The Unwanted Heiress: Mr. Sterling's Obsession

Chloe walked from the door to the wooden table. She picked up a box of matches and struck one against the rough side.

She held the flame to the wick of a white, unscented candle. The small fire illuminated a black-and-white photograph of an older woman.

Chloe reached out. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the wooden frame. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, heavy rhythm. Her fingers felt cold.

She pulled her hand back and turned to the narrow bed in the corner. She dropped to her knees and reached under the frame. Her fingers hooked around the edge of a dusty cardboard box. She dragged it out across the linoleum floor.

She opened the flaps. The box was filled with old sweaters and cheap knitted scarves.

Chloe picked up a gray cardigan. She folded the sleeves inward, pressing the fabric flat, and set it aside. She repeated the process with each item, her movements precise and quiet.

Near the bottom of the box, her fingers brushed against something hard. The fabric snagged.

She pulled the item free. It was a heavy brass key. The teeth were cut in a complex, jagged pattern. It was a high-security cut, not meant for a padlock or a front door.

Chloe looked around the small trailer. There was nothing in this room that required a key like this.

A rhythmic tapping sound echoed from outside. Wood striking mud.

Chloe slipped the brass key up the sleeve of her hoodie. The cold metal rested against her forearm. She moved to the window, her footsteps making absolutely no sound on the floor.

She peered through the grimy glass.

An elderly man stood in the mud. He wore a tailored three-piece suit, a charcoal gray overcoat, and a black bowler hat. He leaned on a polished wooden cane.

The man removed his hat and bowed deeply toward the window.

Chloe recognized him immediately. Jacob Wright. Her grandmother's butler.

She walked to the door, slid the deadbolt back, and pulled it open.

Jacob stepped inside. He looked at the peeling wallpaper and the cheap furniture. His eyes watered, but he blinked the moisture away.

He reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a heavy object wrapped in black silk. He held it out with both hands.

Chloe took the bundle. She unwrapped the silk.

It was a box made of dark rosewood. The surface was carved with intricate vines. There was no keyhole. The top featured a brass dial covered in tiny, engraved numbers.

"Lady Catherine protected this until her final breath," Jacob said. His voice was a low rasp. "The Beaumonts must never find it."

Chloe placed her thumb on the brass dial. She tried to turn it. The dial did not move. It felt fused to the wood.

"How do I open it?" Chloe asked.

Jacob shook his head. "I do not know the combination. But there is a self-destruct mechanism inside. If you force it, the contents will burn."

Chloe looked up from the box. Her eyes locked onto his. "Tell me what you know."

"The answer lies in your upcoming twentieth birthday," Jacob said.

"What is inside?" Chloe asked. "Does this have to do with Eleanor?"

Jacob flinched. His shoulders jerked upward, and his grip on the cane tightened until his knuckles turned white.

"The truth will bleed," Jacob whispered.

He turned around and walked out the door. He did not look back. A black sedan idled at the end of the dirt path. Jacob climbed into the back seat, and the car drove away.

Chloe closed the door. She walked back to the table and set the rosewood box next to the candle.

She leaned over the box, examining the brass dial in the flickering light. The edges of the numbers were worn smooth. Her grandmother had touched this dial thousands of times.

Chloe stared at the numbers, her mind already running through the possibilities.