A week had passed since the dinner, but the memory refused to fade.
Oakley hadn't seen him since. Not a single glimpse. No footsteps echoing down the hallway. No whispered warnings from the maids that he was near. It was almost like he had disappeared — yet the weight of his presence lingered in the air, making her skin prickle in the quiet moments.
She should have felt relieved.
She wasn't.
Something about the silence unsettled her more than his words ever could.
She lay on her bed, staring at the ornate ceiling that mocked her with its stillness. The soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall filled the silence like a reminder — every second slipping away while she remained trapped in a mansion of shadows and secrets.
A knock came at the door.
Soft. Measured.
Her body stiffened.
No one knocked this gently. The maids never did.
She sat up slowly. "Who is it?"
No reply.
Cautiously, she walked to the door and opened it.
No one.
