THE WOMAN BEHIND THE MIRROR

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO



IRIS POV 



The bedroom was beautiful.



Almost too beautiful.



A four-poster bed stood in the center of the room, draped in dark fabric. Silk sheets covered the mattress, smooth and untouched. Against one wall sat an antique vanity with an oval mirror framed in carved wood.



I walked toward it.



My reflection stared back at me.



Tired eyes.



Pale skin.



Hair that badly needed to be fixed.



I looked like someone who hadn't slept properly in months.



Someone who had forgotten what it felt like to wake up without worrying about a hospital bill.



I looked away from the mirror.



The room smelled of lavender.



Underneath it was something else.



Something sharp.



Medicinal.



My nurse instincts immediately picked up on it.



Antiseptic.



I frowned.



Why would a bedroom smell like a hospital.



I dropped my suitcase beside the bed.



It landed with a dull thud.



That was everything I owned.



One suitcase.



A few clothes.



Some toiletries.



A photograph of Mama.



That was it.



I stared at the bag for a moment.



Everything I had spent years building had somehow fit into something I could carry with one hand.



Pathetic.



A knock sounded.



I straightened.



"Come in."



The door opened.



A woman stepped inside.



She looked to be in her fifties, perhaps older. Her grey uniform was stiff and old-fashioned, and her dark hair had been pulled into a severe bun.



She didn't smile.



Her eyes moved over me slowly.



"I'm Mrs. Hargrave. Head of staff."



"Iris."



"I know."



Of course she did.



Everyone here seemed to know things about me before I had a chance to introduce myself.



"Dinner is in twenty minutes," she said. "Mr. Blackwood expects punctuality."



"I'll be there."



She didn't move.



I waited.



She continued staring.



"Is there something else."



For a moment, something almost human crossed her face.



Concern.



Fear.



I wasn't sure which.



Her lips parted, but she hesitated.



Then she lowered her voice.



"The east wing."



My stomach tightened.



"What about it."



"You saw the rules."



"I did."



"Good."



She turned toward the door.



Then stopped.



Without looking back, she said, "Girls who wander don't last long here."



My blood went cold.



"Excuse me."



She opened the door.



"Mrs. Hargrave."



She didn't turn around.



"Who are the girls."



The door closed.



I stared at it.



Silence swallowed the room.



Girls.



Plural.



I slowly sat on the edge of the bed.



My hands were trembling.



What exactly had I walked into.



The contract hadn't mentioned other women.



Lucien had said companionship.



He hadn't mentioned anyone who came before me.



I looked toward the covered section of the hallway visible through the open doorway.



Maybe I had misunderstood her.



Maybe she had meant staff.



Maybe there was an innocent explanation.



I didn't believe that for a second.



I looked at the clock.



Fifteen minutes until dinner.



I should have unpacked.



I should have called Mama.



Instead, I went to the window.



The grounds stretched far beyond the manor.



Beautiful gardens surrounded the estate, carefully trimmed and perfectly maintained.



Beyond them was a forest.



Dense.



Dark.



Almost untouched.



Mist clung between the trees.



There were no neighboring houses.



No visible roads.



No signs of another home for miles.



Blackwood Manor stood alone on the hill.



Beautiful.



Isolated.



Like a prison designed by someone with excellent taste.



My reflection appeared in the window.



For a second, I didn't recognize myself.



I looked exhausted.



Too thin.



Too pale.



My eyes had lost their softness.



I touched the glass.



Maybe I had given up.



Maybe that's why I'd signed.



I wasn't afraid of losing my freedom anymore.



I'd already lost so much of it.



I turned away.



The dress I changed into was black and simple.



It was the only thing I owned that seemed appropriate for the occasion.



A wedding.



A funeral.



At this point, they felt like the same thing.



When I left the bedroom, the hallway seemed different.



Longer.



The ceiling higher.



The shadows darker.



I passed several portraits hanging along the walls.



Women.



Every one of them was beautiful.



Dark hair.



Pale skin.



Elegant dresses.



But there was something strange about their expressions.



They all looked empty.



Not sad.



Not happy.



Empty.



I stopped in front of one.



The woman in the painting had dark hair and pale skin.



Something about her face made my chest tighten.



I leaned closer.



Her eyes looked almost familiar.



Not exactly like mine.



But close enough to make the hairs on my arms rise.



"You’re late."



I jumped.



I turned around.



Lucien stood at the end of the hallway.



Perfectly dressed.



Perfectly still.



Watching me.



I glanced at my watch.



"I'm not late."



"You are."



"I have three minutes."



His gaze shifted briefly to my wrist.



"Mrs. Hargrave told you dinner was in twenty minutes."



"She did."



"That was twenty-two minutes ago."



I stared at him.



He was serious.



Of course he was.



I could feel the test already.



He wanted to see whether I would argue.



Whether I would apologize.



Whether I would obey.



I swallowed my irritation.



"My apologies."



His eyes remained on mine.



