Divorced by the Billionaire, Mated to the Alpha

Chapter 6: The Mansion and the Mysterious Protector

“Is someone there?” I whispered, gripping the flashlight like my life depended on it. The light cut across the room, brushing the corners where shadows liked to hide.

Nothing moved.

Just the old house, breathing and creaking like it was alive.

It was my first night here, and already I could tell this place didn’t like strangers. Or maybe I just wasn’t used to this kind of silence, the kind that pressed against your ears until it vanished, leaving you waiting for something worse.

I’d spent most of the day dragging boxes up the narrow staircase. Every step groaned beneath me, loud and stubborn, like the house didn’t want me here. My bedroom looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. The flower wallpaper was cracked and curling. The window was so thick with dust, it barely let in any light.

“Finally,” I muttered, dropping the mattress on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I found an old quilt in the hallway closet. It smelled faintly of cedar and age. Still, it felt clean, so I pulled it over the mattress and sank down with a sigh.

My back ached. My legs burned. Even my fingers were sore.

Outside, the sun had slipped behind the trees, leaving a deep purple haze in its place. I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. All I could find in my bag was a smashed granola bar, but I ate it anyway.

“You’re twenty-seven,” I told myself. “It’s just an old house. Stop freaking out.”

But it was hard not to. The lights flickered again. First bright, then dim, like they were trying to make up their mind.

This was what I wanted. A quiet place. No one to bother you. No drama.

Just me.

I stared up at a brown stain on the ceiling. It looked almost like a face. A screaming one.

I tried not to think about it.

Then I turned off the flashlight and lay down. The blanket felt scratchy against my arms, but it was warm enough.

Just as I was starting to drift off, I heard something.

A soft scratching sound. Above me.

My eyes snapped open.

It sounded like claws. Wet ones. Dragging across the wood.

I held my breath.

“Hello?” I called out, barely louder than a whisper. My voice sounded too small in the room.

Nothing answered.

Probably mice. Or a tree branch. Or wind.

Another sound followed. A long, slow creak. From the hallway.

I sat up fast. The moonlight lit up the floor, making it look silver and cold. The sound came again. Closer.

I grabbed the flashlight and aimed it at the door. My hand shook a little.

No one was there.

I didn’t move. I just sat, listening, waiting.

Then I slowly pushed the blanket aside and sat a little straighter.

“New rule,” I whispered to the empty room. “The flashlight stays on all night.”

---

The morning sunlight didn’t hold back.

It poured into the house and showed every flaw it had been hiding. The ceiling was stained in spots. Cracks ran down the walls like spiderwebs. Dust covered everything, thick and undisturbed, like the place had been holding its breath for years.

I pulled the curtains open in the living room and stared at an old chair. Something had chewed holes into it.

“No ghosts here,” I said to the chair. “Just a lot of mess and bad lighting.”

The chair didn’t answer, of course.

By noon, I found a wobbly wooden ladder in what might have been a library once. The room was big, full of tall shelves and books that smelled like mold and rain. I climbed the ladder to take down some heavy curtains, and that’s when the rain started tapping on the windows.

“Very fancy,” I muttered, coughing through the dust. I tried waving it away, but my foot hit a loose board. I stumbled, bumped into a shelf, and a book fell off with a loud thud.

That’s when I noticed something strange.

There was a crack in the wall, but it didn’t look like the others. This one was straight and narrow.

I crouched down and ran my fingers over it. There was a tiny groove. When I pushed, part of the wall shifted with a low creak and opened just enough to show a small hidden space. It smelled like damp soil.

Inside was a journal. The cover was worn brown leather, and faded gold letters were pressed into it, S.H.

“Well, hello, secret,” I whispered, picking it up.

The pages were thin and yellow. I turned to the first one and started reading.

---

*October 12, 1990*

The protector came again last night. I watched from the attic window as he walked along the trees, just a shadow moving between shadows. My dad says he’s one of them, that we should never talk to him. But when I hear wolves howling, I sleep better knowing he’s out there.

*November 1, 1990*

He left a rose on the porch today. The petals were bright red and still had morning dew on them. I pressed it between these pages. My mom would freak out if she knew.

