Reina had never questioned the life her mother gave her—quiet, simple, and far from anything complicated. Their small home on the edge of town was filled with love, routine, and silence. But that silence shattered the day she opened the old wooden box hidden deep in her mother's wardrobe.
It was supposed to be empty. Just a dusty box among forgotten clothes.
But inside, she found a photograph.
The man in the picture stood in front of a grand estate, dressed in a tailored suit, his hands in his pockets. His expression was calm—cold, even—but his eyes...
His eyes felt strangely familiar. Too familiar.
Reina's heart skipped. Who was this man?
She flipped the photo. No name, no date. Nothing.
Her mother had never spoken of anyone like him. There were no framed photos of him in their house, no stories, no casual mentions. And yet… the way his image was hidden, tucked away as if it didn't belong—it made her stomach twist.
Why hide it?
That night, Reina couldn't sleep. She kept staring at the photo, as if the man would suddenly speak. She needed answers—real answers. And the more she thought about it, the more certain she became.
This wasn't just an old photo.
It was a key.
A key to a part of her mother's life that had been locked away. A part that, for some reason, Reina was never meant to see.
But now she had seen it. And there was no turning back.
Tomorrow, she would begin digging into the past—no matter where it led.Reina slipped the photo into her notebook, carefully pressing it between the pages like a secret she wasn't ready to share. She had no plan, no clue where to begin—but her gut told her this man mattered. He wasn't just someone from her mother's past. He was the past.
The next morning, Reina returned to the photo.
This time, she noticed something she had missed the night before.
In the background, behind the man, there was a house—a large one with ivy-covered walls and a tall iron gate. She zoomed in on the photo with her phone, enhancing it the best she could. The number **"27"** was engraved on the gatepost.
"Number twenty-seven," she murmured.
Her heart thumped. That house looked familiar, though she couldn't say why.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced. A faint, flickering image from her childhood—standing outside a large gate, holding her mother's hand, hearing her whisper, *"We don't go near there."*
She always thought it was just an old house in town, one they passed sometimes on the way to the market. But what if...?
Without hesitation, Reina grabbed her keys and headed out. She didn't even eat breakfast. Curiosity burned too strong to wait.
She drove through the old part of town, the part filled with winding streets and forgotten buildings. And then she saw it.
Number 27.
It was real.
The house stood behind a rusted iron gate, exactly as in the photo. The same ivy. The same stone walls.
Her heart pounded.
Slowly, she approached the gate and peered through. The place looked abandoned—no cars, no signs of life. But the grass was trimmed, and the mailbox wasn't overflowing.
Someone was still maintaining it.
Before she could decide whether to knock or not, a voice startled her from behind.
"Can I help you?"
Reina spun around.
An older woman stood a few feet away, dressed in a faded cardigan, holding a basket of groceries. Her eyes were sharp—watchful.
"I'm sorry," Reina said quickly. "I—I was just curious. This house… I think it's in an old photo my mother kept."
The woman's expression changed the moment she heard that.
"Your mother's name?" she asked slowly.
Reina hesitated. "Clarissa. Clarissa Elman."
The basket trembled slightly in the woman's hands.
"I see," she murmured. "Then you'd better not stand too long out here. Some doors… were meant to stay closed."
She turned and walked away before Reina could say anything else.
Reina stood frozen.
This wasn't just a house. This was a warning. A piece of her mother's past that someone still wanted to keep buried.
But it was too late.
Reina had already opened the box.
And the past?
It was staring back.Reina stood by the gate long after the woman disappeared around the corner, her mind racing. The basket-wielding stranger's words echoed in her ears: "Some doors… were meant to stay closed." But Reina wasn't one to back down from a mystery, especially one tangled with her mother's silence.
Her fingers tightened around the photo still tucked safely inside her notebook. She could almost feel the weight of the secrets it carried, pressing down on her like a thick fog.
Taking a deep breath, Reina circled the gate, looking for another way in. The main entrance was locked tight, and the old iron gate barred her entry, but the garden wall wasn't very tall. With a quick glance around, she hoisted herself over the wall, landing softly on the other side. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and decayed leaves, as if the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone.
She crouched low, moving quietly through the overgrown path leading toward the front door. The large oak door, once regal, was now scarred by peeling paint and claw marks, perhaps from years of neglect—or something more sinister.
Reina reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, switching on the flashlight. Shadows danced along the walls, and the silence was broken only by the creaking of old wood beneath her steps. This was no ordinary abandoned house.
As she stepped inside, the air grew colder, almost as if the house exhaled a ghostly chill. The floorboards groaned underfoot, and dust motes floated in the beams of light.
She explored the dim hallway, her fingers trailing along faded wallpaper that once must have been bright and elegant. Old portraits lined the walls, their eyes seeming to follow her every move. One painting in particular caught her attention—a stern-looking man with the same cold eyes from the photo.
Reina's breath hitched. Could this be the man in the picture? The one her mother never spoke of?
She pressed her palm to the painting's frame, half-expecting a secret passage to open. Nothing happened.
But then, something glinted on a side table nearby—a silver locket, tarnished with age. She picked it up gently, her heart pounding. Inside was a small faded photo of a woman she recognized immediately: her mother, Clarissa, but much younger, radiant and smiling, holding a baby in her arms.
Her mind spun. Who was the man? Was he her father? Why had her mother hidden all this?
Suddenly, footsteps echoed from upstairs. Reina froze.
"Who's there?" she called out, voice trembling but firm.
No answer. Only silence.
Slowly, she climbed the grand staircase, the steps creaking beneath her. At the end of the corridor was a door, slightly ajar. A faint light flickered inside.
Pushing the door open, she found a study cluttered with papers, old books, and more photographs pinned to the walls. Maps, letters, and newspaper clippings—evidence of a life shrouded in mystery.
One headline caught her eye: "Elman Estate Scandal Rocks Town: Disappearance of Heir Unsolved."
Her breath caught.
Reina scanned the article. It told of a wealthy family torn apart by betrayal, greed, and a missing son who vanished without a trace decades ago.
Was this man in the photo the missing heir?
A sudden noise behind her made her whirl around.
A tall figure stood in the doorway—a man with sharp features, eyes like icy steel.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
Reina's heart hammered. "Who are you?"
He hesitated, then stepped forward. "I'm someone who's been waiting a long time for you to find this place."
"Why?" she asked, clutching the locket.
"Because the past you're digging into… it's dangerous. And it's not just your mother's story. It's yours, too."
Reina's mind reeled.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
The man's eyes softened for a moment. "You're not just Clarissa's daughter. You're the last key to ending this family's curse."
Her pulse quickened. She had opened the box, uncovered the photo, and crossed the threshold into a world she never imagined.
Now, there was no turning back.