Chapter Six: A Whisper
796 Words
Dorian
Three days.
For three days, there had been a woman living in my house.
I hadn't seen her. Hadn't spoken to her. Hadn't asked about her.
She was there like a piece of furniture I hadn't ordered. Present but irrelevant.
"You should at least have dinner with her," Marcus said, standing in the doorway of my study.
I didn't look up from the papers on my desk. "Why?"
"Because she's going to be your wife tomorrow."
"For a while." I turned a page. "She'll be dead soon. Just like the rest."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. I could feel him watching me.
"You don't know that."
"I know the pattern." I set the paper down and finally looked at him. "Twelve women. Twelve deaths. All within a year. What makes you think number thirteen will be different?"
He shifted his weight. "I have a feeling she will survive. At least longer than the others."
I raised an eyebrow.
"She barely eats," he continued. "She barely sleeps. Mrs. Chen says she spends most of her time sitting by the window in that room, not moving, not making a sound." He paused. "And she hasn't asked about you once."
That caught my attention.
"Not once?" I asked.
"Not a single question." Marcus shook his head. "Most of them wanted to meet you. Wanted to negotiate. Wanted to beg." He met my eyes. "She just sits there. Like she's waiting to die."
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
Waiting to die.
I knew that feeling.
"Tell Mrs. Chen to feed her," I said finally. "I don't need a corpse at the altar tomorrow."
Marcus nodded and turned to leave.
"And Marcus."
He stopped.
"Put someone on the door tonight. The hallway outside her room."
"Containment or protection?"
I didn't answer.
He left.
I sat alone in my study and tried not to think about a girl who didn't ask questions and didn't beg. A girl who sat by windows and waited for death like an old friend.
It meant nothing.
She would die.
They always did.
The wedding happened in my library.
No flowers. No music. No guests.
Just me, a priest I paid to keep his mouth shut, and Marcus as witness.
I wore a standard black suit. Nothing special.
She arrived with Mrs. Chen, wearing a white dress that hung loose on her thin frame.
It was too big for her. Like she had borrowed it from someone else's life.
She kept her eyes on the floor.
The priest said the words. I said the words. She said the words in a voice so quiet I almost didn't hear her.
I barely looked at her.
When the priest pronounced us married, I turned and walked out of the library without another word.
Behind me, I heard her exhale. A small sound. Like she had been holding her breath.
I didn't look back.
That night, I sat in my office and drank whiskey until the world blurred at the edges.
Marcus found me there around midnight.
"She's in the east wing," he said.
I swirled the whiskey in my glass and said nothing.
"You should sleep," he said.
"I don't sleep." I looked at the wall behind him.
"You should try." He said. And I almost heard the pity in his voice.
He left quickly before I turned on him.
He was never to feel pity for me.
I finished the whiskey and stared at the wall.
Somewhere in this house, my thirteenth wife was sitting in a room that wasn't hers, wearing a dress that didn't fit, probably crying into a pillow because that's what they always did.
Except Marcus said she hadn't cried.
Not once.
I poured another drink and tried not to think about it.
The house was quiet when I finally walked to the east wing.
I didn't know why I was there. The whiskey, maybe. That was the reason I told myself. The whiskey made me restless. It made me wander.
I stopped outside her door.
No sound came from inside.
I stood there for a long moment, my hand hovering over the handle.
Then I heard it.
A whisper.
It was so faint I almost missed it.
"Please don't let me die here." I heard her say.
I pulled my hand back like I had been burned.
I walked away without opening the door.
The next morning, Mrs. Chen found me in my study. She doesn't enter except it was very important.
"She's not in her room," she said, her face pale.
I set down my coffee. "What do you mean she's not in her room?"
"I mean she's gone. The bed hasn't been slept in. And the window is open."
My blood went cold.
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