HIS For The Taking

chapter 3

The first light of dawn barely touched the room, filtering through the heavy velvet curtains. Liana lay on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying Dimitri’s words from last night. “Stay away from the East Wing.”

Her heart still thumped, each beat a reminder that she was nowhere near safe. The mansion was quiet, too quiet, and the silence pressed in on her from all sides. She ran her fingers along the smooth marble nightstand, tracing the edge of the drawer where the mysterious folder had been. Gone. As if it had never existed.

Her eyes roamed the room instead—so many details she hadn’t noticed in the rush of last night. The mirror gleamed perfectly, reflecting the ornate chandelier. The walls were cream, almost glowing in the weak morning light. And yet, beneath all that beauty, a cold hum of danger thrummed. Every step she had taken in this mansion felt measured, like the house itself was alive and watching.

A slow, sinking feeling settled in her chest. This wasn’t just luxury. This was control. Every detail—every quiet, every lock, every surveillance camera hidden in plain sight—screamed it.

She forced herself upright, sliding her feet onto the marble floor. It was cold against her skin, sharp and unforgiving. Her stomach knotted as she moved to the window, parting the curtains just slightly.

Outside stretched the forest. Dark. Endless. No roads. No signs of life. Only trees stretching into shadows, swallowing the horizon. She felt the weight of isolation pressing down on her. No one can reach me here. No one even knows I’m here.

Liana pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to steady her thoughts. Her mind wandered back to the name that had sent a chill down her spine: Ivan Viktor. She didn’t know who he was or why the folder vanished like it did. But the unease lingered like smoke in her chest.

She could feel it: this wasn’t just a random name. This was a warning. A puzzle she needed to solve before it was too late.

A soft knock at the door pulled Liana from her thoughts. She froze, her pulse jumping. Not him, she thought, grateful it wasn’t Dimitri. The knock came again ,gentler this time, hesitant.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice hoarse.

The door opened a crack, and a young woman peeked in. Blonde hair tucked neatly into a bun, uniform crisp and gray. Her eyes darted nervously toward the hall as if she feared someone might be listening.

“Miss… you’re awake?” the girl asked cautiously.

“I am,” Liana replied, straightening on the bed. “And you are?”

“Marcie,” the girl said, stepping inside. She carried a tray balanced carefully in her hands. Plates were covered, steam curling lazily into the air. “I… I clean the West Wing. They asked me to take care of you while you’re here.”

Liana studied her. Take care of me. Like she was a guest… or a prisoner.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do?” she asked, her voice edged with skepticism.

Marcie swallowed nervously. “Just… let me know if you need anything. Press the buzzer beside your bed. Please don’t leave this floor. It’s… safer this way.”

“Safer for whom?” Liana asked, raising a brow, but Marcie only shook her head and smiled weakly.

The young woman set the tray on a glass table near the bed, careful not to make a sound. The smell of eggs, toast, and fresh fruit filled the room. Liana stared at it. Hunger tugged at her stomach, but she didn’t touch the food yet.

“I’ll leave you to… breakfast,” Marcie said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, hesitating, she added, “If… if anything happens… or if you feel unsafe…” She trailed off, then left as quietly as she had come, the door clicking softly behind her.

Liana exhaled slowly, the sound almost lost in the cavernous silence of the mansion. Her eyes lingered on the tray. It was normal. Safe. Ordinary. And yet, nothing here felt normal.

She picked up a piece of fruit, half-expecting it to be poisoned, half-expecting it to reveal a hidden message. Nothing. Just fruit. Just breakfast. And yet… the warning gnawed at her mind.

Safer this way. Dimitri had said similar things last night, cloaked as rules. This place wasn’t designed to protect her it was designed to keep her inside, confined. And while the food was harmless, the forest outside reminded her of one undeniable truth: there was no escape.

Liana placed the fruit back on the tray, sliding the chair closer to the window. The forest stretched on endlessly, a wall of green and shadows. She pressed her forehead to the glass again, letting the early morning chill seep into her skin.

Somewhere out there beyond the trees was the world she knew. And somewhere in her head, Ivan Viktor’s name still throbbed, demanding attention.

Liana’s curiosity refused to be ignored. The breakfast tray sat untouched, but her feet itched to move. She slid the chair back, each step echoing softly against the marble floor. Every shadow in the hallway seemed to watch her, every door a silent challenge.

The mansion felt alive. Not in the way a home feels alive with warmth and laughter, but like it breathed around her, deliberate and calculating. Every hallway was perfect no signs of wear, no clutter. Just silence and the subtle scent of wood polish.

She pressed her hand against the wall, tracing the smooth surface. A cold draft slipped under the door at the end of the hallway, making her shiver. Curiosity pulled her forward despite the voice in her head warning, Don’t go near the East Wing.

Each door she passed was closed, some with subtle locks or brass handles that gleamed ominously in the muted light. She reached one that caught her eye slightly ajar, just enough to reveal a hint of something beyond.

