THE WOMAN BEHIND THE MIRROR

Chapter3

CHAPTER THREE

IRIS POV

The study felt different at night.

During the day, it had looked cold and severe.

Now it felt alive.

Shadows gathered in the corners where the lamps couldn't reach. The fire threw restless light across the walls, making the painting above the mantel seem to move.

The screaming woman looked worse in the firelight.

Her mouth was stretched open.

Her eyes seemed to follow me.

I stopped in the doorway.

Every instinct I had told me to turn around.

Run.

Instead, I stepped inside.

"Enter, Iris."

Lucien sat behind his desk.

A leather journal lay open in front of him. Beside it was an assortment of medical equipment.

A stethoscope.

Electrodes.

Wires.

And a small machine that looked like an EEG monitor, except it was far more advanced than anything I'd seen in the hospital.

The door closed behind me.

Click.

The sound made my stomach tighten.

"Sit."

He pointed toward the chair facing his desk.

I sat.

The leather was cold beneath my dress.

Lucien picked up his pen.

Click.

Once.

"How do you feel."

"Like I made a mistake."

The corner of his mouth moved.

Almost a smile.

"Honest."

He wrote something down.

"Physically."

"Tired."

"Anything else."

"Anxious."

"Sleep disturbances."

"My mother is dying."

I stared at him.

"Yes. I have sleep disturbances."

He didn't react to my tone.

His pen moved steadily across the page.

"Appetite."

"Fine."

"You barely touched dinner."

"I wasn't hungry."

"Nerves or nausea."

I clenched my jaw.

"Nerves."

Another note.

Then he looked up.

"When did you last experience a panic attack."

The question hit harder than I expected.

I went still.

"How do you know about that."

Lucien turned a page in the journal.

"Your medical file."

"You accessed my medical records."

"You signed a contract."

"That doesn't give you the right to dig through my entire medical history."

"It gives me the right to understand the woman who agreed to live in my home."

"My medical history isn't yours."

His expression remained calm.

"Three months of leave. Two years ago."

I said nothing.

"Burnout was the official explanation."

His eyes lifted.

"But burnout doesn't usually require sedatives."

Heat spread across my face.

"You had no right."

"Perhaps."

He closed the journal.

"But I needed to know."

"Know what."

He leaned back.

"How much pressure you can withstand."

A cold feeling settled in my stomach.

"Why."

His gaze stayed on mine.

"Because desperation changes people."

He paused.

"And desperate people are unpredictable."

I laughed once.

There was nothing funny about it.

"You really are sick."

"I'm thorough."

He stood.

The chair scraped softly against the floor.

"Stand."

I didn't move.

"No."

His eyes narrowed.

"This is part of the assessment."

"I said no."

"This isn't optional."

"Then make me."

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

The fire cracked behind him.

Wind pressed against the windows.

Then Lucien smiled.

Not the polite smile he'd used downstairs.

A genuine smile.

And somehow that was worse.

"You have more fight than she did."

My stomach dropped.

"There it is again."

He said nothing.

"She."

I stood slowly.

"Who are you talking about."

"Stand still."

"Who is she."

His expression hardened.

"You're avoiding the assessment."

"No. I'm trying to understand why you keep comparing me to a woman I've never met."

Something flickered in his eyes.

Pain.

Gone almost instantly.

"Look at me."

I did.

He took a penlight from the table.

The small beam flashed across my eyes.

I flinched.

"Don't move."

He checked my pupils.

"Equal. Reactive."

He switched off the light.

"Headaches."

"Sometimes."

"How often."

"I don't know."

"Once a week."

"Maybe."

"Location."

"My temples."

I hesitated.

"And the base of my skull."

He wrote it down.

Then he reached for my wrist.

I pulled away.

"Don't."

"I need your pulse."

"I can take it myself."

"I know."

His voice was strangely calm.

"But I need to take it."

Before I could argue, his fingers closed around my wrist.

Cold.

So cold that I nearly shivered.

He looked at his watch and counted silently.

I stared at his hand.

Then at his face.

He was completely focused.

Clinical.

Detached.

Except for his eyes.

There was something about the way he watched me that made me feel less like a person and more like a puzzle he was determined to solve.

"Elevated," he murmured.

He released me.

"Expected."

I rubbed my wrist.

"What's next."

Lucien walked toward the equipment table.

"This may be uncomfortable."

I stared at the wires.

"What is that."

"Baseline neural mapping."

He lifted a small device.

"I need to observe how your brain responds to specific stimuli."

