Chapter 1 - Please Save Her
Ethan Carter had rehearsed what he wanted to say all the way home.
The bouquet on the passenger seat contained twenty-four red roses, wrapped in black paper and tied with a cream ribbon. He had ordered them three days earlier and specifically asked the florist not to include a card.
That evening, he entered the mansion carrying them against his chest.
“Sophie?”
His seven-year-old daughter came running from the foyer.
But instead of smiling at the flowers, Sophie threw both arms around his waist.
She had been crying.
Ethan immediately lowered the bouquet.
“Sophie, why are you crying?”
Her fingers tightened around his jacket.
She looked toward the long hallway.
“Please save her.”
Every pleasant thought Ethan had carried through the door disappeared.
He set the roses beside the staircase and crouched.
“Save who?”
Sophie pointed.
No answer.
Ethan stood and hurried down the hallway.
One bedroom door stood slightly open.
Voices came from inside.
Claire.
And his mother, Eleanor.
“She wasn’t supposed to survive,” Claire whispered.
Ethan stopped.
His jaw tightened.
He pushed the door wider.
Both women spun around.
Claire went pale and backed into the vanity. A vase struck the floor and shattered.
“What are you two trying to hide from me?”
Neither answered.
Then something struck a second wooden door inside the bedroom.
Once.
Twice.
Ethan grabbed the handle.
Locked.
“Open the door!”
Claire shook her head.
“Ethan, wait—”
A weak sound came from the darkness beyond it.
“Help…”
Ethan found an iron emergency hammer in the cabinet and broke the damaged lock.
The door opened several inches.
Claire collapsed to her knees.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
Inside the dark storage room was a woman, barely conscious, restrained in a crude makeshift harness from an overhead support, her clothes torn and her face hidden beneath tangled hair.
Ethan stopped breathing.
The woman lifted her head just enough for him to glimpse her face.
He stumbled backward.
“No…”
Sophie watched from the hallway.
Ethan knew that face.
Or believed he did.
Because the woman behind the door looked exactly like someone whose funeral he had attended eight years earlier.
His first wife.
Sophie’s mother.
Rachel Carter.
Then the woman whispered one word.
Not Ethan’s name.
“Roses.”
May you like
Ethan slowly looked back toward the foyer.
The bouquet he had brought home was gone.
