Candle in a Black Hole

Chapter 9

Maya’s Bedroom, Zandier Estate

In moning…

Knock... Knock...

The rapping at the door jolted Maya awake, dragging her from the depths of a dark, fractured dream. She bolted upright, intending to answer the summons, but her gaze froze upon the edge of the bed. There was a conspicuous indentation—a deep, lingering hollow in the mattress as if something heavy had been resting there for an eternity. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, but the repeat of the knock forced her to cast her suspicions aside and open the door.

"Yes... Auntie Na?"

Maya rubbed her eyes, looking at the housekeeper sent to manage her existence within this gilded cage.

"Madam... breakfast commences at seven o’clock sharp. You have precisely half an hour remaining. You ought to prepare yourself now." Auntie Na spoke with a voice and expression so devoid of life she might have been a flawlessly programmed automaton.

Maya bit her lip, the exhaustion still gnawing at her soul. "Can I... may I skip breakfast?" she ventured, testing the waters. Seven in the morning was far too early for someone who had only managed a few hours of fitful sleep.

CRACK!

The door directly opposite swung open without warning. Alex stepped out, clad in a bespoke suit, his tall frame exuding an aura of elegance laced with a faint, lethal menace. He flicked a glance toward Maya, his eyes brimming with undisguised contempt, before slamming his door shut with a deafening

Bang!

He strode away without a second thought.

Maya turned to Auntie Na, a silent plea for assistance in her eyes, but she was met only with a chilling void. Realising she had no choice, she retreated into her room to prepare. However, as the door clicked shut, her eyes collided with the Diamond Platinum card once more.

"Do you have legs of your own... you wretched thing?"

Maya blinked in bewilderment. The card, which she distinctly remembered placing in the centre of the table, was now resting precariously on the very edge. She moved toward the bed, her nose crinkling as she sampled the air... and there it was. The faint, ghostly scent of tobacco clung to the room. When she peered at the floor near the bedside, she discovered a stray speck of cigarette ash.

"So, it wasn't merely a fever dream born of terror..." she murmured to herself, utterly perplexed. Last night, she had a hazy recollection of a dream—a dream where that depraved man had stalked into her room, stared at her, and sat smoking by her bed before vanishing.

"Wait... why would he even enter?" A sudden thought pierced her confusion. If he desired her body, he possessed the legal right to take it; he needn't have bothered with separate quarters in the first place. This was sheer madness!

A visceral shudder rippled through her. The sensation of being watched made her skin crawl, leaving her unable to remain still. She bolted into the bathroom to scrub herself clean, desperate to be ready in time to meet the 'Laws' dictated by that devil.

The Dining Hall, Zandier Estate

Maya came tearing down the grand staircase in a blind panic, clutching her high heels in one hand. Though the manor’s corridors were as convoluted as a labyrinth, her innate instinct for observing minute details allowed her to navigate the turns until she found the dining hall. She scrambled to slip on her shoes, smoothing her features into a mask of feigned composure before stepping inside.

But as she crossed the threshold, Maya froze. At the sprawling table sat Alex—alone. There was no sign of the seemingly benevolent Grandfather Frost today.

Alex was leafing through a weekly business magazine with chilling calm, the steam rising from his coffee obscuring half of his sharp features. On the cover was a portrait of Grandfather Frost—the billionaire who had vanished from the public eye for a decade, only to resurface now as a formidable titan of industry.

"No need to scavenge the room for old Frost," Alex remarked, tossing the magazine onto the table with a heavy thud. He pointed a commanding finger at the opposite chair. "Sit."

Maya obeyed, her entire frame stiff with tension. She stole a wary glance at the face on the cover. "Is this... is this Grandfather Frost?" she ventured, desperate to shatter the suffocating silence.

Alex flicked a brief look toward the maids—a silent signal for them to commence the service. "It is. Why?" he asked flatly, spearing a sausage glistening with grease and bringing it to his mouth.

Maya pressed her lips together. She loathed heavy, oily meals in the morning; her body recoiled at the sight of it, her appetite vanishing entirely. She could only reach for her orange juice to sustain herself, tentatively picking at the fried egg with her fork just to ensure she had enough strength to endure until luncheon.

"There is no luncheon here." Alex’s remark, delivered with a cold finality, caused Maya to go still. Without another word, he rose and strode from the table, never once deigning to look back at his trembling wife.

Maya watched his retreating back, the tears she had fought to suppress finally splashing onto her plate. The horrific truth of the traces left in her bedroom last night, coupled with the crushing tension of this breakfast, was becoming a burden too heavy for her soul to bear.

She was forced to spear the greasy sausages and assorted fare, feeding herself through a veil of tears. She sobbed softly as she struggled to swallow the bitter sustenance, yet not a single soul in the room offered a word of comfort or even a glance. Every maid stood with bowed heads, as motionless as lifeless automatons, leaving the new Madam of Zandier to drown in her wretched solitude.

Maya’s Bedroom, Zandier Estate

Maya stumbled back into her room, a physical wreck. She clutched her mouth and stomach, desperately trying to suppress the rising bile brought on by the sickeningly greasy breakfast and the cold dread radiating through her core. Her body, however, could no longer tolerate the alien sustenance; she lunged into the bathroom, heaving until she had purged every drop of that bitter meal.

