The mansion didn't sleep.
I learned that within the first hour.
Even after Ethan led me down the east wing corridor and closed the bedroom door behind me, I could feel it—low, humming awareness, like the walls themselves were listening. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was deliberate.
Controlled.
I stood frozen in the center of the room, my phone still clenched in my hand, staring at the last message on the screen.
She doesn't.
My pulse thundered so loudly it felt like it should echo off the walls.
Someone knew where I was.
Someone had followed me here—or worse, had already been waiting.
A soft knock interrupted my spiral.
I jumped.
"Lina," Ethan's voice came through the door. Calm. Measured. "My aunt wants to see you."
"I'm not finished thinking," I snapped.
There was a pause. Then, quieter, "Neither is she."
That did it. I shoved the phone into my jacket pocket and opened the door.
Ethan stood there with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. Up close, I noticed things I hadn't before—the faint scar near his eyebrow, the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes never stopped scanning. He wasn't relaxed in this house. He was alert.
Which meant I wasn't paranoid.
"Who else lives here?" I asked as we walked.
"No one permanent," he replied. "Staff come and go."
"And cameras?"
He didn't answer right away.
"That's not comforting," I muttered.
"They're not in your room," he said finally. "Or the bathroom."
I stopped walking. "You know exactly what I'm afraid of."
"Yes," he said quietly. "That's why I'm telling you the truth."
That made it worse.
Miriam waited in a sitting room bathed in soft light, seated like a queen on a cream sofa. She gestured for me to sit across from her. I didn't.
"I want my phone," I said immediately.
She smiled faintly. "You want control. That's understandable."
"I want my autonomy."
"You forfeited autonomy the moment you ran into traffic instead of a police station."
My hands curled into fists. "You don't get to rewrite my choices."
"I already have," she said calmly. "Sit down."
I did—only because my legs felt weak.
Miriam folded her hands. "Let's be clear. You are here because you need protection. And protection requires rules."
"I didn't agree to rules."
"You agreed when you got into my car."
Silence stretched between us.
"Rule one," she continued, "you do not leave the property without permission."
"Rule two," Ethan added from near the doorway, voice tight, "no contact with your father."
My chest tightened.
"And rule three," Miriam said, eyes locking onto mine, "you tell me the truth."
A laugh escaped me—sharp, humorless. "That's rich, considering you won't tell me anything."
She leaned forward slightly. "I know what he's done to you."
The room tilted.
"I know how long it's been happening," she continued softly. "I know the calls to the police that never went anywhere. The neighbors who didn't want trouble. The social worker who closed the file."
I stood abruptly. "You don't get to say those things."
"I get to say them because someone has to."
"How do you know all this?" I demanded.
Her gaze flicked to Ethan for half a second—too quick to miss.
"He's been on our radar," Ethan said carefully. "Your father."
"Why?"
"Because," Miriam said smoothly, "men like him escalate."
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I froze.
Miriam noticed immediately.
"Give me that."
"No."
Ethan stiffened. "Lina—"
I pulled the phone out and read the message before anyone could stop me.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
She's lying to you.
Another message followed.
Ask her about the girl who disappeared last year.
The room went very still.
I looked up slowly. "What girl?"
Miriam's expression didn't change—but something in the air did.
"There is no girl," she said evenly.
"That's not what my phone says."
"Your phone is being used to manipulate you."
"Then explain how they know where I am."
Silence.
Ethan's jaw tightened.
Miriam stood. "Enough."
"No," I said, my voice shaking but loud. "You don't get to shut this down. You dragged me here. You took my phone. You tell me I'm safe. And now someone is telling me you're not."
Miriam studied me for a long moment. Then she smiled.
"Good," she said. "You're smarter than I thought."
That scared me more than anger would have.
"I'll tell you this much," she continued. "There was a woman. Not a girl. And she didn't disappear. She made a choice."
"What kind of choice?" I whispered.
"One you may have to make yourself someday."
A chill ran through me.
"Ethan," Miriam said, "walk her back to her room."
I didn't argue this time.
The hallway felt longer on the way back. Darker.
"Do you trust her?" I asked quietly.
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
"I trust that she does what she believes is necessary," he said finally.
"That's not the same thing."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
Back in my room, I locked the door and sank onto the bed, shaking. My phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
You're not her first rescue.
My breath caught.
She collects broken women.
I typed back before fear could stop me.
Who are you?
The reply came instantly.
Someone who escaped.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
How? I typed.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then:
By doing exactly what she told me not to.
A knock sounded at my door.
I nearly screamed.
"Dinner," Ethan called softly. "You should eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need your strength."
I hesitated, then opened the door a crack.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked him suddenly.
He met my gaze steadily. "Because if you're here, it means something already went wrong."
That night, sleep refused to come. My mind replayed every word, every glance, every locked door. The mansion creaked and sighed around me like a living thing.
At 3:06 a.m., my door opened.
I bolted upright.
Miriam stood there.
"I didn't give you permission to enter," I said, heart pounding.
"You don't need permission when it's your house," she replied.
She walked in and sat at the foot of the bed.
"You're wondering if you made the wrong choice," she said.
"Yes."
"You didn't," she said firmly. "But you don't understand the danger you're in yet."
"Then explain it."
She studied me for a long moment. "Your father owes money. A lot of it. To people who don't forgive."
My stomach dropped.
"They've been watching you," she continued. "Waiting for leverage."
"And you?" I asked.
"I removed you from the board."
My phone buzzed.
I looked down.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
She put you on the board.
Miriam followed my gaze.
"Give me the phone," she said quietly.
I looked up at her—and for the first time, I didn't see a savior.
I saw a strategist.
"I think," I said slowly, "you brought me here for more than protection."
Her lips curved slightly.
"Yes," she said. "I did."
"And what happens if I refuse to play?"
Her eyes hardened.
"Then you become collateral."
The lights went out.
Total darkness.
And somewhere in the house, a door slammed shut.