CHAPTER TWO : WHISPERS IN THE HALL
712 Words
The silence in the El-Amin mansion was heavy ; too heavy for a place this grand. Amara sat on the edge of her velvet-draped bed, still wearing the gown a maid had laid out for her earlier. The fabric felt foreign against her skin, too soft, too expensive, like it didn’t belong to her. Just like this place. Just like this life.
She looked toward the tall windows where moonlight streamed in, casting shadows on the marble floors. Her thoughts kept circling the same question: What had she just signed up for?
Earlier, she had stood before Zayn in a private room where a lawyer explained the rules again. “No romantic relationships. No media exposure. No breaking the NDA.” The list went on, and she had nodded through it all. Her mind wasn’t focused on the rules ; only on the image of her younger brother in that hospital bed, pale and coughing, waiting for a surgery they couldn’t afford. This contract… this marriage, was her only way out.
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
Amara froze.
Zayn.
He stood at the threshold, dressed in a loose black shirt, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. For a long, silent moment, he just stared at her , not in a way that felt romantic, but in a way that felt… haunted.
“You’re awake,” he finally said, his voice low.
She didn’t respond.
He stepped inside, slowly. His gaze roamed her face like he was trying to memorize it. Or compare it to something. Someone.
“You look… different when the light hits you like that,” he murmured.
Amara swallowed, her voice barely audible. “Do I?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned around and left just as suddenly as he came, the door clicking shut behind him.
She exhaled, trembling.
What a man!
It’s was such a long day in the mansion.
No one to talk to and that was her life, at least for now.
The next morning, Amara awoke to the faint knock of a maid entering the room with a silver breakfast tray. Sunlight had replaced the cold moonlight, but the warmth did little to chase away the chill that had seeped into her bones.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the maid said softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. She didn’t meet Amara’s eyes. None of the staff ever did.
“Thank you,” Amara replied, but the girl was already halfway to the door.
“Wait,” Amara called, sitting up. “What’s your name?”
The maid hesitated, hand on the doorknob. “Mimi,” she said. Then, she left quickly, like she regretted speaking at all.
Amara sighed and looked at the untouched food ; perfectly arranged fruits, toast, eggs, and something French she couldn’t pronounce. Her stomach growled, but she wasn’t hungry. Not really.
She stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the mist covered garden below. The mansion was nestled far away from the city ; too far, she realized, for her to just walk out if she ever wanted to leave. Not that she could. The contract had clauses, and Zayn… he didn’t seem like a man who liked being defied.
Her thoughts returned to the night before. The way he stared at her. The way he left, wordless, ghost-like.
She left the room later that morning to explore the house. The hallways were long and silent, decorated with paintings that didn’t seem like they were chosen for comfort ; more for display. Cold, abstract things. Dark colors. Everything about the house whispered secrets.
She passed two women ; housekeepers, whispering in low tones near the grand staircase.
The same topic but different women.
“…looks just like her,” one said.
“I know. It’s like she came back from the dead.”
“Do you think he—”
The moment they noticed Amara, both women fell silent and turned. Their faces went pale.
Amara stepped closer, confused. “Excuse me?”
They exchanged glances, then hurried off without answering.
Amara stood there, heart pounding, suddenly feeling like she wasn’t just a guest in this house ; she was an echo.
An echo of someone else.
Someone who might have died.
- Writer