Inside was a study. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with leather-bound books, a massive desk piled with papers, and a single chair pushed neatly under it. Nothing overtly dangerous. Yet something about it felt charged, like someone had been watching, waiting.

Liana stepped closer, her fingers hovering over the papers. Maps, notes in a language she didn’t understand, photographs pinned in a way that made her stomach twist. None of it belonged to her, yet every piece seemed important. She snapped a photo with her memory, committing it to mind.

A soft creak made her freeze. Somewhere, someone was moving. She whirled around, eyes wide, only to see… nothing. The study was empty. The air still. The mansion silent, yet oppressive.

He’s everywhere, she thought. Or maybe nowhere.

She left the study, carefully closing the door behind her, and continued down the hallway. The West Wing was vast, a network of corridors, rooms, and staircases that seemed to fold back on themselves. She realized with a cold twist of panic that she could get lost here, trapped in the very walls meant to protect her.

A mirror caught her reflection—herself, pale, tense, wide-eyed. She barely recognized the version of her staring back. The woman in the mirror didn’t smile, didn’t move with ease. Every step she took was cautious, deliberate, weighed with suspicion.

At the end of the hallway, a staircase led upward. Something about it called to her. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was rebellion. Maybe it was the part of her that refused to be a pawn. She climbed it slowly, heart hammering, every step amplifying the echo of her own uncertainty.

At the top, a long corridor stretched to the left and right. Each door identical, each room a potential secret. She hesitated before the East Wing door, gripping the handle. Don’t. Dimitri’s words rang in her head. But the pull of mystery was almost unbearable.

One step, and she knew: the mansion wasn’t just walls and furniture. It was a puzzle. And every puzzle had its key.

Her pulse quickened. The world outside might be unreachable, but inside, answers waited. If she was brave enough—or foolish enough—to find them.

The East Wing door loomed before her, sleek and forbidding. Dark wood, polished to a mirror shine, no keyhole visible. Dimitri’s warning echoed in her mind: Stay away from the East Wing.

And yet… curiosity, that dangerous, insistent curiosity, clawed at her. She traced a finger over the smooth surface, feeling a faint hum, like the room itself was alive and aware of her touch.

A soft breath left her lips. “What are you hiding?” she whispered, though no one was there to answer.

Her hand lingered on the handle. She imagined the secrets that could be inside,papers, photographs, maybe even the truth about Ivan Viktor. Her pulse raced. One step, one push of the door, and she might find herself in the heart of danger.

The hallway seemed to shrink as if the mansion itself was holding its breath. Her instincts screamed to turn back, but something deeper inside urged her forward.

She touched the door again, and a soft click echoed someone had unlocked it. She hadn’t. And yet, it moved under her hand, creaking just enough to reveal darkness beyond.

Her heart hammered, but she couldn’t retreat. She stepped inside.

The room was cavernous. Tall windows were draped in heavy burgundy velvet, blocking out the morning light. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with files, trophies, and strange artifacts. A large desk sat in the center, meticulously organized.

And then she saw it a wall covered in photographs, strings connecting names, dates, faces she didn’t recognize. Among them, one name jumped out immediately: Ivan Viktor. Again.

Her breath caught.

There were notes, scribbled in Dimitri’s precise handwriting, detailing movements, connections, even threats. Her mind raced. What had she stumbled into? What had Dimitri been hiding here?

A sudden sound made her spin around. The door slammed shut behind her. Her pulse skyrocketed. Footsteps light, deliberate approached.

Dimitri appeared in the doorway, tall and imposing, dark eyes unreadable. “Curiosity is dangerous,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel.

Dimitri’s gaze softened just enough for a fraction of a second before it hardened again. “Close the door,” he ordered. “And stay away from here until I decide otherwise.”

I obeyed, retreating with my mind racing faster than my legs could carry me. Every corner of the East Wing held secrets she might not be ready for—but they had already claimed a part of her.

And Liana knew, deep down, that the real game had just begun.

Liana couldn’t shake the image of the East Wing. Even now, outside her room, the memory lingered like smoke curling around her thoughts. Every heartbeat seemed to echo the danger she’d just glimpsed.

She wandered the West Wing, pretending to examine the ornate corridors, the polished floors, the flickering chandeliers. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying Dimitri’s words: You are a player.

Curiosity gnawed at her. If the East Wing held secrets Dimitri didn’t want her to see, then the rest of the mansion likely held clues too—small pieces of a puzzle she didn’t yet understand.

Her fingers brushed against a gilded frame on the wall a family portrait. Dimitri, younger, standing beside a man she didn’t recognize, and a woman whose eyes were sharp and calculating. Something in her chest tightened. Was this Ivan Viktor? No, the notes hadn’t mentioned a connection yet… or maybe she just hadn’t realized it.

A soft sound made her freeze a drawer clicking open somewhere down the hall. Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. She ducked behind a marble pillar, heart hammering.