guys srry for being sooo overdue I had exams and with ramadan nd all I forgot to update but it's here now hope you like it :] Chapter 4: The Portrait of Lies The envelope slid from Lila’s fingers, landing soundlessly on the rug. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Someone had been here, left a painting that didn’t belong, and vanished like smoke. Whoever they were, they wanted her rattled—and it was working. The portrait’s scratched-out face stared back at her like a wound in the canvas. She forced herself to study it. Father, mother, Eleanor, Thomas… but whose face had been ruined? The smears made it almost impossible to tell. Almost. Lila leaned closer. The destroyed face had finer features than the rest, younger perhaps. A third sibling? A cousin? No record she had studied in the town archives suggested such a person existed. Yet the rage in those knife-marks told her one thing: someone had wanted this figure erased from history itself. A knock jolted her from her thoughts. Sharp. Two raps. Then silence. Her hand hovered near her revolver as she opened the door. Standing there in the pale light of dawn was Dr. Adrian Cole. Same neat coat, same unreadable eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” Lila hissed. “And yet here I am,” Adrian replied calmly. “I assume you received a message.” He stepped inside without waiting for permission, his gaze settling on the portrait immediately. His lips pressed into a thin line. “So they’ve started.” “They?” Lila demanded. Adrian didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a leather notebook from his coat pocket, its spine frayed with use. “I’ve been studying Ravenwood for years. There are… records. Whispers of a hidden society, bound by power, wealth, and blood. Eleanor Blackwood knew of them. She wasn’t the victim you imagine—she was their blackmailer.” Lila bristled. “You expect me to take your word on ghost stories when there’s a dead man in her library?” Adrian’s eyes locked with hers. “Detective, Eleanor isn’t dead. And she isn’t missing. She’s hiding—from them. If you want answers, you’ll follow me.” Against her better judgment, Lila followed. The trail led them to the far edge of Ravenwood, where a crumbling mansion sagged under the weight of years. Windows shattered, ivy crawling up its walls like veins. Inside, the air was thick with mildew and the faint smell of candlewax. They searched in silence until Adrian pressed his hand against a bookcase. With a groan, it swung open, revealing a hidden passage. The corridor beyond was narrow and damp, lit by trembling candlelight. At the end, a small chamber waited. Photographs and artifacts cluttered the walls: clippings of the town’s elite, notes scrawled in haste, letters tied with black ribbon. It was a shrine of secrets, all centered on the Blackwoods. Then—movement. From the shadows emerged a woman, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. “Detective Hart,” she whispered, her voice trembling like brittle glass. “They know you’re here.” It was her. Eleanor Blackwood. Alive.