*June 18, 1991*

People say the Templeston family disappeared because they made him angry. But I’ve seen his eyes in the moonlight, they’re green, like the forest after it rains. There’s kindness in them. Someone scary wouldn’t have eyes like that.

---

That was the last full entry. The final page only had one shaky line.

*He comes at night. He is not what he seems.*

I sat quietly by the window with the journal resting on my lap. The rain blurred the garden outside, turning everything into smudges of gray and black. Somewhere downstairs, a pipe knocked against the wall. I flinched and spilled cold coffee on my shirt.

“Some protector,” I mumbled to myself. “More like a flower-delivering creep.”

A branch scraped along the roof, and I laughed nervously.

“Okay, Aria. Relax.”

Then I saw something.

It wasn’t a branch. And it wasn’t an animal either.

It was a person.

He stood in the garden. Tall and still.

I froze, holding my breath. My heart slammed in my chest. He didn’t move. His face was turned toward me.

There was something off about the way he stood. Like he wasn’t afraid of being seen.

I wiped the fog off the glass with my sleeve and looked again.

He was still there. Wearing a long dark coat. His shoulders were wide. His eyes caught the light, and they looked green. Bright green.

I gasped. The journal slipped from my lap and landed on the floor with a thud.

I looked back at the window.

He was gone.

But something red stood out on the grass. It caught the light, even through the rain.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I ran barefoot through the hall and out the front door. The rain hit my skin like tiny needles, cold and sharp.

There, on the grass, was a single red rose.

It was bright like blood, soaked and heavy from the rain.

I bent down and picked it up.

It was warm.

Too warm.

It felt like it was alive.

Then I heard it.

SNAP.

A twig breaking behind me.

I spun around so fast I nearly slipped. The wind shoved the trees back and forth, but nothing else moved. Still, something was wrong. The air felt thick. Like something was watching me.

“Who’s there?” I shouted.

The rain muffled my voice.

Then I smelled something. Wet leaves. Pine. And something sharp I couldn’t name.

A chill rushed through my whole body. I turned and bolted back into the house. I slammed the door and locked it with shaking hands.

The rose was still in my pocket. Pressed against my leg.

And somehow, it was still warm.

---

“Yeah, I think I know who owned that journal,” the old woman at the general store said the next day. She wiped a dusty glass with a towel that looked older than both of us. Her eyes stayed on her work, not on me.

“She was the only daughter of a couple… Mr. and Mrs. Hall? Or was it Hughes? Holmes? I can’t remember their last name. I forgot the girl’s name too. But they lived in that big house out by the woods. Back in the '90s, I think. The father died out there. In the forest. They said it was a strange death. Then one night, the mother and daughter were just… gone. Like they vanished.”

“Did anyone find out what happened? Where they went?” I asked. I leaned against the counter without even realizing it, waiting for her answer.

She stepped a little closer and lowered her voice like she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Nobody really knows. Some say they were murdered. Others say they ran away. But what I heard… someone was watching that girl. Something in the woods. That place is far from everything. And ever since, no one’s dared move in. You’re the first.”

That’s when it clicked. The low price. The strange noises. It wasn’t just about old stories. Something had happened there. Something real. Maybe not even human. But I couldn’t figure out one thing, why was the journal left behind? And why were the things inside it starting to happen to me?

“Who was it?” I asked quietly. My coffee tasted cold and bitter.

The clerk’s face tightened, like she bit into something sour. “I don’t know. It’s been too long. I’ve started forgetting things. But people say someone’s still there. Watching. Maybe a ghost. Maybe something worse. All I know is that house never stays quiet for long. And I don’t know how they managed to sell it to you.”

She dropped the batteries into a plastic bag, then paused before handing it over. “You’ve seen something already, haven’t you?”

I gave a small shrug and tried to sound calm. “No.”

She gave me a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They stayed sharp. Watchful. “They say he shows up to pretty girls.”

That night, I lay in bed with the kitchen knife in my hand. The journal was open beside me, stuck on S.H.’s last page.

Then I heard it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Slow, heavy footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer.

The doorknob rattled.

I held my breath, praying the lock would hold.

Then a voice came through the door. Deep. Rough. Not human.

“Mate.”