Chapter 6
1348 Words
The room was cold, dimly lit only by the soft moonlight peeking through the partially drawn curtains. Amara’s breathing was shallow, every muscle in her body taut as she sat on the floor with Seraphina sleeping soundly in her lap. Her back was pressed against the wall just beside the door, her arms securely wrapped around the little girl, shielding her with everything she had.
The second gunshot had sounded closer. Too close.
It echoed through the grand halls of the mansion like thunder, bouncing off marble floors and high ceilings. She could feel the sound more than hear it—feel it in her bones, in the way her heart crashed violently against her ribcage.
But Seraphina didn’t stir.
Her soft curls lay gently on Amara’s shoulder, her tiny breath warm against her neck. Innocent. Unaware.
Amara swallowed the knot in her throat. Her mind spun. A home invasion? Was the family being targeted? The idea seemed too terrifying to be real—but the sounds were too real to ignore.
Another noise—a faint creak on the wooden floor just outside Seraphina’s door. Footsteps.
Her breath hitched.
They were slow. Steady. Heavy.
Not rushing. Not panicked.
Someone was walking with intention.
Amara gently shifted Seraphina’s weight, placing the child more securely in her arms. Her eyes darted around the room for something—anything—she could use to protect them. But there was nothing useful. Only plush toys, storybooks, and a small pink lamp by the bedside table.
The footsteps stopped right outside the door.
Her heart felt like it might explode.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Seconds stretched into agonizing minutes.
And then—click.
The doorknob turned slowly. Amara tightened her hold on Seraphina, pulling her behind her as she crouched. Her palms were sweating. Her knees were locked. Her body screamed with fear, but her spirit stayed still.
The door creaked open.
And then—light.
The overhead chandelier blinked on, flooding the room in golden light and banishing the shadows.
Amara’s scream caught in her throat.
It was Damien.
Tall. Imposing. Wearing a black shirt, his jaw tight and his dark eyes scanning the room instantly before settling on her.
He stepped forward, brow furrowed. “Amara?”
She stood up shakily, still holding Seraphina, who continued to sleep soundly despite all the tension.
“I—” her voice trembled. “I heard gunshots.”
Damien’s eyes darkened. “Gunshots?”
“I... I was coming back from checking the hallway. There was a toy near the stairs and I didn’t want someone to trip on it. Then I heard it—twice. Loud. It was close.”
He walked toward her and gently took Seraphina from her arms. His movements were calm and practiced, as if this wasn’t the first time he had to protect something so delicate.
“Nothing happened,” he said quietly. “You must’ve heard wrong.”
She blinked at him. “No. Damien, I know what I heard.”
His face remained unreadable.
“There was nothing,” he repeated, gentler this time. “Everything’s fine.”
Amara searched his face, trying to understand what he wasn’t saying. There was something off, not just about the sounds she heard, but in the way he stood now, the slight tension in his shoulders despite his calm voice.
“But... how can you be so sure?” she whispered.
Damien didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his daughter in his arms and brushed her hair back softly, as if the act grounded him.
“Because if there was something,” he finally said, “I’d be the first to deal with it.”
She stared at him, uncertain. “You didn’t hear it?”
“I didn’t,” he replied, looking her directly in the eyes. “And neither did anyone else.”
----
The sun had already risen, painting the Rivera estate in a warm golden hue, but Amara felt none of its comfort.
She sat at the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly together, staring blankly at the untouched breakfast tray beside her. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion—she hadn’t gotten much sleep. How could she, after what she had heard last night?
Gunshots.
Two loud bangs.
They weren’t in her imagination. She knew what she heard.
And yet… everyone said otherwise.
“There was nothing,” Damien had told her. “You must’ve heard wrong.”
But she hadn’t.
She remembered the sharp crack echoing through the halls, the way it shook her down to her bones. She remembered the fear... the urgency.... and the weight of Seraphina in her arms as she pressed herself against the nursery wall, waiting for someone—something—to burst through the door.
It wasn’t a dream.
It couldn’t be.
Amara got up and tied her cardigan around her waist. If no one would talk about it openly, maybe she could find the truth on her own.
The Rivera estate was already bustling with activity. Maids moved quietly through the long corridors, tending to the morning duties with practiced grace. Everything was orderly. Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
As if nothing had happened.
She made her way to the kitchen, where two of the younger maids were arranging trays for the upstairs rooms.
“Good morning,” Amara greeted with a soft smile, trying to sound casual despite the pounding in her chest.
They smiled back. “Good morning, Miss Santes. Do you want us to bring you tea?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “Actually, I just… I wanted to ask something.”
They paused and turned toward her, curious.
“Did either of you hear anything… strange last night? Around midnight?”
The two exchanged glances.
“Heavy wind?” one asked. “The shutters in the west wing sometimes bang against the window.”
“No, not wind,” Amara said gently. “I thought I heard—well, it sounded like gunshots.”
The two maids looked at her, surprised. Then, almost too quickly, they both shook their heads.
“No, Amara. We didn’t hear anything like that.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “It sounded close. Like it came from somewhere inside the house.”
They glanced at each other again. “We’re sure,” the other maid said. “It was quiet all night.”
Amara offered a faint smile and nodded, thanking them before walking away.
Her chest tightened.
Something wasn’t right.
Either everyone in this mansion was unusually sound asleep, or someone had told them to act like they were.
She tried again with the older housekeeper, Maria, hoping the woman’s maturity might make her more honest. Maria had been with the family for years. She’d mentioned it herself.
When Amara found her near the greenhouse arranging flowers, she approached gently.
“Maria,” she began, “I hope I’m not bothering you.”
The older woman looked up and smiled warmly. “Of course not, Miss Santes. What can I do for you?”
Amara hesitated. “I… heard something strange last night. Two very loud sounds. They sounded like gunshots.”
Maria’s expression didn’t change, but something subtle shifted in her posture.
“I asked the other staff, but they all said they didn’t hear anything. Did you?”
Maria paused before answering.
“No,” she said finally. “I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.”
Her voice was even. Calm. Controlled.
Amara frowned slightly. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been in this house a long time, dear. If something was truly wrong, I would’ve known.”
That was it. No more, no less.
Dismissive. Final.
Just like Damien.
Amara forced a polite smile and thanked her again before leaving the greenhouse. But inside, her thoughts were spiraling.
Why was everyone saying the same thing? Exactly the same thing?
She felt the chill of realization crawl up her spine.
Either she was going crazy…
Or everyone else was lying.
- Writer
