Chapter2
618 Words
Chapter Two: Whispers in the Walls
Thornewood Manor, two days later
The manor was a world within itself. Evelyn had learned quickly that its corridors twisted like ivy, leading her through cold stone halls and past heavy, locked doors that no one spoke of. The air carried a chill that no fire could warm, and at night, strange creaks echoed through the halls, like footsteps that didn’t belong to the living.
Her room was modest but comfortable—at least by noble standards. The windows were large, but always shuttered. She’d asked the maid, a girl named Mary, why they weren’t opened.
“The Duke’s orders,” Mary had whispered. “Says the wind brings illness.”
Evelyn wasn’t so sure it was the wind he feared.
She spent her mornings in the garden with the Duke’s sister, Lady Isadora. Pale and delicate, Isadora was a lovely girl with kind eyes and a soft voice, but there was something fragile about her—as if the very weight of the world might break her bones.
“You’re kind, Miss Hart,” she said one afternoon, placing her hand lightly on Evelyn’s. “You don’t look at me with pity, like the others.”
Evelyn smiled. “There’s nothing to pity. You’re still here, aren’t you? That takes strength.”
Isadora looked away, her expression unreadable. “You haven’t heard them yet, then?”
“Heard who?”
She hesitated, then leaned in closer. “The voices. At night. They whisper behind the walls. You’ll hear them soon.”
Evelyn frowned. “Voices?”
Isadora nodded. “The manor listens. It remembers everything.”
That night, Evelyn lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The wind howled against the shutters, and the fire in the hearth burned low. Just as she began to drift off, she heard it.
A soft, almost imperceptible whisper.
“Run…”
Her eyes flew open. The sound was gone.
She sat up, listening. Silence.
But something in the pit of her stomach twisted.
The next morning, she found herself in the library. It was vast, with books towering to the ceiling and dust motes dancing in the pale light. She was scanning a shelf when she felt the shift in the air behind her.
He was there.
Duke Alaric Thorne.
“You’re not to be in this wing,” he said coolly.
Evelyn turned slowly, chin high. “There was no sign, Your Grace.”
He stepped closer. “Some doors are closed for a reason.”
“Is that why you lock them?”
For the briefest second, something flickered in his eyes—pain? Fear? But it was gone as quickly as it came.
“I don’t like impertinence, Miss Hart,” he said. “Nor do I tolerate curiosity.”
“And yet you keep a house full of mysteries. What do you expect me to do—look away?”
He stared at her. His voice dropped lower, darker. “Yes.”
Their eyes locked.
She didn’t flinch. And in that moment, Evelyn knew—she had become more than an employee to him. A threat, perhaps. Or something else entirely.
That night, she returned to her room to find a small envelope resting on her pillow. No name. Just a wax seal—one she didn’t recognize.
Inside was a note, written in delicate, slanted script:
“Do not trust him. Whatever he offers you, say no. He is not what he seems.”
Her hands trembled as she read it again.
Evelyn Hart had come to Thornewood seeking work and dignity.
She was beginning to realize she’d stepped into something far more dangerous.
And far more intoxicating.
- Writer
