The whisper faded, but Elena didn't move. She stood frozen against the wall, barely breathing, eyes locked on the bottom crack of the door. The shadow was still there, motionless. Waiting.
"Elena…" the voice came again, low, barely brushing the air.
Her hand pressed to her chest. Her heart was pounding like it was trying to break free. That voice wasn't Liam's. And it wasn't the same one from the hallway two nights ago. This one was raspier. Sadder. Like it had been buried beneath floorboards for years.
She didn't answer. Didn't dare.
The shadow shifted, then slowly moved away. No footsteps. Just silence.
Elena backed toward the mirror. Her hand found the latch.
Click.
The hidden door creaked open another inch. Cold air drifted out, stale and dry, like breath from a sealed tomb.
She grabbed a robe and flashlight from the drawer. No second thoughts. She stepped into the narrow space behind the mirror and pulled the door shut behind her, sealing herself in darkness. She clicked on the light. The beam flickered across damp stone walls, barely wide enough for one person.
The passage smelled of rot and old secrets. It stretched in both directions, left and right, disappearing into black.
She turned right and started walking.
Each step echoed like a countdown. Her breathing sounded too loud. The walls whispered things she couldn't understand.
Ten minutes in, she reached a junction, three narrow corridors. She chose the one that sloped downward. The air thickened. Colder. Heavier. Then she heard it.
A metallic clink. Chain on stone.
She followed the sound.
The flashlight flickered.
Then she saw it.
A small room, lit only by the stub of a candle balanced on a wooden box. And chained to the far wall… a man.
Blood stained his shirt. Dirt streaked his face. Iron cuffs bit deep into his raw wrists. He looked up slowly, blinking into her light. His eyes green, sharp, hollowed by pain locked onto hers.
Then he flinched.
"You're not one of them," he said. His voice… she knew it. The same voice from the hallway. The one who had knocked. The one who had warned her.
Her breath caught. "You're real…"
He tried to nod, but the chains held tight.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered.
"They call it the Quiet Room," he said. "For people who know too much."
She stepped closer. "Who are you?"
"Noah," he said. "I used to work for Liam. Until I asked the wrong questions."
"What kind of questions?"
He studied her. "You really don't know, do you?"
She shook her head.
He laughed, sharp and bitter. "Of course you don't. That's why he chose you."
"Chose me for what?"
His face darkened. "To replace the last girl."
Her stomach flipped.
He looked toward the passage nervously. "You shouldn't be here. If he finds you—"
"Tell me what you know," she said. "Please."
Noah hesitated. Then— "Liam's not just dangerous, Elena. He's protected. There are people who cover for him. Secrets buried in this house—under it, behind it. You've only seen the surface."
Her hands trembled. "How long have you been down here?"
He gave a cracked smile. "I stopped counting after two months."
She looked at the lock. Big. Iron. Old. Not something she could break.
"I'll come back," she whispered. "I'll find a way to get you out."
Noah met her eyes. "Hurry."
She turned and ran...
She didn't sleep.
Not that night. Not the one after.
By day, she pretended. Ate. Smiled. Let Liam believe everything was fine.
But her mind spun like a blade. A man was chained beneath the house. And Liam had put him there.
Every night, she returned to the mirror. Slipped through. Walked deeper. Farther. The house revealed more the longer she searched—empty rooms, sealed staircases, doors that led to dead ends. Like the place was built to hide things.
One night, as she crept back through the wall behind her room, she heard voices.
From below.
She slipped into the hallway. Down the stairs. Past the sitting room. Toward the old study.
The door was cracked open.
Inside, Liam standing with another man. Tall. Dark-skinned. A jagged scar across his jaw.
"I told you to handle the leak," Liam said.
"I did," the man replied. "But he's still alive."
Liam slammed a glass on the desk. "Then you didn't handle it."
"We didn't expect her to find him so fast."
Her.
They were talking about her.
"She's not stupid," Liam said. "And she's not like the others. She keeps digging."
"So what do you want to do?"
Silence.
Then Liam said, "If she finds out about the cabin, we don't have a choice."
The man raised an eyebrow. "We end her?"
"No," Liam said. Cold. Final. "We remind her who she belongs to."
That night, Elena didn't go back to her room.
She couldn't.
She slipped through the mirror and walked faster than ever before. Deeper. The farther she went, the more twisted the house became. Staircases that shouldn't exist. Rooms that circled back on themselves.
Then, she found it.
A rusted iron door. Older than the others. Heavy.
She pushed it open.
And stopped breathing.
Photos.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Tacked on walls. Hung from wires. Spread across old tables.
All of her.
Sleeping. Dressing. Showering. Walking through the garden. Every moment she thought was private—caught. Watched.
She backed away, trembling.
Then she saw the others.
Another wall lined with photos, women she didn't recognize. Blonde. Brunette. Redhead. All beautiful. All afraid.
Some of their photos were crossed out in red.
Only hers was circled in black.
Elena turned and threw up. Then she ran.
Back in her room, she locked the door and collapsed against it. She cried for the first time in weeks.
Not because she was afraid.
Because now she understood.
This wasn't a marriage.
It was a trap.
Liam hadn't chosen her for love.
He'd chosen her like a collector picks his next exhibit.
She wiped her face. Stood. Faced the mirror.
Behind it was her only exit.
And beneath it… a man who needed saving.
Tomorrow, she'd find the key.
And whatever came after that—
She wouldn't run anymore.