Chapter 4 The Woman in the Tapes

# Chapter 4: The Woman in the Tapes

Sleep eluded me that night. The revelation about my mother left me reeling, questions multiplying faster than answers. By morning, exhaustion had settled into my bones, but my mind remained sharp—survival demanded it.

Eden arrived early, bringing with him a gown of midnight blue silk. "Today you meet Alexander," he announced, setting the dress on a hanger. "You'll join us for dinner in the main house."

The thought of leaving the vault should have been a relief. Instead, dread pooled in my stomach. "Your brother's coming here? To this... property?"

"This is the Constantine family estate," Eden said, as if I should have known. "My prison is merely a small part of it."

"Your prison?" I caught the word choice.

Something dark flashed across his face. "We all have our cages, Ms. Harlow. Some are simply more visible than others." He gestured to the dress. "Prepare yourself. A car will collect you in one hour."

After he left, I dressed carefully, applying makeup as I'd been taught. The woman who stared back from the mirror was a perfect simulacrum of Vivienne Laurent—blonde, elegant, with an aristocratic poise I'd practiced for days.

Only my eyes gave me away—too knowing, too haunted to belong to the carefree socialite I was pretending to be.

The promised car arrived—a sleek black sedan with tinted windows, driven by one of Eden's silent employees. As we pulled away from what appeared to be an underground garage, I caught my first glimpse of the Constantine estate.

The main house rose from manicured grounds like something from another century—all stone and glass and old money. Security was everywhere: cameras, guards, high walls. This wasn't just a home. It was a fortress.

We circled to a side entrance, where Eden waited. He looked different outside the vault—more powerful somehow, more in his element.

"Remember," he murmured as he took my arm, "you are Vivienne Laurent. You've been corresponding with Alexander for months. You're nervous but excited to finally meet your fiancé."

"What happens if he doesn't believe me?" I whispered.

Eden's fingers tightened on my arm. "Then we both have problems."

He led me through corridors lined with artwork worth more than I'd earn in several lifetimes. The Constantine wealth was everywhere, ostentatious in its casual display.

We paused outside massive double doors. "Follow my lead," Eden instructed. "Alexander can be... volatile."

The dining room beyond was cavernous, dominated by a table that could seat thirty. Only three places were set—at the head and to either side. A man stood at the far end, his back to us as he stared out floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Alexander," Eden called. "Your bride has arrived."

The man turned, and I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Alexander Constantine was Eden's opposite in every way—where Eden was dark, Alexander was fair; where Eden was controlled, Alexander radiated barely contained energy. But they shared those unnerving pale eyes, cold as arctic ice.

Alexander approached slowly, studying me. I forced myself to smile, to play the shy fiancée.

"Vivienne," he said, taking my hand. "At last."

His touch made my skin crawl, though his manner was perfectly correct. There was something wrong in his eyes—something predatory and calculating that his charming smile couldn't disguise.

"Alexander," I replied, my accent carefully modulated to match Vivienne's recordings. "I've waited so long for this moment."

Dinner was excruciating—a performance where one wrong note could be fatal. I navigated Alexander's questions about my family, my childhood in Switzerland, my education. Eden watched, occasionally steering the conversation when it veered toward dangerous territory.

"Your letters meant so much to me," Alexander said, refilling my wine glass. "Especially the ones about your dreams of our future home."

I smiled, frantically searching my memory of Vivienne's diaries. "I've always wanted a place by the water."

"Yes, you mentioned the lake house in Geneva." His eyes never left my face. "Though you never told me why you stopped swimming after the accident."

A trap. There had been no mention of swimming or accidents in the diaries.

"Some memories are difficult to revisit," I said carefully. "Even in letters to one's fiancé."

Alexander's expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. "Of course. Forgive me."

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of tension. When dessert was finally cleared, Eden suggested showing me the house.

"An excellent idea," Alexander agreed. "But I have calls to make. Perhaps you could give Vivienne the tour, brother? I'll join you shortly."

Eden's face revealed nothing, but I sensed his displeasure. This wasn't part of the plan.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "I'd be delighted."

As soon as we were alone in the corridor, I whispered, "He knows. He was testing me."

"He suspects," Eden corrected. "Alexander always suspects. It's why he's survived this long." He guided me deeper into the house. "We need to accelerate the timeline."

"What timeline? You still haven't told me what you're planning."

Eden stopped before an unremarkable door, producing a key from his pocket. "Perhaps it's time you understood exactly what kind of man my brother is."

The room beyond was dark until Eden flipped a switch. Lights revealed what appeared to be a security center—banks of monitors, computer equipment, servers humming quietly.

"Alexander's private collection," Eden said, his voice tight with controlled rage. "His trophies."

He pressed a button, and the monitors came to life. Each showed different footage—different rooms, different women. I stepped closer, horror dawning as I realized what I was seeing.

"He records them," Eden said flatly. "Every woman. Every encounter."

