It has been five days since I started breathing the heavy, silent air inside this gothic mansion. Each day bleeds into the next, with the same cold floors and the same uniform routine. Eat. Sleep. Talk in hushed tones with Clara and Beatrice like they are plotting a prison break. Repeat.
I have stopped trying with Viviana. Whatever warmth the woman may have is buried too deep to reach. Clara once told me that Viviana had worked here before Lucien even owned this place. "She is like a living ghost. "Beatrice has muttered over a cup of chamomile. "Knows everything. Says nothing."
I am not sure what unnerves me more, Viviana's silence or the way this mansion seems to breathe around me. Walls whisper. Door moan. Shadows clung like secrets.
Today, something shifts inside me and I dare to wander further than my permitted area. Maybe I want to do something that will make Lucien come and meet me or maybe tell me about the reason he is keeping me here. I'm bored and curious and only Lucien Moretti knows all the answers to my questions.
I follow one of the endless hallways I haven't mapped yet, heart pounding in my throat because I know I am not supposed to be here. There is a carved oak door up ahead, slightly ajar. It looks like a library, with books lining shelves like a museum display. Dusty and untouched. I decide to go inside; maybe I'll find something of interest to me.
I step toward it, and then he appears.
No, not Lucien.
It's mean-looking Matteo.
No sound, no warning. Just him. He is blocking my path by taking a single step forward. He is not touching me, and I know the reason. He is not even saying a word. He doesn't even gesture with his hand or type on his tablet.
But he doesn't have to.
His presence is a wall, his stare colder than the marble floors beneath us. I freeze. My breath hitches. My heart does a strange stutter-step in my chest.
He is not looking angry. That would have made him human, as anger is one of the human emotions.
He looks...blank. Like, I am not even a person, just some piece of misplaced furniture that dares to inch towards the wrong room.
I swallow. "I am just..."
His eyes flick down to my bare feet, then back up. One brow twitches. Not lifted, twitches. There is a hint of judgment in his expression.
I take a small step back, stomach coiling. "Didn't know the library is off-limits."
Still nothing. No sound. Not even a grunt.
He tilts his head slightly, as if assessing a threat or a bug on the wall. Then he slowly steps aside, as if I am not worth talking to. I remain still, and at this moment, I feel completely confused. Am I allowed to come here? Or is he just scaring me off like usual?
Matteo walks past me without looking back. The scent of gun oil trails behind him, and just like that, he disappears.
I stare after him, fists clenched at my sides.
Looking at the doors of the library. Either go inside or not. Who should I ask about it?
That is the spark.
Something in me snaps, not loudly, not dramatically. But quietly. Deep inside.
Why has Lucien bought me?
What is the purpose of this place?
Why am I being handled like glass and watched like a bomb?
It isn't fear anymore. I need to know. I turn back toward my room, but not to retreat. No. I am done waiting for answers to fall into my lap. I am gonna find them, even if it means walking through fire.
Later in the night, Beatrice, Clara, and I are coming back from the kitchen, secretly on a mission to roam around the mansion. Beatrice interrupts another whisper exchange with Clara by hissing that the cameras have just turned red.
Clara and Beatrice head towards their rooms, while I make my way back to mine, hugging the shadows.
And then, just like that, I nearly slam into a wall of muscle and power.
Lucien.
He doesn't even look surprised. Like he has been standing there all along, waiting.
I take a step back, but not out of fear, just instinct. His face was intentionally designed to frighten others. But not tonight. Before he walks away, just like Matteo.
"I need to ask something," I say in my flat voice, but my fingers curl tight around a cup of chamomile. I was supposed to have it in my room with Clara and Beatrice.
Lucien raises his brow. And I start asking a series of questions. "Why am I here? Why did you buy me? Why does everybody look at me like I am part of some secret they already know?"
Lucien tilts his head. Just slightly. Not angry. Not annoyed. Worse...amused.
He doesn't blink as he speaks. "You haven't chosen to think, Anaya. You are chosen to be quiet."
Anger surges through my body. I don't say another word, just nod and walk past him. Doesn't run. doesn't look back.
I enter my room and set my coffee on the table, and stand before the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, sharp-jawed, eyes burning like barely held-together coals.
No tears.
No trembling lips.
He thinks I am breakable.
He thinks silence means surrender.
But he is not listening closely enough.
I sit on the edge of the bed and decide to observe the mansion's pattern, just as I did while in prison. I don't know what I am gonna do with all that, but at least I have to start with something if I want to dig things by myself.
One thing I learned in prison is that if you know your surroundings well, it makes surviving a whole lot easier. I had Imani with me in prison, and she helped me memorize the pattern. I take a deep breath and think about all the ways she got me to do things I never thought I'd do in my life. But I went ahead and did it, which included scrubbing the bathroom, flirting with the guards, and getting into unnecessary fights with folks before they could think I was weak.
During the two weeks of observation and silence, I memorized the location of every camera in every corner. Beatrice and Clara also helped me. Both grew up here; they can roam around with blindfolds in this mysterious, dark mansion. Now I even know the lock clicks in place every night at exactly 11:05.
The guards outside changed shifts at midnight sharp; I know it's useless, but one likes to tap his baton against his thigh when one gets bored. The other smoke is near the west wing door, where the smoke alarm has been suspiciously deactivated.
I know which doors open the smoothest and which have the stiffest hinges. The floorboard that creaks when stepped on is located outside the east corridor.
This is not a fear anymore.
This is not my escape plan.
This is the first breath before a scream.
Let Lucien think I am quiet.
This is his mistake.