CHAPTER FOUR-THE MANSION
1098 Words
AMARA
The first thing I noticed about Leon’s mansion was the silence.
It wasn’t peaceful silence, it was the kind that pressed against your ears until you could hear your own heartbeat. The kind that made you afraid to breathe too loudly.
The gates had opened slowly, like they were swallowing me whole. The driveway stretched forever, lined with trees so perfectly trimmed they looked fake. When the car stopped, I just sat there, staring through the tinted glass at the enormous house waiting ahead.
It wasn’t a home. It was… something else.
White stone. Tall windows. Iron balconies. Everything about it screamed wealth, but not warmth.
Leon got out first. He didn’t look back to check if I was following, just walked toward the entrance like he owned the world… which, I guess, he kind of did.
I finally stepped out. The air smelled of pine and rain, sharp and clean, but it did nothing to calm the shaking in my hands.
A woman in a gray uniform opened the front doors. “Welcome, Mrs. Hart,” she said, with a practiced smile. Her voice was polite, but her eyes, cold, assessing.
Mrs. Hart. I still wasn’t used to that name.
The moment I stepped inside, I forgot how to breathe again.
The mansion was huge, marble floors, golden chandeliers, paintings that looked older than me. My footsteps echoed like I didn’t belong there. Every corner gleamed. Not a single thing was out of place.
“This will be your home now,” Leon said, his tone flat.
Home. That word had never sounded so foreign.
He led me through the hallway. I caught sight of servants glancing at me, whispering behind their hands, eyes flicking between me and Leon like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.
“The staff will take care of everything,” he said, as if that solved anything. “You don’t need to concern yourself with the household.”
“I can take care of myself,” I murmured.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he replied, glancing at me briefly. His expression was unreadable, but his tone carried that quiet authority that made me shrink a little inside.
We stopped in front of a door. He opened it and gestured for me to enter.
“This is your room.”
It was beautiful, too beautiful. Cream walls, soft lighting, a bed that looked like something from a royal catalog. A walk-in closet, a vanity, a balcony that opened to a garden I could barely see through the mist.
“It’s… perfect,” I said, even though my voice came out small.
He nodded once. “Dinner is at eight. Don’t be late.”
And then he left.
Just like that.
No smile, no warmth. Just that faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air after the door closed.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space he’d left behind.
The next few hours blurred together.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Doyle, came to “orient” me. Which really meant showing me all the rooms I wasn’t allowed to enter.
“This is the east wing,” she said, her voice clipped. “Mr. Hart’s office is here. You are not to disturb him under any circumstances.”
She said it like I was a misbehaving child.
I nodded, forcing a smile. “Understood.”
When she left, I wandered aimlessly, touching things just to remind myself I was real. The curtains, the glass vases, the cold marble under my fingertips. Everything felt too expensive, too fragile, like one wrong move could ruin me.
…
Dinner was quiet. Painfully quiet.
We sat at opposite ends of a long table, like two strangers forced into a scene neither of us wanted to play.
The silverware gleamed. The candles flickered. The food looked like something out of a magazine, untouched.
“You’re not eating,” Leon said, not looking up from his plate.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll need your strength. You look pale.”
I bit back a bitter laugh. “Is that concern I hear?”
He finally lifted his gaze, meeting mine. His eyes were dark, too dark. “Observation,” he said.
We stared at each other for a moment that felt like forever. The air between us was sharp, brittle.
Finally, I dropped my fork. “Why me, Leon?”
He leaned back, folding his arms. “We’ve already discussed this.”
“No, we haven’t. Not really.”
His jaw tightened. “You needed saving. I needed a wife. That’s all.”
“That’s not all.”
He didn’t respond. Just looked at me, long enough to make my chest tighten. There was something behind that look, something unspoken, dangerous, almost pitying.
“I suggest you get some rest,” he said at last, standing up. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
“Doing what?”
He paused by the door. “Learning your new life.”
And then he was gone again.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The mansion creaked and sighed like it was alive. The wind rattled the windows. I could hear faint voices from the hall, servants moving around, the distant hum of the night.
I wrapped myself in a blanket and sat by the window, staring out at the dark garden. The moonlight glinted off the fountain, and for a moment, I thought I saw someone walking past the hedges, a shadow, tall and still. But when I blinked, it was gone.
It must’ve been my imagination.
Or maybe not.
At some point, I heard footsteps outside my door. Slow. Heavy. Then silence.
I held my breath.
A few seconds later, a door opened, not mine. It was down the hall. Leon’s office, maybe.
Then… a voice. His voice.
Low, controlled. On the phone with someone.
I shouldn’t have listened, but I couldn’t help it. The words floated faintly through the corridor.
“…yes, I’m aware. No, she doesn’t know yet.”
A pause.
“I told you, this isn’t about her. It’s about what he did.”
My heart started racing.
He.
Leon’s tone changed, quieter, colder. “You think I forgot? After what her father did to mine?”
I froze.
My father?
The world tilted. I pressed my hand over my mouth, afraid he’d hear me breathing.
He said something else, muffled, angry and then there was silence again.
I backed away from the door slowly, my pulse thudding in my throat.
Her father.
My father.
What did he mean?
- Writer
