The Ghost In The Bed
1105 Words
Rebecca's Pov
The smell of high end Bourbon was so thick I could practically taste it on the back of my throat. Damian’s weight was crushing me into the silk duvet, his heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. I lay there, my eyes squinted shut, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring.
I wasn't swooning. I was calculating. I was wondering if I could reach the silver tipped hairbrush on the nightstand and drive it through his temple before he could let out a whimper.
Then, I felt the wetness. A single, hot tear hit the hollow of my neck.
What are you crying for, you wicked thing? The thought was cold, sharp, and jagged. This man had stood by while my world burned, and here he was, sobbing into my shoulder because he was too drunk to realize he was pinning a maid. It was pathetic. It was surreal. He whispered my name into the crook of my neck, a plea, a prayer, a haunting and for a split second, I felt a violent urge to laugh in his face.
But then, the air shifted. Damian’s wolf must have finally caught the static of my scent-blockers because he suddenly recoiled. It wasn't a gentle pull away, it was a rough, clumsy shove that nearly sent me sliding off the edge of the mattress.
"What the hell are you still doing here?"
His voice was a jagged wreck, a far cry from the Alpha’s usual command. He was sitting up now, head in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking. He didn't look at me. He couldn't.
"I warned you not to make moves on me," he spat, the venom in his tone reaching a new peak. "You’re just a maid, Rebecca. Don’t ever get ahead of yourself. Get out!"
I didn't say a word. I didn't even look back. I scrambled up, fixing my rumpled apron with hands that I made sure were shaking just enough for him to see. I fled the room, playing the part of the terrified servant, but the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, my face went stone cold. What a despicable bastard he was? He was the one who made moves, yet he was blaming his poor maid.
The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the hum of the massive industrial refrigerator. I was at the sink, scrubbing my wrists under the freezing water until the skin turned raw. I wanted the feel of him off me. I wanted to scrub the memory of his tears into the drain.
"Easy there, dear. You’re going to rub your skin right off."
I jumped, the pitiful mask snapping back into place before I even turned around. Derek was leaning against the marble island, a half-eaten apple in his hand. He looked tired, his tie loosened, but his eyes were way too observant.
"Sorry, Derek," I whispered, dropping my gaze. "I was just… tidying up."
"Boss had another episode, didn't he?" Derek sighed, walking over to the sink. He didn't push, but he took the rag from my hand and started drying a stray glass with practiced ease. "He’s got some serious anger issues when the sun goes down, Becca. He is haunted by a ghost he can't bury. Don’t take it personally. He’s a jerk to everyone."
"He’s very… intense," I muttered, playing the shy girl.
"He's a nightmare," Derek corrected with a crinkly-eyed smile that felt almost too kind. "But hey, you're doing great. Just keep your head down. Go get some sleep, okay? I will finish the lock-up."
I nodded, offering a small, fake smile before retreating to my room.
My quarters were small, smelling of lemon polish and the faint metallic tang of the silver wire I had hidden in my mattress. I pulled out my burner phone, the screen illuminating my face in the dark.
"You’re late," Gabriel’s voice crackled through the line, playful but sharp. "I was about to call the morgue."
"Damian had a meltdown," I said, sitting on the edge of the cot. "He called me Allison. He was crying, Gabe. It was… disgusting."
"Crying? Maybe he’s finally growing a soul. Too bad you’re going to rip it out," Gabriel chuckled. "But listen, I found the jackpot. You know that high end estate Katherine’s been visiting? The one with the six-year-old kid?"
"What about him?"
"I hacked the private medical records for the property," Gabriel’s tone turned smug. "I ran the kid’s blood markers against the Hale database I swiped last week. Allie, that kid isn't his. Not even close. Katherine isn't just hiding a child; she’s hiding a whole-ass affair. She’s playing house with someone else's kid on Damian's money."
I sat there in the dark, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across my face. Katherine wasn't just a False Luna. She was a traitor. She was cheating on the Alpha with a secret family.
"Keep digging, Gabe," I whispered. "I want to know who the father is. I want every single receipt."
The next morning, the sun was far too bright. I stood in the dining room, my hands clasped behind my back, watching Damian and Katherine eat breakfast. Damian looked like death, bloodshot eyes, a tight jaw, and a silence that felt like a ticking bomb.
Katherine, on the other hand, was draped in silk, acting like she owned every atom of air in the room. She was talking about some gala, her voice a shrill, annoying buzz. Suddenly, she accidentally flicked her wrist, sending her expensive silk scarf sliding right into a bowl of steaming oatmeal.
"Oh, Rebecca! Look what you’ve done by standing there like a statue," Katherine cooed, her eyes flashing with pure malice. "It’s ruined. Pick it up and scrub it by hand until every bit of that mush is gone. And make it quick."
I looked toward the head of the table. For a split second, I expected Damian to say something, to show a flicker of the man who had wept into my neck a few hours ago.
He didn't even look up from his black coffee.
"Don't just stand there looking stupid, Becca," Damian’s voice cut through the air like a whip-crack. It was cold, dismissive, and utterly heartless. "You heard her. Do your job and get out of my sight. You’re an eyesore."
I didn't flinch. I knelt, picking up the dripping, oatmeal-soaked silk with a steady hand. I kept my head down, but inside, I was already picturing the look on his face when I revealed the truth about hisloyal Luna and her secret child.
- Writer
