Chapter 266

Olivia

There was still so much I didn’t know about this place, about my destiny. But when I stumbled upon the safe, cleverly hidden behind a painting in what once served as my aunt's private archive, it felt like I had unearthed a direct link to those secrets.

The solid steel door, adorned with an electronic keypad, seemed oddly out of place against the aging wallpaper and dark mahogany bookshelves. I hesitated for a moment, tracing my fingers over the cold metal, contemplating the importance of what might lie within.

“What are you hiding?” I whispered to it, my breath causing dust particles in the air to stir. Was the peridot inside? Was the peridot the second artifact?

Trying a few generic combinations—birthdays, anniversaries, the current year—all yielded the same beeping refusal. The safe was locked tightly, and I didn’t know the passcode.

Frustrated, I turned around to face the rest of the archive. The room felt bigger now that I knew what secrets it held, filled with shelves stretching high and filled to the brim with books, documents, and various artifacts.

Each one was not only a testimony to my pack’s rich history, but also a frustratingly large puzzle piece.

“Aunt Gertrude, if only you were a bit more organized,” I muttered, my voice blending with the room’s natural acoustics. “Why keep a secret like this, even on your deathbed?”

With the reassurance that the twins were still sleeping peacefully through the baby monitor, I spent another house there, pouring over manuscripts, letters, and dusty diaries, searching for any hint of the combination.

But nothing came of it.

“Just history, history, and more history,” I growled, tossing down yet another dust-covered book. “Did you even read all of this, Aunt Gertrude, or was it just for show? Oh, who am I kidding, you crazy old coot. Of course you read all of it. And you liked it.”

Feeling defeated, I decided to seek solace upstairs. The sun was setting, and by the time I reached the top of the steps, the twins were emerging from their afternoon nap.

As I tended to them, though, I felt inexplicably drawn to the room I had avoided ever since I had come home—my Aunt’s old bedroom.

Nathan had used it as his bedroom when we had our old sleeping arrangement. I remembered that he had a few changes, but largely kept it intact despite the renovations he had made on the rest of the house.

The door creaked as I gently pushed it open, revealing a space that felt suspended in time.

The waning sunlight streamed in through the bay window, casting a golden glow over the vintage vanity, the lavender scented linens, and the intricately patterned rugs. The air was thick with a mixture of memories and nostalgia, and I hesitated at the threshold, letting it wash over me.

But what truly captured my attention was the bedside table. It was the last untouched vestige of my Aunt’s life. My fingers itched with the urge to open it, but guilt held me back.

I remembered how my aunt used to climb into bed every night at the exact same time: 9:30PM. Her bed was always perfectly made, sheets pulled taught around the corners. The linens were always crisp and scratchy, which often deterred me from climbing into bed with her when I had a nightmare.

And when she woke up in the morning, it never even looked like anyone had slept in there because the bed stayed so perfectly neat.

But I remembered something else, too. Her diary. She kept it perfectly, writing in it every single night before bed; she never missed a day. There was likely a plethora of information in there, but it had never even occurred to me to snoop in it.

Until now.

“Just a peek,” I rationalized aloud, needing to hear the affirmation. Maybe information on the safe was in there. It had to be, right?

The drawer slid open with surprising ease, revealing her diary on top. The worn leather, slightly cracked and faded, hinted at the countless times she had opened it, penning down her thoughts.

The very thought of invading her privacy like this weighed heavy on my heart.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me anything, Aunt Gertrude?” I whispered, my fingers lightly grazing over the pages. She hardly ever talked to me, except to scold me or to teach me a lesson. And yet, she had so many secrets, so many layers to herself.

It was baffling, to imagine living an entire life keeping all of those secrets so close to your chest.

I began thumbing through the pages, scanning the entries. There wasn’t much of note; mostly just complaints about the weather, or fun facts she had learned, or gossip. I tried not to look too much, mostly just looking for keywords: ‘safe’, ‘passcode’, ‘artifact’, ‘peridot’.

But as I flipped through, a folded piece of paper slipped from its confines, landing softly on the wooden floor.

The handwriting on the envelope was unmistakably my Aunt’s, but it was the name—my name—scribbled elegantly on the front that froze me in place.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I picked it up. As I unfolded it, I half-expected a generic letter, maybe one she intended to give me on a special occasion. Instead, the content was a testament to how little I knew about her struggles and how deeply they were intertwined with mine.

“My dearest Olivia,

The evening is quiet, save for the sound of my pen scratching against this paper and the rhythmic ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. As I write this, I’m ensconced in the same room you're probably reading it in. It’s poetic, in a way.

I’ve often found myself looking back on the years gone by, and there’s a singular truth that I’ve come to realize—I may have failed you.

I always believed, in my heart of hearts, that you were destined for greatness. And while I may not have been there to witness it, to hold you close and assure you of your worth, know that I was never truly absent.

Each day, every second, my thoughts revolved around you and your father. The truth is much deeper, more convoluted than you know. Colin’s treachery, his deceptions—they needed to be uncovered.

But the weight of years, the incessant march of time, is a relentless foe. It’s caught up with me, fogging my memories and slowing my once nimble fingers.

I’ve left behind many secrets, some of which I hope you’ll uncover. You were always a curious girl, so I have no doubt that you’ll discover all of them.

I wish I could’ve told you in person, held your face in my hands and whispered the tales of our ancestry, the mysteries that bind us. But words on paper will have to suffice.

Time has not been kind, Olivia. My body withers, but my spirit remains unyielding. It pains me, leaving you with puzzles and enigmas, but I trust in your strength, in your tenacity.

Always remember, even in the moments of utter despair, that you are loved. I’ve seen you grow, watched from the sidelines, and every moment has been a testament to your resilience.

There’s a code, one that I hope will help you on this quest. It’s 231784. Guard it, for it may unlock paths unforeseen.

All my love,

Aunt Gertrude”

I felt a tear roll down my cheek, dropping onto the letter, smudging the ink.

Another followed, and another, until the paper was damp with my grief. I clutched the letter close, my hands shaking, the weight of my Aunt’s love, sacrifices, and secrets pressing down on my heart.

The world around me dimmed, as all I could focus on were the words of my Aunt, the last message she’d left for me, a beacon of hope and love amidst the shadows of the past.