For months, Emily had suspected her husband, Richard, of having an affair. The endless “late meetings,” the countless hours he spent “running to the warehouse for supplies,” the faint traces of perfume clinging to his shirts with no plausible explanation. Shed endured it quietly, watching and waiting, until the ache of doubt grew too sharp to bear. That was when she decided to hire a private investigatora quiet, meticulous man who promised answers within days.
This morning, a terse message appeared on her phone: a single, unfamiliar address, and the words, “Go now. It’s urgent. You need to see it for yourself.”
Emily drove for nearly an hour, leaving the comfort of Oxford behind, the citys spires shrinking in her rear-view mirror as the road wound into the wilds of the Cotswolds. Her heart thudded so fiercely within her chest, she thought the entire car might reverberate with its beat. The lanes narrowed as looming oaks closed in, and with every mile, her certainty dissolved. Shed imagined finding a quaint stone cottage, her husbands car parked outside, evidence of a lovers tryst hidden away in the countryside.
But when she arrived, what lay before her was nothing romantic at alla decrepit old brick structure, overtaken by tangled brambles, nestled deep among the trees. Not a single vehicle in sight. No sound but the song of crows overhead.
Clutching her phone, Emily climbed from the car, nerves fraying with each step. She approached the half-open door, its hinges groaning in protest as she nudged it wider. Inside, a chill mingled with the dank odour of decay. The floor was littered with broken glass and splintered wood, but in the far corner, there was something oddly deliberate: a flat wooden panel, just visible beneath the grime.
With trembling fingers, Emily pushed it aside. It slid open to reveal a hidden passage, leading to a small, windowless room. And thereon a filthy mattresssat a gaunt woman, alive but frail, a chain encircling her ankle.
Stunned, Emily froze as the woman lifted her head, every movement fraught with agony.
“Youre his wife?” the stranger whispered, her voice rough as gravel. “You shouldnt have come. He told me you’d never find out.”
“Who?” Emilys voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
The woman looked away, her eyes filling with tears. “Your husband. Hes kept me here for seven months. Said he was looking for a replacement.”
Only then did Emily notice the battered tray on the floorstill holding a steaming bowl of soup. Whoever had been here before her couldnt have gone far.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed somewhere behind her, cutting through the silence. Emily spun around just as officers, summoned by the detective, burst inside, their torches slicing through the shadows. The secrets that had tormented her heart were nothing compared to the horror that now unfolded before her eyes.