The footage was voyeuristic, disturbing. Some women seemed aware of the cameras, performing for them. Others clearly had no idea they were being watched. All of them shared a similar look—blonde, delicate, with fine features.

Like Vivienne. Like me.

"Why do they all look the same?" I asked, unable to tear my eyes away.

"They look like our mother," Eden replied, his voice hollow. "Alexander has... specific tastes."

I turned to him, nauseated. "Your brother is recording himself with women who look like your mother?"

"Look closer," Eden urged. "Not just any women."

I forced myself to study the faces on the screens. There was something familiar about them, beyond their similar appearance. Then it hit me—I'd seen some of these women before.

"The missing persons reports," I whispered. "These women... some of them have been reported missing."

Eden nodded grimly. "Alexander finds them, uses them, discards them. The Constantine name ensures no questions are asked, no investigations pursued."

"That's... monstrous."

"Now you understand what we're facing." Eden moved to a different console. "But there's more you need to see."

He pulled up an archive, scrolling through dates going back years. He selected one from eight years earlier, and new footage appeared on the main screen.

A woman sat at a desk, writing in what looked like a journal. She was older than the others, perhaps in her forties, but beautiful, with the same pale eyes as Eden and Alexander.

"Your mother," I realized.

"The only footage I could salvage," Eden confirmed. "Alexander didn't know she'd discovered his cameras. She left this for me to find."

In the video, Dr. Constantine looked directly at the camera and spoke quietly: "Eden, if you're watching this, you've found the truth. The diamonds, the research—it was never meant for this. What they're planning—" She looked over her shoulder suddenly, fear crossing her face. The footage ended abruptly.

"What happened to her?" I asked softly.

"An 'accident' in the lab. Chemical exposure, they said." Eden's voice was flat. "Two weeks after this recording."

I felt sick. "I'm sorry."

Eden closed the archive and moved to another section. "These are more recent. Look."

He pulled up footage of a blonde woman—terrified, disheveled—locked in what appeared to be a luxurious bedroom. She pounded on the door, screaming soundlessly through the muted video.

"Vivienne Laurent," Eden said. "The real one. Alexander's chosen bride."

"Where is she now?" I asked, though I feared I knew the answer.

Eden's silence confirmed my worst suspicions.

As I stared at the poor woman's face, something on another monitor caught my eye—a familiar figure. Myself, in the vault, reading Vivienne's diaries. Eden had been watching me too.

I turned to confront him, but froze as something else captured my attention—a monitor showing earlier footage of me. Not in the vault, not as Vivienne, but months ago, at the auction house. I was examining a sapphire necklace, unaware of being observed.

"You've been watching me," I whispered. "Before the diamond. Before all of this."

"Alexander has been watching you," Eden corrected. "For longer than you know."

My hand went to the diamond at my throat. "Why? What does he want with me?"

Before Eden could answer, movement on one of the live monitors drew our attention. Alexander was walking down the hallway—heading directly toward us.

"We need to go," Eden said urgently, powering down the systems. "Now."

He pulled me toward a concealed door at the back of the room. We slipped through just as the main door opened.

The hidden passage led us through the walls of the house, emerging in what appeared to be Eden's private study. Once the door closed behind us, disguised as a bookshelf, Eden finally relaxed marginally.

"That was too close," he muttered.

"Why has your brother been watching me?" I demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

Eden poured himself a drink, his hand steady despite our narrow escape. "Alexander has been collecting women who resemble our mother for years. But recently, he's become fixated on another type as well."

"What type?"

"Women connected to my mother's research. Former colleagues. Students." Eden met my eyes. "Daughters of her associates."

The photo from the diary. My mother standing next to Eden's.

"My mother," I said slowly. "She worked with yours."

"They were friends. More than colleagues." Eden swirled his drink. "Your mother was part of the original diamond research team."

The room seemed to tilt around me. "That's impossible. My mother was a geologist. She studied rock formations, not diamonds."

"That was her cover," Eden said simply. "The diamond research was classified. Only a handful of people knew its true nature."

I sank into a chair, my legs suddenly unable to support me. "So Alexander has been watching me because of who my mother was? But she died when I was twelve. I barely remember her."

"He believes you know something. That your mother passed on information about the diamond technology." Eden finished his drink. "He's been waiting for you to lead him to it."

"But I don't know anything!"

"It doesn't matter what you know. It matters what he thinks you know." Eden's expression hardened. "And now that you're here, wearing the blood diamond, the endgame has begun."

I touched the stone at my throat, its warmth a constant reminder of its unnatural creation.

"What exactly is this endgame?"

Eden's smile was cold, determined. "Justice. Vengeance. The complete destruction of Alexander Constantine and everyone who helped him murder our mother."

The certainty in his voice chilled me. I was caught between two brothers—one a monster who collected women like trophies, the other consumed by revenge to the point of obsession.

And somewhere in that footage, I had seen my own face flash by—not just in the vault, not just at the auction house, but somewhere else. A fragment of memory, quickly suppressed.

What else had Alexander recorded? What else didn't I remember?