Chapter 5: The Stranger in the West Wing

Chapter 5: The Stranger in the West Wing

Emma’s Point of View

The encounter with Jonathan Mercer had left a weight in my chest that I couldn’t shake. His words replayed in my mind over and over as I made my way back through the halls of Everdawn House.

"You have no idea what you've inherited."

The warning had been clear, but it only fueled my determination. If my father had been protecting something—if he had spent his life guarding secrets that others had gone mad trying to uncover—then I needed to know what they were. Everdawn House belonged to me now, and whatever history it held, I had a right to uncover it.

As I moved through the corridors, I found myself walking toward the west wing—a part of the mansion I rarely visited. Something about it always felt… different. While the rest of Everdawn House carried the weight of time, the west wing carried something heavier, something almost suffocating.

I hesitated at the large oak doors that marked the entrance. The hallway beyond was dim, the light from the windows weak and fractured by dust. It had been years since I had ventured here as a child, but I remembered the feeling it had given me even then—like I was intruding upon something that had been left undisturbed for a reason.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the doors open.

The air inside was colder, the scent of old wood and forgotten memories wrapping around me like a cloak. The long hallway stretched before me, lined with paintings, their gilded frames tarnished with age. Many of the portraits were of distant relatives, people whose names I barely recalled, their eyes watching as I walked past.

And then, I heard it.

A sound.

A floorboard creaking—too deliberate to be the house settling.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Someone else was here.

Slowly, I turned my head toward the end of the hallway, where a door stood slightly ajar. The old servant quarters. My father had kept them sealed off for years, insisting there was no use for them now.

But someone had been inside.

Heart pounding, I stepped forward, each movement careful, controlled. I reached the door and, with a steadying breath, pushed it open.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn, but even in the dim light, I saw him.

A man stood near the far wall, his back to me as he sifted through a stack of old books on a desk covered in dust. His posture was tense, as if he had been expecting me.

"Who are you?" My voice was steady, though my hands trembled at my sides.

The man turned slowly, and as he did, I felt my breath hitch. He was younger than Mercer, perhaps only a few years older than me, with tousled dark hair and sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to pierce through me. His face was unfamiliar, but there was something about him—something in the way he stood, the way he looked at me—that made me feel as if we had met before.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me for a long moment, as if deciding whether I was a threat.

Finally, he spoke. "I could ask you the same thing."

Anger flared in my chest. "This is my home. You’re the trespasser."

A slow smirk curved his lips. "Is that what they told you?"

I blinked. "What?"

He took a step forward, and instinctively, I took a step back. "That this house belongs to you."

I straightened my shoulders. "It does. I inherited it after my father’s passing."

His expression didn’t change. "Then you really don’t know, do you?"

A chill ran down my spine. "Know what?"

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if disappointed. "You shouldn’t be here, Emma."

I stiffened at the sound of my name on his lips. "How do you know who I am?"

His eyes darkened. "Because I’ve been watching."

The admission sent a shiver through me, but I forced myself to hold my ground. "That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?"

A pause.

Then, finally, he said, "Callum."

The name meant nothing to me, but there was something in the way he said it that made me certain it should.

I glanced at the books scattered across the desk. Old records, some bearing my father’s handwriting. "You were looking for something," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What is it?"

Callum hesitated before answering. "Proof."

"Of what?"

"That your father wasn’t the man you thought he was."

The words landed like a blow, and I took an involuntary step back. "You’re lying."

He tilted his head. "Am I?"

I swallowed hard. "If that were true, why wouldn’t he have told me himself?"

"Because he was trying to protect you," Callum said, his voice quieter now. "The same way he tried to protect me."

I stared at him, my pulse thundering in my ears. "What are you talking about?"

Callum’s gaze flickered toward the door, as if debating whether to stay or flee. Then, with a sigh, he stepped closer.

"There are things about Everdawn House that were never meant to be uncovered," he said. "Secrets your father spent his life burying. But now that he’s gone, the past is coming for you, Emma."

A lump formed in my throat.

"Jonathan Mercer warned me about this place," I admitted. "He told me people have disappeared here. That others have gone mad trying to uncover the truth."

Callum’s jaw tightened. "He’s right."

A heavy silence stretched between us. I could feel the weight of his words pressing against me, pulling me deeper into the unknown.

"If you want to stay safe," Callum said finally, "you need to leave this house. Tonight."

I swallowed hard, the urge to listen to him warring with the stubborn resolve in my chest.

"I can’t," I said. "Not until I know the truth."

Callum exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Then at least let me help you."

I hesitated. I had no reason to trust him—no reason to believe anything he said. And yet, something deep inside me whispered that he was telling the truth. That he knew something I didn’t.

Finally, I nodded.

"Good," Callum said. "Because if we don’t stop this now, Everdawn House will destroy you the same way it destroyed him."

I shivered at the ominous warning.

The past wasn’t just waiting to be uncovered.

It was coming for me.

And I had no idea how to stop it.