"No."

His eyes moved to mine.

"No."

"It is non-invasive."

"I don't care."

"Iris."

His voice dropped.

Soft.

Dangerously soft.

"You can cooperate, or you can breach the agreement."

I stared at him.

"And if I breach it."

He didn't hesitate.

"Your mother's treatment stops."

My chest tightened.

"Tonight."

The word barely left his mouth before tears burned behind my eyes.

I blinked them away.

"You bastard."

His expression didn't change.

"Sit."

I wanted to fight.

I wanted to walk out.

But Mama's face appeared in my mind.

So I sat.

Lucien moved behind me.

I felt his fingers slide through my hair as he separated sections of it.

My entire body tensed.

He attached small electrodes to my scalp.

Every touch made my skin crawl.

It wasn't painful.

That somehow made it worse.

It felt too intimate.

Too familiar.

Like he had done this before.

"Have you done this to other people."

His hands paused.

"Look forward."

"That isn't an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

The machine beeped.

A screen flickered to life.

Lines moved across it.

I recognized the pattern immediately.

Brain activity.

Mine.

Lucien stepped beside the screen.

"I'm going to show you several images."

He picked up a tablet.

"Don't speak. Don't try to interpret them. Just look."

The first image appeared.

A normal suburban house.

Nothing happened.

The lines remained steady.

Second image.

A hospital room.

A small spike appeared.

Then the third.

My breath stopped.

A woman's face filled the screen.

Dark hair.

Pale skin.

Wide eyes.

She looked terrified.

And familiar.

Too familiar.

"Do you recognize her."

"No."

The answer came automatically.

But it was a lie.

I didn't recognize her.

I knew her.

There was a difference.

The feeling was impossible to explain.

It was like looking at a reflection and realizing the reflection had lived a life you couldn't remember.

The machine began beeping faster.

I looked at the screen.

The lines had exploded into sharp peaks.

Lucien leaned closer.

For the first time, genuine fascination filled his face.

"Interesting."

I swallowed.

"What."

"Recognition without conscious recall."

"I don't know her."

"Your brain disagrees."

"I don't care what the machine says."

Lucien swiped the tablet.

Another image appeared.

The same woman.

Younger.

Smiling.

Standing in front of Blackwood Manor.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

She was wearing a white dress.

Her hair fell over one shoulder.

And she had my face.

Not similar.

Not close.

Mine.

My hands began to shake.

"Who is that."

Lucien stared at the image.

"Her name was Elara."

The room went silent.

"Was."

He said nothing.

"What happened to her."

His expression changed.

The fascination disappeared.

Something colder took its place.

"She forgot the rules."

My stomach turned.

Mrs. Hargrave's warning echoed in my mind.

Girls who wander don't last long here.

I looked at Lucien.

"You knew her."

Silence.

"You knew her."

"Iris."

"What did you do to her."

His jaw tightened.

"I said enough."

I pulled at the electrodes.

"I'm done."

"Iris."

"I'm leaving."

I stood.

The chair nearly toppled behind me.

"I don't care about your contract anymore. I don't care about your rules. This is insane."

I took one step toward the door.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Above us.

Lucien froze.

So did I.

The sound came again.

Fast.

Light.

Someone was running across the floor above.

My eyes lifted toward the ceiling.

Then came a violent crash.

Something heavy slammed into the floor.

The entire house seemed to shake.

Lucien's face went pale.

Not angry.

Not confused.

Afraid.

Real fear.

He moved toward the door.

"Stay here."

I stared at him.

"Like hell."

He didn't answer.

He was already gone.

The door slammed behind him.

A second later, I heard his footsteps racing toward the stairs.

Then silence.

I stood alone in the study.

My heart hammered.

The machine was still running.

The screen still displayed Elara's face.

My face.

I stepped closer.

There was something written beneath the photograph.

A date.

A name.

And one sentence.

I leaned toward the screen.

The words blurred.

Then sharpened.

SUBJECT ONE — FAILED.

My blood turned cold.

A sound came from somewhere behind me.

I spun around.

Nothing.

The fire continued burning.

The door remained closed.

Then I heard breathing.

Not mine.

Slow.

Uneven.

Coming from inside the wall.

I stepped backward.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

A whisper followed.

Barely audible.

Almost lost beneath the crackling fire.

"Iris."

I froze.

The voice came again.

Closer this time.

"Run."

My breath caught.

I looked toward the wall.

There was no one there.

Then the voice whispered one final word.

"He's coming back.”