door and said, "Thanks for the advice."

Marcel's eyes did not meet his widening smile. "Well, don't thank me just yet."

I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I had just fallen into something much bigger—and far more dangerous—than I had anticipated as I slipped past him and left the library.