BOUGHT TO BE LOVED

CHAPTERTWO

"You’re not allowed to breathe too loud in here," Tolu whispered, her purple lipstick a stark contrast to the dull office atmosphere. I glanced sideways, and she leaned close, her voice barely audible. "Or blink too fast. Or exist." I offered her a small smile and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The glass conference room buzzed with tension. Ten of us were seated at the table, our files stacked in front of us like judgment day. No one spoke, except Tolu. "I'm Tolu," she murmured. "And if you don’t want to die on your first day, don’t ask questions." The door opened, and silence hit harder. Cynthia Grey walked in, followed by two men in black suits and a woman with a tablet. She didn’t acknowledge us, just walked straight to the head of the table and stopped. "He's here," she said, her voice sharp. Everyone sat up straighter. "Remember," she warned, "do not speak to him unless spoken to. Do not touch him. Do not waste his time. And for the love of your parents, do not smile." My fingers clenched the edge of the table as Lex Lawson walked in. It was strange; he wasn’t flashy. No designer logos, no loud cologne, no gold chains. Just a black fitted suit, no tie, white shirt open at the collar, and silence that filled the room like a command. His eyes didn’t scan the room; they didn’t need to. He knew everything and everyone already. Tolu muttered, "Ghost in human skin." I tried not to stare, but he was... strange. Beautiful, but not soft. Like a statue carved in the middle of a thunderstorm. He walked past us like we were furniture, his eyes fixed on something only he could see. When he reached the girl beside me, he said, "Nice smile. Shame about the fake references." Then he reached me. My heart was a runaway train. He paused, and I didn’t breathe. Then, nothing. He walked past me like I wasn’t there. My chest caved in with a strange ache I hadn’t expected. Ignored. Invisible. Later that evening, I stayed behind at my desk, working on the Anderson case. As I passed the glass boardroom, I froze. Lex was inside, alone, standing with his back to the window. He looked... tired. Like he’d been holding up the world all day. I knew I should walk away, but something in me stayed. Then he turned slightly, and his eyes met mine through the glass. Not past me. At me. For the first time. The ghost had seen me. He tilted his head slowly, like he was trying to place where he'd seen me before. My breath hitched. Just as I was about to look away, he smiled. Just a tiny curve. And my phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down at the screen. Incoming call: Mum. I answered quickly. “Mummy, hello?” Static. Then a voice. Deep. Male. Not my mother’s. “We have your mother.” My stomach dropped. “What?”

I should have walked away. I knew better than to linger in that room, with the air colder than the rest of the house and the mirror humming like it held a pulse of its own. But something, curiosity, fear, or maybe something worse kept me rooted to the spot. The glass surface rippled again, like water struck by a pebble. My reflection blurred, stretching unnaturally long until I no longer recognized the face staring back.

The eyes weren’t mine anymore. They were wider, hollow, and filled with a pale light that didn’t belong to me. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I stared at the mirror. “Who’s there?” My voice cracked, sounding far too small in the heavy silence. The figure in the glass tilted its head. Slowly. Deliberately. As though mocking the way I had just moved.

Then its lips parted, but no sound came out, only the faint scratching of nails against wood, though nothing was inside the room except me and that mirror. I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the warped floorboard. “This isn’t real,” I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just my imagination.” But when I opened them again, the figure wasn’t alone. Behind it, shapes began to emerge in the mirrored surface shadowy outlines pressing forward, their forms smudged as if someone had smeared ash across glass.

I counted three, no, four… and each leaned closer, their indistinct faces pushing toward me. My throat tightened. I wanted to run, but the door behind me refused to open. I twisted the knob with shaking hands, but it held firm, unmoving, like the wood itself had melted into the frame. The scratching sound grew louder. Louder. Now it was right behind me.

“No…” I whispered, pressing my back against the cold mirror. The moment I touched it, the glass pulsed beneath my palm—warm and alive, like skin. My breath hitched. It wasn’t a reflection anymore. It was a door. And it was opening. The surface bulged outward, stretching toward me until a pale hand, skeletal and trembling, slid through the glass.

Its nails were blackened, jagged, curling like claws. The hand groped blindly through the air, swiping past my face. I screamed, twisting away, but the fingers caught a lock of my hair, yanking me back toward the glass. My scalp burned as I clawed at the hand, but its grip was iron. “Let me go!” The hollow-eyed figure leaned forward, and for the first time, I heard it speak. Its voice was a rasp, like wind through a broken flute: “You… don’t… belong…”

The world tilted, and for a moment, it felt like the mirror was trying to swallow me whole. My knees buckled as the air grew colder, heavier, until I thought my lungs would freeze. Then just as suddenly as it began, the hand released me. I stumbled to the floor, gasping, my hair damp with sweat. The mirror was calm again, showing nothing but my own terrified face. But as I scrambled to my feet, desperate to get out, I noticed something that made my blood turn to ice. My reflection wasn’t moving anymore. It was smiling.