Chapter 4 - The Woman in the PhotographCamryn did not sleep that night.
The photograph sat on the small desk in her guest room, glowing beneath the lamp like evidence from a crime scene.
Her mother.
Younger. Healthier. Hair darker. Face softer.
But unmistakably her mother.
Denise Jenkins stood in the background of Isabella DeLuca’s nursery, one hand resting on the back of a rocking chair, her expression caught between tenderness and fear.
Camryn picked up the photo for the hundredth time.
It made no sense.
Her mother had spent Camryn’s entire life cleaning hotel rooms, working overnight laundry shifts, and pretending exhaustion was normal. She had never mentioned the DeLucas. Never mentioned Matteo. Never mentioned Isabella. Never mentioned ever stepping foot inside a penthouse where one vase probably cost more than their apartment.
Camryn turned the photo over.
You are not the first replacement.
Her stomach twisted.
Replacement.
The word felt dirty.
At 2:17 a.m., Leo woke crying from the nursery.
Camryn was already out of bed before the second sob.
She found Matteo in the hallway, barefoot, shirt wrinkled, hair no longer perfect. Without the suit, without the guards, without the cold mask, he looked younger and more broken.
Leo sat in the middle of his bed, screaming with his eyes open but unfocused.
“No door! Mama! No door!”
Camryn climbed beside him carefully. “Leo, it’s Cam. You’re in your bed. Papa’s here.”
Leo grabbed her arm. “Mama door!”
Matteo’s face changed.
Camryn looked at him. “What door?”
He did not answer.
Leo shook harder. “Mama knock! Mama knock!”
Camryn’s blood chilled.
Matteo stepped back like the words had struck him.
“Matteo,” she said quietly. “What door?”
He looked toward the west wing.
The forbidden hallway.
The place staff were told never to enter.
Camryn understood.
Whatever Leo remembered, it lived there.
Matteo turned away. “He has nightmares.”
“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare.”
His eyes cut back to her.
For the first time, she saw warning.
“Do not push this.”
Camryn held Leo closer.
“I’m not pushing. He is speaking.”
Matteo’s jaw flexed. “He was a baby.”
“He remembers something.”
“He remembers fire.”
“He remembers a door.”
Matteo stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Isabella kept a private sitting room in the west wing. After she died, Leo would crawl there and scream until he passed out. I locked it.”
“Why?”
“Because grief can become a room you never leave.”
Camryn softened. “Maybe he thinks she’s still behind it.”
Matteo’s face went pale.
Leo whispered, “Mama knock.”
The next morning, Camryn called Mount Sinai during Leo’s breakfast.
Her mother answered on the fourth ring, voice thin but cheerful in the way sick people sometimes perform courage for their children.
“Baby, why are you calling so early?”
Camryn turned away from the kitchen. “Mom, did you ever work for the DeLuca family?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
Camryn’s heart sank.
“Mom?”
Denise breathed shakily. “Where did you hear that name?”
“I’m in their penthouse.”
Something clattered on the other end.
“Camryn, leave.”
The fear in her mother’s voice was immediate.
Not old fear.
Fresh.
“Mom, what happened?”
“Listen to me. You take your bag, you get in the elevator, and you walk out. Do not tell them who you are.”
“They already know who I am.”
“No,” Denise whispered. “They know your name. That is not the same thing.”
Camryn gripped the phone tighter.
Across the kitchen, Matteo watched her.
He knew.
Of course he knew she was hiding something now.
“Mom, I found a picture of you with Isabella.”
Denise began to cry.
Camryn closed her eyes.
“Please tell me the truth.”
Her mother’s voice broke. “I was her maid.”
Camryn looked at Leo, who was carefully lining blueberries along the edge of his plate.
“When?”
“Before you were born. Before Matteo became who he is now. Isabella was kind to me. Too kind. That was dangerous in that house.”
“Why did you leave?”
Denise did not answer.
Camryn lowered her voice. “Mom.”
“I didn’t leave,” Denise whispered. “I was thrown out.”
“By who?”
Another silence.
Then Denise said, “Serafina.”
Camryn’s eyes moved to Matteo.
He stood very still.
“What did Serafina do?”
“She told me poor girls who get loved by powerful families become either tools or bodies. She said if I stayed, I would become both.”
Camryn felt sick.
“Were you replacing someone too?”
Denise inhaled sharply. “Who said that to you?”
“A note.”
“Burn it.”
“Mom—”
“Burn it, Camryn.”
The line beeped.
A nurse’s voice entered faintly in the background.
Denise returned, panicked. “I have to go. But listen to me. Isabella had secrets. Good secrets. Dangerous ones. She was trying to protect Leo from the family before he was even born.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Matteo loved her, but he did not see everything.”
Camryn turned slowly.
Matteo was closer now.
Close enough to hear.
Denise whispered one final sentence before the call ended.
“Ask him why Isabella locked the blue room from the inside.”
The line went dead.
Camryn lowered the phone.
Matteo’s face was colorless.
“What blue room?” she asked.
He did not move.
Then Leo looked up from his blueberries and pointed toward the west wing.
“Blue door,” he said.
Every adult in the kitchen stopped breathing.
Matteo grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“Rocco,” he called.
The guard appeared.
“Clear the west wing.”
Camryn stood. “You’re going to open it?”
May you like
Matteo’s expression hardened into the face New York feared.
“No,” he said. “We are.”
