Chapter 2 - The Secret Garden
The night air outside was sharp and bitingly cold. The grand estate’s hedge maze stretched out under the moonlight like a sprawling labyrinth of secrets. Margaret pushed open the heavy iron gate, her high heels clicking frantically against the stone pathway.
“Elena!” she called out into the dark. Her voice sounded fragile, swallowed instantly by the rustling autumn leaves. “I know you’re out there! Show yourself!”
A shadow detached itself from a towering yew hedge ten yards ahead.
“You shouldn’t have opened the locket, Maggie,” a voice echoed—soft, raspy, and achingly familiar. It was a voice Margaret hadn't heard in twenty years, a voice she had wept over beside an open grave.
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Margaret stepped forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. “You’re dead. We buried you. The authorities, the death certificate, the fire—”
“A convenience,” the woman in green stepped into the moonlight, the emerald velvet catching the silver glow. As her face came into focus, Margaret gasped. The bone structure was identical, but the eyes were hollow, scarred by decades of hiding. “When you inherit an empire built on blood and forged land titles, death is sometimes the only promotion they allow you.”
