CHAPTER 8 The Woman In The Chapel
Eleanor stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed.
Then she touched it again.
The image remained.
The old chapel.
The cracked stone walls.
The broken wooden doors.
And the woman standing beneath the faded cross.
Vanessa Cross.
Alive.
Impossible.
For ten years, the world had believed she was dead.
Julian had believed she was gone.
But someone had just sent Eleanor proof that she wasn’t.
Her first instinct was to wake everyone.
Her second instinct was to do the opposite.
Because whoever sent this photo wanted a reaction.
And Eleanor Vale had survived long enough to know one rule:
Never let the person holding the secret know how badly you need the answer.
She quietly slipped her phone into her coat pocket.
Then she walked downstairs.
The estate was silent.
Only the sound of rain followed her through the halls.
At the end of the corridor, she stopped outside Julian’s office.
The door was slightly open.
A light was still on inside.
Eleanor pushed it wider.
Julian stood behind his desk.
He wasn’t working.
He was staring at an old photograph in his hand.
The same photograph.
Vanessa.
“You knew,” Eleanor said.
Julian immediately turned.
For a second, his expression revealed everything.
Shock.
Fear.
Then the mask returned.
“You should be sleeping.”
“You should be answering.”
He placed the photograph down.
“Marcus has been manipulating you.”
“Is Vanessa Cross dead?”
Silence.
That was the answer.
Eleanor stepped closer.
“Is she?”
Julian looked away.
“I thought she was.”
The sentence stopped her.
Not because it cleared him.
Because it confirmed something worse.
He had lived ten years believing someone’s death was acceptable.
“What happened to her?”
Julian rubbed his face.
“I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes?”
Eleanor’s voice sharpened.
“A woman disappeared.”
“She chose to disappear.”
“Did she?”
Julian didn’t answer.
Eleanor studied him.
The boy she remembered was gone.
The man in front of her was someone who had learned how to survive without feeling anything.
“Did you hurt her?”
His eyes lifted.
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Eleanor noticed.
“You didn’t say you didn’t know.”
Julian’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“Mother…”
“No.”
She stepped back.
“Tonight I found my daughter-in-law injured on the cellar floor.”
She pointed toward the desk.
“Then I found evidence you lied about a woman named Vanessa.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“And now I find out she may still be alive.”
A pause.
“What else don’t I know?”
Julian’s voice became quiet.
“More than you want to.”
An hour later, Eleanor drove alone toward the abandoned chapel.
She didn’t tell Thomas.
She didn’t tell Clara.
She didn’t tell Marcus.
Because she didn’t know who she could trust.
The old chapel sat on the edge of the property, hidden behind decades of overgrown vines.
Her grandfather had built it as a family place of reflection.
After his death, nobody used it.
Julian hated it.
Clara had said that.
Now Eleanor understood why.
The headlights cut through the darkness.
She stopped the car.
The chapel door was open.
Her hand tightened around the flashlight.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and old wood.
“Hello?”
No answer.
She stepped forward.
Then she saw it.
A candle burning on the altar.
Fresh.
Someone had been here.
Recently.
“Mrs. Vale.”
The voice came from behind her.
Eleanor turned quickly.
A woman stood near the doorway.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
Vanessa Cross.
Alive.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Then Vanessa whispered:
“You look like someone who finally learned the truth.”
Eleanor stared.
“How are you alive?”
Vanessa gave a tired smile.
“Because Julian Vale wanted everyone to believe I wasn’t.”
The words carried years of pain.
Years of hiding.
“Why did you come back?”
Vanessa looked toward the vineyard outside.
“Because Julian is about to do something worse than what he did ten years ago.”
Eleanor’s expression hardened.
“What?”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“He’s planning to destroy Vale Estate.”
Eleanor froze.
“Why?”
Vanessa looked directly at her.
“Because the estate is not what you think it is.”
A cold feeling moved through Eleanor.
“What does that mean?”
Vanessa reached into her coat and handed her a folder.
Inside were financial records.
Property documents.
Old contracts.
And one signature.
Eleanor recognized it immediately.
Her own.
But the date was impossible.
She had never signed that document.
“What is this?”
Vanessa whispered:
“Your son has been slowly transferring ownership of the estate.”
Eleanor looked up.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“It’s worse.”
She pointed to the signature.
“Because someone inside your family helped him.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Vanessa hesitated.
Then said:
“Your husband.”
The world seemed to stop.
Eleanor looked at the document again.
Her late husband’s name was there.
Beside Julian’s.
And suddenly every memory she had protected for years began to collapse.
Back at the estate, Clara woke suddenly.
Something had disturbed her sleep.
A sound.
A door closing.
She slowly sat up.
Then she saw something on her bedside table.
A small envelope.
No name.
No message.
May you like
Only one sentence written on the front.
YOU WERE NEVER THE ONLY VICTIM.
