Chapter 2: The Letter From the Dead Woman
The ballroom felt colder than it had a few minutes earlier.
Not because the candles had gone out.
Not because the music had stopped.
But because everyone had heard the same name.
“Charlotte.””
It came from the back of the room.
A single whisper.
Yet it carried more weight than a scream.
Julian slowly turned around.
“Who said that?””
No one answered.
Guests avoided his eyes. They suddenly became fascinated by their glasses, their shoes, anything that allowed them to escape the tension hanging in the air.
But Clara didn’t move.
She stood beside Victoria, watching every reaction.
Especially Victoria’s.
The bride who had entered the ballroom twenty minutes earlier like a queen now looked like someone trapped in a nightmare.
Her fingers trembled.
Her breathing became uneven.
And for the first time, I saw something I never thought I would see on Victoria Hale’s face.
Fear.
Julian looked down at the letter again.
The paper was old, the edges worn from years of being folded and hidden.
“What is this?”” he asked.
Clara stepped closer.
“It’s a letter written by Charlotte Morgan.””
Victoria shook her head.
“No.””
Everyone looked at her.
She swallowed.
“I mean… this is absurd. Anyone could have written that.””
Clara’s expression didn’t change.
“Read the signature.””
Julian unfolded the page completely.
His eyes moved toward the bottom.
Then he froze.
“Charlotte Morgan.””
The room erupted with whispers.
I watched my brother carefully.
Julian was not a man who lost control easily. He was the person who remained calm during business negotiations, family arguments, and every crisis our family had faced.
But now his hands were shaking.
“Charlotte Morgan died five years ago,” Arthur said.
Clara nodded.
“That’s what everyone was told.””
Victoria immediately pointed at her.
“Everyone? Or just you?””
The accusation was sharp.
Clara looked at her quietly.
“Do you want me to tell them what happened five years ago?””
Victoria’s face changed.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Julian noticed.
“Victoria.””
She looked at him.
“What?””
“Do you know Clara?””
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
Clara looked down.
A sad smile appeared on her face.
“She always did that.””
Julian frowned.
“Did what?””
“Answered before thinking.””
Victoria stepped forward.
“You are lying.””
Clara reached into her pocket and pulled out another item.
A small silver key.
“I found this inside the envelope.””
Arthur stared at it.
“That key…”
Everyone looked at him.
He walked closer.
“Where did you get that?””
Clara handed it to him.
“From the old Morgan estate records.””
Arthur’s face became serious.
“The Morgan estate was destroyed.””
“Yes.””
“Five years ago.””
“Yes.””
“Then how did you find anything there?””
Clara looked at Victoria.
“Because someone wanted one thing from that house.””
The silence that followed felt unbearable.
Julian looked between them.
“What thing?””
Clara didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she walked toward a nearby table and placed the photograph beside the letter.
“The truth.””
Victoria laughed nervously.
“This is insane.””
She turned toward the guests.
“Are you all seriously believing a maid over me?””
No one answered.
That angered her more.
“I am Victoria Hale.””
Her voice rose.
“My family has known the Ashfords for decades. I have been welcomed into this house. I have stood beside Julian through everything.””
Julian looked at her.
“Then why are you afraid of a letter?””
The question destroyed her confidence.
For a moment, she had no answer.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Because someone is trying to ruin us.””
“Who?””
Victoria looked directly at Clara.
“Her.””
Clara shook her head.
“No.””
She pointed at the letter.
“Charlotte wrote this before she disappeared.””
Julian looked down.
“What does it say?””
Clara hesitated.
Then she answered.
“It says she discovered someone had been using her identity.””
A murmur spread through the room.
I felt my stomach tighten.
Using her identity.
Those words sounded impossible.
Until I looked at Victoria.
Because suddenly everything about her seemed different.
Her carefully chosen stories.
The mysterious gaps in her past.
The way she always avoided talking about her childhood.
Julian had once told me that Victoria’s past was complicated.
Now I wondered if it had always been hidden.
“Give me the letter,” Victoria demanded.
Julian stepped away.
“No.””
“Julian.””
“No.””
His voice was quiet.
But firm.
She stared at him.
“You’re actually doing this?””
“I’m trying to understand.””
“You’re humiliating me on our wedding night.””
“No,” he said.
“Someone else brought this here.””
He looked at Clara.
“And she is telling me something I need to know.””
Victoria’s eyes narrowed.
“You trust her?””
Julian didn’t answer.
That silence hurt her more than any accusation.
Then suddenly, Victoria reached toward the letter.
Julian moved back.
“Don’t.””
Her face twisted.
“You don’t understand what you’re reading.””
“Then explain.””
Again, she couldn’t.
That was the problem.
Every question had the same result.
Silence.
Clara watched her carefully.
“Tell him about Charlotte.””
Victoria’s eyes snapped toward her.
“I don’t know any Charlotte.””
Clara took a slow breath.
“That’s interesting.””
“What?””
“Because five years ago, Charlotte Morgan wrote your name.””
Victoria went completely still.
Nobody missed it.
Not Julian.
Not Arthur.
Not me.
“You said you didn’t know her,” I said.
Victoria looked at me.
“I don’t.””
“Then why are you scared?””
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
A sudden noise interrupted us.
A phone ringing.
Everyone turned.
The sound came from Victoria’s purse.
She stared at it.
No one moved.
Finally, Arthur said:
“Answer it.””
Victoria didn’t.
The phone continued ringing.
Julian looked at her.
“Who is calling?””
“No one.””
The phone rang again.
Clara’s expression changed.
“You should answer.””
Victoria looked at her with hatred.
“You knew this would happen.””
Clara didn’t deny it.
That frightened me more.
Victoria slowly took out her phone.
The screen lit up.
Even from a distance, I could see the name.
Unknown Caller.
She pressed accept.
“Hello?””
At first, nobody heard anything.
Then Victoria’s expression changed.
The color drained from her face.
“What?””
A pause.
“No, that’s impossible.””
Another pause.
Her hand began shaking.
“Where are you?””
The entire room watched her.
Then she whispered:
“But you’re dead.””
The ballroom went silent.
Julian stepped forward.
“Victoria, who is it?””
She looked at him.
Her eyes were filled with panic.
Then the phone slipped from her hand.
It hit the marble floor.
The call ended.
Julian picked it up.
The screen was still glowing.
A message appeared.
One sentence.
One sentence that changed everything.
*I know you stole my name.*
Julian looked up slowly.
“Victoria…”
She backed away.
“No.””
Clara closed her eyes.
Because she already knew what came next.
Julian turned the phone around.
Everyone saw the message.
Then another notification appeared.
A photograph.
A recent photograph.
Taken that same night.
The image showed a woman standing outside Ashford Manor.
A woman with the same face as the photograph from five years ago.
A woman everyone believed was dead.
Charlotte Morgan.
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And beneath the picture was a final message:
*I’m coming inside.*