"It won't happen again."



Something almost like satisfaction passed through his expression.



"Good."



He turned.



"This way."



I followed.



The dining room was enormous.



A table long enough to seat twenty people dominated the center of the room.



Crystal chandeliers hung overhead.



Silverware gleamed beneath the candlelight.



I could see distorted versions of my reflection in the polished forks.



Only two place settings had been prepared.



One at the head of the table.



One beside it.



Lucien pulled out my chair.



I hesitated.



Then sat.



He took his seat.



Almost immediately, the staff appeared.



I barely heard them enter.



They moved silently, placing bowls of soup in front of us.



No conversation.



No unnecessary movement.



They reminded me of ghosts.



Or patients who had learned that silence was safer than speaking.



I picked up my spoon.



Lucien didn't.



He watched me.



I took one sip.



The soup tasted like nothing.



Or perhaps fear had already killed my appetite.



I swallowed another spoonful.



Then another.



Lucien's eyes never left my face.



"Is something wrong."



"You're left-handed."



I looked down at my hand.



"So."



"It's unexpected."



"Why."



He didn't answer.



Instead, he gestured toward my food.



"Eat."



I slowly raised an eyebrow.



Then continued eating.



For several minutes, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and the faint ticking of an old clock.



Then Lucien spoke.



"You worked in psychiatric care."



"You already know that."



"I do."



"Then why ask."



"I'm interested in hearing you say it."



I put down my spoon.



"I was a psychiatric nurse for six years."



"What drew you to it."



I looked at him.



"I was good at it."



"That isn't an answer."



I leaned back.



"Fine."



My eyes moved to the empty chairs around the table.



"I've always been good with broken things."



Something changed in his expression.



Interest.



Real interest.



Dark and quiet.



"Are you."



The words were soft.



But they didn't sound like a compliment.



I held his gaze.



"Why did you really choose me."



Silence.



I continued before he could dismiss me.



"And don't tell me it's because I'm resilient."



His jaw tightened.



I knew I had touched something.



"You remind me of someone."



My heart skipped.



"Who."



Lucien looked toward the fireplace.



For the first time since I had met him, he looked almost tired.



"Someone I failed."



The room seemed to shrink around us.



"What happened to her."



His expression hardened.



"She couldn't follow the rules."



Mrs. Hargrave's voice came back to me.



Girls who wander don't last long here.



I felt a chill move down my spine.



"Where is she now."



Lucien's eyes returned to mine.



"That isn't your concern."



I stared at him.



He had answered without answering.



The staff appeared again.



They removed the soup and replaced it with the main course.



Chicken.



Vegetables.



Potatoes.



Everything looked perfect.



I couldn't taste any of it.



My mind was somewhere else.



Other women.



A woman he had failed.



Rules.



The east wing.



And that painting.



Why did the woman in it look so familiar.



"The assessments," I said.



Lucien picked up his glass.



"Tonight."



My knife stopped halfway through the chicken.



"Tonight."



"After dinner."



"What kind of assessment."



"Cognitive function. Psychological responses. Physical reactions to controlled stimuli."



He said it casually.



Like he was discussing the weather.



I slowly put down my knife.



"I didn't agree to be a laboratory experiment."



His eyes sharpened.



"You agreed to the contract."



"You told me not to read it."



"And you listened."



A faint smile touched his lips.



It didn't reach his eyes.



"Interesting."



Anger burned through me.



I wanted to throw the plate at him.



I wanted to stand up and walk straight out of the manor.



But then I saw Mama.



Her thin face.



Her tired smile.



Her hand in mine.



I forced myself to breathe.



"Fine."



Lucien waited.



"One assessment."



"There will be more."



I stared at him.



"How many."



"As many as necessary."



My fingers tightened around the fork.



"Necessary for what."



Lucien stood.



He wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.



Then he looked down at me.



"Finish your dinner, Iris."



He paused.



"I'll be waiting in the study."



Then he walked away.



I watched him disappear through the doorway.



The staff remained.



None of them looked at me.



I pushed my plate away.



Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore.



The room felt wrong.



Too quiet.



I looked toward the ceiling.



A soft creak came from somewhere above.



I froze.



Another creak.



Then a footstep.



Light.



Slow.



Barefoot.



I looked at Mrs. Hargrave.



She had gone completely still.



I followed her gaze toward the ceiling.



Another step.



Closer.



My heartbeat began to pound.



"What's above us."



No one answered.



Then I remembered.



My bedroom.



It was directly beneath the east wing.



Another footstep sounded.



Then another.



Someone was walking across the floor above me.



Slowly.



Deliberately.



I stood.



The chair scraped against the floor.



The staff finally looked at me.



Fear filled their eyes.



Not surprise.



Fear.



I took one step toward the doorway.



Then I heard something else.



A soft sound.



Almost a whisper.



My name.



"Iris."



I stopped breathing.



The voice came from directly above me.



And it sounded exactly like my own.