Found the ghost
878 Words
Mirelle stood frozen exactly where Alaric had left her, the heavy wedding dress suddenly feeling like chains. She pulled away from the memory of his touch, one stiff step, then another, until her back hit the couch. She sank onto it.
Alaric didn’t follow. He pulled out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. A moment later he turned it toward her.
Lyra’s name flashed first.
Then the amount.
Thirty percent already transferred.
Mirelle’s stomach dropped. The numbers burned into her eyes. Payment confirmation. Lyra’s mother would be taken care of. The deal was sealed. Her part’s done.
“It’s done,” Alaric said flatly. “My part is over.”
He slipped the phone away and crossed the room until he stood right in front of her. His eyes locked on hers.
“How about you play your part tonight, wifey?”
Mirelle stared up at him. The taste of his kiss still lingered on her lips.
Alaric didn’t wait for an answer she couldn’t give. “Smile when required. Stay quiet. That’s all.”
She didn’t nod. She didn’t move. Her only answer was perfect, defiant stillness.
A small, controlled chuckle left him. “You’re just here as a figure. I wouldn’t waste my strength on you.”
The words hit like ice water.
Mirelle felt them cut deep. She tried to swallow the sting, jaw tight, but a single hot tear slipped down her cheek anyway.
Alaric watched it fall. For one long second he said nothing. Then he reached for her hand.
His grip was firm, warm, impossible to pull away from. He walked her down the short hallway into the master bedroom without a word. The room was massive, dimly lit, dominated by a king-sized bed dressed in crisp black sheets.
Mirelle’s eyes darted to the single bed, then up to him. The question burned in her gaze: Are we sleeping in the same room?
Alaric met her stare, reading it instantly. “Get comfortable,” he said, voice low. “But not too comfortable.”
He released her hand and gestured toward the en-suite bathroom. “You may take off your clothes and change into something lighter.”
Mirelle quickly grabbed the small tablet she always carried, fingers flying across the screen.
I didn’t come with clothes.
Alaric opened the massive wardrobe without hesitation. He pulled out a soft black robe and one of his own crisp white shirts, both clearly sized for her. He laid them on the bed.
“After your bath,” he said simply.
Mirelle stood there, tablet still in hand, the weight of everything crashing over her. The dress, the ring, the locked doors she hadn’t even tried yet, all of it felt heavier now.
Alaric watched her for one more beat, then turned toward the door.
“I have a call to make.”
He left without looking back.
The door clicked shut with terrifying finality.
Mirelle sat alone in the sudden, crushing quiet. The luxury around her now felt like a trap. She waited ten heartbeats. Twenty.
She stood.
Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself forward. She needed air. She needed to breathe without his scent still clinging to her skin.
She walked straight to the main door and tried the handle.
It didn’t turn.
She gripped harder, twisted again.
Locked.
She moved to the second door that led deeper into the suite. Same cold resistance.
Her pulse spiked. She pressed her ear to the wood. Faint footsteps moved outside. Someone was stationed there. Guarding.
Mirelle stepped back, heart hammering.
This wasn’t temporary.
He wasn’t asking.
She was already inside the cage. And the door had never been meant to open.
She tried the window next. The latch lifted, but the glass only cracked open a few inches, just enough for cold air to slip in, not enough for escape. She checked the closet. Rows of clothes hung inside, all her exact size. Dresses, nightgowns, simple shirts. Everything prepared, and waiting.
Her stomach twisted violently.
This wasn’t last-minute.
Someone had known she would end up here.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, the dress pooling around her like spilled silk. Her fingers traced the platinum band on her finger. Heavy. Permanent. She twisted it once, twice, but it refused to slide off easily.
The silence stretched tighter.
Then she heard it. The soft, deliberate click of another lock engaging somewhere in the suite. Electronic. Controlled from outside.
Mirelle closed her eyes.
He planned this.
Down the hall in his study, Alaric’s phone rang.
He answered without checking the name.
Serena’s voice came through, sharp and controlled. “That is not who we sent.”
Alaric leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door that led toward Mirelle’s wing. “No. It isn’t.”
“You changed the arrangement.”
“I did.”
Serena exhaled, frustration bleeding through. “Explain.”
Alaric was quiet for a moment. Then his voice dropped, low and certain.
“Do you remember the ghost I told you about?”
A pause on the other end.
“The one I’ve seen since I was ten.”
Another beat of silence.
“I found her.”
Just before Serena could reply, he ended the call.
- Writer