When she emerged, her eyes glazed and distant, her heart leapt into her throat. The massive LED screen—which she had meticulously veiled with the curtains—had 'opened' itself, as if commanded by an invisible, omniscient eye. It projected a high-angle daytime view of the metropolis... the very vantage point from her 25th-floor flat that she once adored. Today, it was merely a haunting hallucination, a cruel reminder that her liberty had been stripped away.

In a frantic panic, Maya lunged to wrench the curtains shut again, her eyes darting around the room for something heavy enough to shatter the screen to pieces. But in this room, curated with surgical precision according to Alex’s whims, there wasn't a single object she could seize as a weapon.

She collapsed onto the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably before reaching for her smartphone, hoping for some shred of solace. Yet, the digital world only exacerbated her agony. News of the hunt for the "Mystery Wife" of the notorious playboy, Alex Zandier, was still trending at the summit of every social media platform.

Maya stared at the images people had unearthed... photographs of Alex flaunting beautiful women and celebrities at high-profile events. She closed her eyes, consumed by a profound sense of self-loathing. 'A public husband...' she thought with a bitter, internal smirk. He belonged to the entire world, save for her—the one branded and forgotten in the darkest shadows of this manor.

She scrolled aimlessly through her feed until the device in her hand vibrated with violent intensity.

Vrrr... Vrrr...!!!

"Jum..." Maya answered the call, her voice fractured and trembling beyond her control.

“Hey! Maya, I need your advice on something,” Jum’s voice crackled through the line, her stress palpable.

"What is it?"

“Can we meet up? Let’s talk at the café beneath your flat.” Her friend asked, entirely oblivious to the fact that Maya no longer possessed even the right to cross the threshold of this estate.

"I... I can’t go, Jum," Maya replied tersely, swallowing a sob.

“Then tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you!”

"Jum... what exactly is this about? Why are you so desperate to see me?" Maya asked, her confusion laced with a burgeoning suspicion.

“Who on earth did you marry, Maya? Tell me the truth... last night, strangers broke into my place. They asked if I was a friend of ‘Maya Zandier!’ I almost laughed in their faces, but they looked like they were ready to commit murder. I snapped back, asking how someone of my standing could possibly know anyone from the Zandier clan!”

Maya’s grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. A deadly chill raced down her spine. "Jum! Listen to me. If anyone asks about me... you tell them you don't know me! Then delete our entire chat history. Do not leave a single trace that we’ve ever been in contact!"

“Oh... I’ve already done that. Ever since that whirlwind wedding. I figured you only agreed to it to save your father's firm,” Jum replied knowingly.

Yet, that well-meaning insight only served to deepen Maya's terror.

"I have to go..."

Maya cut the call, her heart heavy as if weighted with lead. The hideous truth was surfacing... Alex hadn't merely imprisoned her in a bedroom; he was extending his dark reach to intimidate everyone in her life. He was severing her connections, systematically erasing her former identity from the face of the earth.

She sat huddled on the sofa, her body wracked with tremors of indignation. She was utterly powerless, forced to watch her dearest friend be plunged into peril all because of a surname she never desired.

Time bled away, though how much, she could not tell. The suffocating weight in her chest stripped away any hope of remaining still. She paced the room, her eyes darting and scanning for any sign of intrusion—a pinhole lens, a concealed microphone, any hidden aperture where a gaze might linger. Every square inch of this space felt infested by Alex’s presence, as if his eyes were boring into her and his breath was perpetually ghosting against the nape of her neck.

"Mr Zandier!!!" Maya screamed his name until her throat felt parched and raw. She jerked her head toward the ceiling and then the corners of the room like a woman possessed. "I know you’re watching! What is it you want? Tell me what I must do to satisfy you!"

She clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit into her palms, drawing on the dregs of her courage. "But... I beg of you... leave the people in my life alone! I have walked into this den myself, haven't I? I am here to be your 'toy', to be trampled upon as you see fit!"

Her voice echoed through the eerie, bone-chilling silence. She was certain her words reached him, whether he was sat in his study laughing at her expense or sipping whisky while witnessing her defeat through a monitor. To live under such constant surveillance was torment enough, but for him to extend his reach toward the innocent was a line she could not endure. She gasped for air, standing defiant against the void that pulsed with the dark power of the Zandiers.

Maya remained frozen in that posture, her eyes scouring the room for a response. But all remained unnervingly still. There was no movement, no crackle from an intercom, not even the thud of a footstep in the corridor. It felt as though her outburst was nothing more than a dark jest that no one cared to acknowledge.

Yet, her instincts screamed that she was not mistaken. Every movement, every tear, even the rhythm of her blinking... he was aware of it all, lurking somewhere in the shadows.

Confusion began to claw at her mind. ‘Is he still watching? Or is he merely amused by the sight of my mental unraveling? Has he become so engrossed in his dark dealings that he has forgotten this 'merchandise' altogether?’

Second by second, the clock ticked on with agonizing slowness. The silence of this manor was so potent she could hear her own laboured breathing and the frantic drumming of a heart fueled by paranoia.

Slowly, Maya collapsed onto the sofa, a hollow shell of a woman. The strength that had animated her moments ago vanished, leaving her limp and drained. She had no inkling of how to survive in this house—a place celebrated for its grandeur, perched majestically atop three mountains, yet as silent and lifeless as a living tomb.

Within the vast empire of the Zandiers, Maya felt herself diminish until she was no larger than an ant trapped within a gargantuan glass jar... waiting for the master to either lift her up for inspection or crush her to dust with a flick of his finger, at his absolute whim.