The shadow was gone. Elena stared down the hallway where the man had stood, heart hammering. Her legs didn't want to move, but she stepped forward anyway. One foot, then the next. Nothing. No footsteps. No sound. Just silence thick enough to choke on. She turned the corner and looked behind the cabinet he vanished into—solid wall. No door. No crack. No hidden passage. Just stone.
Her heart thudded like a war drum. She wasn't imagining this. The notes. The knock. The voice. The figure watching her in the dark. Something was happening in this house, and it was circling her like a predator. She turned and walked quickly back to her room. The silence wasn't just quiet anymore—it was listening. She twisted the doorknob and slipped inside, locking it fast. Her legs hit the bed and she sat down hard, palms damp, breath uneven.
She grabbed the notes from under her pillow. Read them again. He's not who you think. She didn't need a third message to believe it. Every glance Liam gave her felt like it was measuring her. Testing her. Like she was something he planned to dismantle piece by piece. Don't make me regret choosing you. He didn't choose her. He bought her. And this, this wasn't love. It was something else. Something colder.
Rain tapped the windows the next morning, soft but steady. Elena stayed in bed longer than usual. She didn't want to face him. When she finally went downstairs, the dining room was already set. Coffee. Eggs. Toast. Liam sat at the head of the table, reading a file like nothing existed outside those pages.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
She said nothing and sat across from him.
He set the papers down. "You don't seem like the type who breaks rules. So why keep doing it?"
"Maybe I'm not what you expected," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his.
"No," he said quietly. "You're exactly what I expected."
She took a bite of toast just to avoid answering. It tasted like ash.
"You've been receiving notes," he said.
The food turned heavy in her throat. "What?"
"You're not subtle," Liam added, calm, observant, like he was stating the weather.
"How do you know?"
"Because I pay attention," he said. "And because the last woman who got notes in this house disappeared."
Her body stiffened. He took a sip of coffee, slow and easy.
"If someone contacts you again," he said, "you tell me."
"Why would I trust you?"
"Because you're under my roof. And if someone's playing games, they're a threat to both of us."
"You didn't marry me to protect me."
"No," he said, eyes locked on hers. "I married you to protect something far more valuable."
She swallowed. "What?"
He gave a small smile. "You."
But the way he said it didn't sound like a compliment. It sounded like a warning.
Liam left the estate that afternoon. Some meeting in the city. Elena didn't ask. She waited until the gates shut behind his car before she started walking. Alone.
She roamed the west wing slowly. Every hallway felt like it was breathing. Watching. The portraits along the walls all seemed to follow her, quiet witnesses to whatever had happened, or would. She passed the study. The library. The gallery. Nothing called to her until she noticed a door cracked slightly open at the end of the corridor. One she'd never seen used before.
She stepped in.
It was a modest sitting room. Warm tones. Books on the shelves. A piano by the window. And a woman in a chair, sitting so still she could've been part of the furniture. Her face was turned to the light, unmoving.
Elena froze.
The woman didn't turn her head. "So… you're the new one."
Her voice was soft, brittle with age.
Elena stepped closer. "I didn't know anyone else lived here."
"She doesn't want people to."
"Who?"
The woman turned slightly. Pale skin. Sharp cheekbones. Glassy eyes.
"She" was blind.
"Elara Blackwood," the woman whispered.
Elena's blood chilled. "Liam's… mother?"
"No, dear. His first wife."
The room spun for a second.
The woman smiled like it was a joke only she understood. "Surprised? So was I… when I found out what he really was."
Elena sat down slowly. "What happened to you?"
"I stayed too long."
Then Elara reached into her coat and pulled something small from the pocket. Folded paper. Another note.
"You'll need this," she said, handing it over.
Elena took it with shaking fingers.
"What's in the east wing?" she asked.
Elara's face hardened. "Pain."
"Why won't anyone tell me the truth?"
"Because the truth ruins everything. And Liam… keeps things in the dark for a reason."
"Then why help me?"
Elara leaned in just a little. Her voice barely a whisper.
"Because you remind me of who I was… before he broke me."
Elena's throat tightened. She unfolded the note. Four words:
The mirror hides him.
She looked up, but Elara was already standing, walking slowly toward the hallway.
"Elara?" she called.
But the woman didn't answer. She disappeared without a sound.
That night, Elena couldn't sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the note.
The mirror hides him.
She looked around the room. Only one mirror—the tall one near the closet. She walked toward it slowly. Her reflection stared back, pale and uncertain. She touched the frame. Knocked. Solid.
Then something caught her eye.
A tiny latch, hidden at the bottom edge near the wall. Barely noticeable.
Her fingers found it and pulled.
Click.
The mirror shifted. It wasn't a mirror at all. It was a door.
Behind it—darkness. Cold air rushed out. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
A hidden space. Narrow. Stone walls. A tunnel.
She reached inside. It kept going. Deep. Far.
Then it hit her—he moves through the house. Always appearing. Always watching. Always knowing.
The mirror didn't hide Liam.
It hid how he watched her.
She started to pull the mirror further open—then froze.
Footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Just outside her door.
She backed away fast, pressing herself against the wall.
A shadow passed under the door. No knock. No movement. Just… stillness.
Then, a whisper.
"Elena…"
Her blood iced over.
It wasn't Liam.
It wasn't a servant.
It was someone else.
Someone broken.
Someone whispering from the other side of the nightmare.