Chapter Three: Cracks In The Marble
619 Words
Tari stood on the balcony of the east wing, arms wrapped around herself as the wind brushed her nightgown. Below, the marble courtyard gleamed in the morning sun — perfect, cold, and polished, like everything in this house. Nothing here was soft. Nothing here was hers.
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of silence that wasn’t peace, but surveillance.
The breeze carried the faint scent of lavender from the garden. It reminded her of home — her real home — back when life was messy and loud, and laughter wasn’t something you had to hide.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the railing.
And then… she heard it.
A crack.
Faint. Sharp.
Not from the stone beneath her — but from inside her. Somewhere deep and invisible.
Like her soul was splitting.
---
Downstairs – Felix’s Study
Felix stood with his back to the door, staring out the tall windows, a glass of scotch untouched in his hand.
“She’s resisting again,” Dora said from behind.
“She will stop,” he replied, voice flat.
“You said that before. But she’s watching everything. Listening. She’s not like the others.”
Felix turned, his face unreadable. “She’s better.”
He walked to his desk and opened a drawer. Inside were several files, one marked TARI ADANNA. Inside: transcripts, photos, psychiatric notes. Surveillance reports.
“She’s not ready yet,” Dora warned. “You’re pushing too fast.”
“I don’t have time for slow.” He snapped the file shut.
Dora hesitated. “Then we may lose her.”
Felix’s lips curled. “No. We break her. Carefully.”
---
Later – Tari’s Bedroom
The room was too clean. Too symmetrical. A queen-sized bed at the center, pressed sheets, untouched books on glass shelves, and roses that were replaced daily — even though she never asked for them.
She sat by the window with a pencil and paper — no phone, no laptop, just analog thoughts. They let her write, but they read everything.
So she’d learned to hide meaning in poetry.
Her fingers moved:
> Behind the veil, a scream is stitched.
Where walls breathe and footsteps twitch.
He calls it love, but cages sing—
A silent war beneath my ring.
She folded it neatly and tucked it into the lining of a throw pillow.
Her rebellion would not be loud. Not yet.
But it had begun.
---
Flashback – Two Weeks After the Wedding
Tari had found a locked room near the west wing. It wasn’t on the house map she'd been given. When she’d asked Dora about it, the older woman had turned pale.
“There’s nothing there,” she said too quickly. “You stay on your side.”
But Tari had seen the door open once.
Just for a second.
And what she saw haunted her.
Not furniture. Not antiques.
Photos.
Of women.
And walls lined with audio tapes.
Some of them labeled: Bride 1, Bride 2, Bride 3…
The last one said Adanna – Evaluation Pending.
Her name.
---
Present
That night, she lay in bed pretending to sleep as the lock on her door clicked.
Footsteps.
A silhouette in the darkness. Not Richard.
Jericho.
One of the newer guards. The only one who ever met her eyes.
He slipped something beneath her pillow and left without a word.
Tari waited ten heartbeats before reaching under.
A note.
South corridor. Midnight. Don’t let the cameras see you.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting. But she felt its urgency.
Her heart thudded like thunder against her ribs.
She whispered to herself, “What do you know, Jericho?”
And beneath her breath:
“How do I survive this?”
- Writer
