His Invisible Wife

C H A P T E R 3 — The Mansion

The black car rolled to a stop in front of the Versales estate.

Genie Hale Versales—her new name still sitting awkwardly in her mind—lifted her gaze to the mansion ahead. The gates were tall, wrought from iron and shaped into twisting patterns that resembled thorns and vines. They opened with a slow, heavy groan, as though reluctant to let her in.

The mansion beyond was grand, but its grandeur was hollow. Its walls, tall and pale, caught the glow of the evening lights yet offered no warmth. The trees lining the driveway stood like quiet sentinels, and the air carried the faint scent of earth after rain.

It didn’t feel like home.

The driver stepped forward and opened her door. Genie hesitated before placing one heel onto the stone driveway. The faint click echoed too loudly in the stillness. She followed with her other foot, her dress brushing against her ankles as she rose.

Ahead of her, Jairus Gael was already walking, his figure cutting clean lines in his dark suit. His strides were long, purposeful, and he did not turn to check if she followed.

At the door, a butler bowed. His voice was courteous but measured.

“Welcome, Mrs. Versales.”

The title made her blink.

Mrs. Versales.

It carried weight she wasn’t prepared to bear. The name sounded elegant, yes—but distant, as though spoken for someone she didn’t recognize.

Inside, the silence deepened.

The ceiling soared overhead, a chandelier suspended like a frozen constellation. Light scattered across the marble floors, too bright against the shadows pooled in the corners. Hallways stretched in every direction, vast and uninviting.

No photographs.

No signs of laughter.

Not even the faintest trace of life.

“Your room will be in the east wing,” the butler said softly, beginning to climb the stairs.

Genie’s steps slowed. For a heartbeat, she looked to Jairus. He was speaking quietly to one of the maids, his expression unreadable. He did not so much as glance her way.

Not our room.

Her room.

Her lips pressed together, and she nodded faintly, following where the butler led.

———

The east wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that made even her breathing sound intrusive. The butler opened the door to a wide chamber, its interior polished and carefully prepared.

“This will be your room mrs. Versales” he said, bowing slightly before excusing himself. The door closed with a soft click, leaving her alone.

Genie stepped further in, her eyes drifting across the room.

The walls were painted in muted cream, the kind of color chosen not for comfort but for elegance. Heavy curtains framed the tall windows, their fabric rich but oppressive. The bed stood in the center, enormous and draped with silken sheets, so large it seemed to dwarf her.

A vanity sat against the wall, its mirror gleaming. A vase of pale roses rested on the table, their petals so perfect they almost looked artificial. Beside the door was a wardrobe, carved wood polished to perfection, waiting silently for clothes that weren’t hers.

Everything was immaculate. Everything was in its place. Yet nothing belonged to her.

A soft knock startled her. When she opened the door, two maids greeted her.

"Mrs. Versales good afternoon here are your things, may we come in? we'll arrange it to the wardrobe"

"no need to bother, just leave it beside the bed I will arrange it myself" Genie said as she watched the two maids stepped in quietly, carrying boxes and garment bags. They moved with practiced efficiency, and put the things beside the bed as they were told. They spoke little, exchanging only nods with one another and excused themselves.

Genie stood near the vanity, hands folded together, watching them them go out, Genie never liked people touching her things.

Genie opened her bags, folded her clothes putting them in the wardrobe, and arranging her few jewelries, and other things, Genie has few things to begin with so she finished not too long. the wardrobe was packed, there were originally things inside the wardrobe probably arranged by the butler for her.

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to steady her thoughts. The mattress barely dipped beneath her weight. For a while, she simply listened to the hush of the house, the faint tick of an unseen clock.

Time passed by quietly, Another knock came, softer this time.

Genie stood up from her bed and opened the door. A young maid was outside, her posture careful, her voice hushed.

“Madam… dinner will be served shortly.”

Genie nodded. “Yes, Thank you.”

The maid lowered her eyes, curtsied faintly, and withdrew as quickly as she had come.

Left alone again, Genie smoothed her dress and stepped out of the room. The corridor stretched long and empty, the sconces on the wall casting thin pools of light on the polished floor. Each of her footsteps seemed to follow her, echoing against the high ceiling.

When she reached the main staircase, she paused.

The grand stairwell curved downward, its banister carved from dark wood, gleaming faintly in the chandelier’s glow. From where she stood, the vast entry hall opened like a stage beneath her—columns rising tall, shadows lingering in every corner.

Slowly, she descended.

Her hand slid lightly along the banister. The hush of the house wrapped around her, broken only by the faint rustle of her gown as she moved. With each step down, she felt the weight of the mansion press closer, as though it were watching her, measuring her.

By the time she reached the last step, her pulse had steadied, but her chest still felt tight.

A servant bowed as she passed, then led her silently toward the dining hall.

———

Dinner was served in a hall that seemed too large for two people. Genie sat near one end of the polished table, her hands folded in her lap. The silverware gleamed under the light, each plate perfectly arranged as though for a portrait.

Jairus sat opposite her, but the distance between them felt greater than the length of the table. His gaze lowered briefly to his plate, then to the glass of wine he cradled loosely in his hand.

The silence stretched, thin but unbroken.

Finally, he spoke. His tone was calm, detached.

“Eat if you want.”

Genie looked at him, but his eyes had already moved past her, fixed on nothing in particular. There was no invitation in his words, no concern—only formality.

She lowered her gaze to the meal. Lamb, vegetables, sauce glistening under the light. It was beautiful, carefully prepared, and yet her stomach turned at the sight.

When she glanced up again, his chair was already pushed back. The scrape of its legs against the floor was the loudest sound in the room.

without explaining, he left. The doors closed quietly behind him, and she was alone.

The food tasted of nothing. Each clink of her fork felt out of place, as if she were disturbing a fragile stillness that had long belonged to the house.

———

Much later, Genie stood by the tall window of her room. The garden stretched below, trimmed hedges arranged like patterns in the dark, fountains motionless under the silver moonlight.

She reached up and removed her veil. The pins slipped free, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders. The veil rested across the chair by the vanity, pale as a ghost.

In the reflection of the glass, she studied herself—this bride, this wife, this stranger.

No father’s indifference.

No mother’s sharp remarks.

No siblings to overshadow her.

Only Jairus, with his cold distance.

Only this house, filled with silence.

She pressed her palm lightly against the windowpane, exhaling a slow breath that fogged the glass.

This was her life now.

The silence moved through the house like a living thing, steady and patient. Perhaps, in time, she would learn to fill it.