Chapter Three
850 Words
By the time the first potential buyers arrived at Winterbourne Estate, Annie had transformed the grand foyer into a holiday wonderland.
Candles flickered in wall sconces, the massive tree glowed with white and amber light, and gentle classical music played through a Bluetooth speaker she kept hidden in a planter. The scent of cinnamon and pine drifted through the air. It was almost enough to forget that a ghost, if that’s what they really were, had been watching her every move for two nights straight.
Almost.
The first couple arrived late in the morning. Martha and Dennis Wellington, retired, well-dressed, and thoroughly unimpressed by anything that creaked. Annie led them through the house, showing off the drawing room, the conservatory, and the east wing with its sunrise-facing balconies.
“It’s beautiful,” Martha said, clasping gloved hands. “But we’ve heard… things.”
Annie raised a brow. “Things?”
“About the phantom,” Dennis said in a low voice, as if saying it louder would summon him. “Strange sightings. Guests disappearing. Odd lights.”
“I think what you’re hearing are stories passed down for drama’s sake,” Annie said with her most polished smile. “You’re in a centuries-old manor. It’s supposed to feel a little… timeless.”
Martha didn’t look convinced.
Neither did the next couple, a high-strung lawyer and his influencer girlfriend who asked if the estate had ever been used in a “paranormal documentary.” By the time they left, Annie was rubbing her temples and wondering if selling a haunted mansion in December had ever actually been a reasonable assignment.
The third potential buyer was a solo artist named Claire. She wandered the halls like she could feel the ghosts pressing in.
“I love the atmosphere,” Claire said, breathless. “But I keep getting the feeling someone is right behind me.”
Annie didn’t respond. Mostly because she had gotten used to that feeling herself.
After the last client left and the estate had returned to its usual silence, Annie headed up to the gallery hallway, one of the estate’s most beautiful, and isolated spaces. It was a long corridor of arched windows and framed portraits, light pouring through like liquid gold.
And there he was.
As always, leaning against a column like he’d been there for hours.
Watching her.
“You missed quite the circus,” Annie said, walking toward him. “Three buyers, all terrified of things that go bump in the night.”
He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth curved up slightly.
“Are you the one doing it?” she asked, stopping just a few feet from him.
“I never speak to them,” he said, voice low. “They’re not meant to see me.”
“But I can.”
He nodded once.
“Why?”
A beat passed between them. He didn’t answer.
“You never answer my questions,” she murmured. “But you always come when I talk.”
“I don’t come for everyone.”
The way he said it made her stomach flutter. She met his eyes, clear and dark and endless, and swallowed.
She glanced away, cheeks warm. “I need to go into town tonight. Pick up some Christmas gifts for my family. It’s only twenty minutes down the road. You should come.”
He tilted his head. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Because you’re always hovering, and I thought maybe you’d like some fresh air?”
Something flickered across his face—not amusement, but something softer. Fonder.
“I can’t leave,” he said.
Annie blinked. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
His eyes lingered on the snow-dusted windows. “This estate is all I have. I’m… tethered to it.”
“Tethered,” she echoed. “Like…like a ghost?”
He smiled faintly but didn’t respond.
Annie stepped closer. She could see the faint shimmer again around his shoulders, like heat rising off pavement. His presence wasn’t cold, though. It was warm. Magnetic. She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Not of him.
“Tell me your name,” she whispered.
He studied her face for a long moment. “I used to be called Leonato.”
Used to be.
Her breath caught.
“Leonato,” she repeated.
Something about saying it aloud made it feel real.
More real than she wanted to admit.
“I’ll bring you something back from town,” she said softly. “Even if you can’t come with me.”
His gaze warmed just slightly. “Why?”
“Because…” she hesitated. “Because I don’t think anyone deserves to go with nothing for Christmas.”
His smile, slow, haunted, achingly sexy sent a strange pang through her chest.
She turned to leave, pulse fluttering in her throat.
As she walked down the hallway, his voice followed her like a whispered breath on the air.
“Be careful. Not everything outside these walls is kinder than the ghost within them.”
- Writer
