Chapter 3
1303 Words
Lena hadn’t moved from where the butler had left her. The room was dangerously silent as though it were holding its breath. Her shoes barely made a sound on the marble floor, which gleamed like polished ice beneath the chandeliers. The air inside was cool and heavy, as if it belonged to another world entirely. One where she didn’t belong.
She walked further in, her arms hugging her body tightly. This mansion was nothing like the noisy, decaying apartment she’d left behind or been dragged from. No roaches skittering past cracked walls. No smoke from her stepfather’s cigarettes clinging to the air like a curse. Only stillness. Cold, suffocating stillness.
She reached a towering window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Outside, a vast garden sprawled in symmetrical perfection, hedges trimmed like soldiers, statues frozen mid-dance. It looked like something out of a fantasy novel. But this wasn’t a fairytale.
This was a cage.
“Miss Reyes,” a voice startled her.
She turned sharply, her heart thudding against her ribs.
The butler was back. “You’ve been assigned to the East Wing. Please follow me.”
He moved swiftly, no sympathy in his voice, no curiosity in his eyes. Just robotic precision. Lena trailed after him through the grand hallway, her gaze flicking across oil paintings and ornate doors she would never dare open.
“Your meals will be brought to your room. You are not to leave the East Wing without permission. You are not to disturb Mr. Thorne.”
She nearly stumbled at the name.
Thorne.
Even his name sounded like something sharp, something meant to wound.
“Are there others here?” she asked softly.
“No.”
“Servants?”
“You will not see them. Mr. Thorne prefers silence.”
The butler stopped before a door. It was beautiful. White, with gold trim and a delicate rose etched into the center. It looked like something out of a princess story. But she knew better than to trust appearances.
He opened it without a word and gesture for her to step inside.
Lena crossed the threshold.
The room was massive. A chandelier sparkled from the ceiling. A canopy bed stood in the center, covered in white silk sheets. There was a fireplace, unlit. A vanity. A small bookshelf. Everything elegant, perfect, still.
She hated it instantly.
“This will be your room. Your belongings have already been placed in the closet,” the butler said. “If you require anything, press the bell on the nightstand.”
She nodded, biting her lower lip.
He left, and the door clicked shut behind him with finality.
She was alone again.
---
Lena sat on the bed, hands in her lap. She tried not to cry. If she started, she wasn’t sure she’d stop. Her life was no longer hers. She had been sold like livestock. To a man who hadn’t spoken a word to her yet. A billionaire ghost who lived in silence.
But she’d seen him.
Earlier, just for a second.
Tall. Dressed in black. The sharp line of his jaw and cold, unreadable eyes. He hadn’t even looked at her. Not really. She was nothing to him. A transaction.
Still, the moment had rattled her. There was something in his gaze. Like he wasn’t really looking at her, but through her as if he already knew what she was, what she’d become. That frightened her more than his silence.
---
Later that night, she wandered to the vanity and picked up a hairbrush, brushing her tangled curls in silence. Her reflection stared back at her pale, hollow-eyed, too thin. Her skin looked almost translucent under the soft lighting.
A shadow moved behind her.
She froze.
Turned.
Nothing.
Her chest heaved. “Get it together,” she whispered.
She returned to brushing her hair, but the unease lingered.
---
The days began to blur. Morning brought sunlight through her glass windows, but no warmth. Meals appeared on the silver tray outside her door, always perfectly warm, perfectly portioned. Never a soul in sight.
She tried to keep track of time. Read books. Sketch in the journal she found tucked in the drawer. But the silence pressed in, day after day, like the house itself was watching her.
The only noise was at night.
Sometimes… faint footsteps in the hallway.
She never checked.
Until the fourth night.
Lena sat on the floor, hugging her knees, when she heard them again. Slow. Precise. Coming closer.
She rose, crept to the door, pressing her ear against it.
Nothing.
Then
A sharp tap.
She jumped.
Someone or something had just tapped on her door.
“Who’s there?” she asked shakily.
Silence.
She opened the door slowly.
No one.
Just the empty hallway stretching into darkness. Her eyes darted left. Right.
Then, something caught her eye.
A rose.
Lying on the floor in front of her door.
She bent down and picked it up. Deep red. Fresh. No note. No explanation.
Her fingers trembled.
Why would someone leave a rose?
Who could’ve?
She quickly closed the door, locking it behind her, and backed away.
She didn’t sleep that night.
---
Morning came too soon. A soft knock sounded. Different. Polite.
She opened the door to find the butler.
“Mr. Thorne would like to see you.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
---
She followed him down unfamiliar corridors. Every step is heavier than the last. They finally stopped before a tall set of double doors.
“He’s waiting inside,” the butler said, then walked away.
She stared at the doors, heart pounding.
Then she pushed them open.
The room inside was dimly lit, filled with tall bookshelves and velvet chairs. The air was warm, scented faintly with something spicy like sandalwood and smoke.
He was sitting behind a massive desk.
Damien Thorne.
His eyes met hers, and this time… he looked at her.
All of her.
Like he was dissecting her with just a glance.
“Come in.”
His voice was low. Commanding. Controlled.
She stepped in, quietly closing the doors behind her.
“You’ve been here for nearly a week,” he said. “You haven’t tried to run. You haven’t made demands.”
Lena swallowed. “Would it have mattered?”
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “No.”
Her fists clenched at her sides.
“You’re wondering why I bought you,” he continued. “Why are you here?”
“I stopped asking questions the moment I was dragged from my home.”
That made something flicker in his eyes approval, maybe? Or curiosity.
“I don’t tolerate disobedience, Lena. If you’re to live under my roof, you will follow my rules.”
“I’m not here by choice.”
“Neither am I,” he said coldly.
That stunned her.
He stood, circling the desk slowly. Like a predator appraising prey. “You’ll remain in the East Wing. You’ll speak when spoken to. You’ll stay out of locked rooms.”
“Locked rooms?”
He paused behind her, his voice brushing the back of her neck.
“This house has secrets. Some you’ll wish you never found.”
She turned to face him. “Why did you buy me?”
He tilted his head. “Because you’re a ghost,” he said softly. “Just like me.”
That night, she found another rose on her nightstand.
Only this time… there was a note.
It read: Don’t trust him.
But it wasn’t Damien’s handwriting.
And she hadn’t let anyone in.
She stared at the note, her breath caught in her throat.
Then her eyes moved to the window.
Something was carved into the glass from the inside like it had been done with a knife.
One word.
Run.
- Writer
