Evelina's steps were heavier than usual that night. She had obeyed Kairo's words without protest, her eyes dull and her lips silent, when she returned to the room after the dinner that left her hollow. There was no defiance in her; only fatigue, as if her soul itself had been ground down to ash.
The large chamber was silent, curtains drawn against the velvet-dark night. She did not pause to look around. Without speaking, without even shedding a tear, she went straight for the washroom. It was the only place left in this mansion where the air seemed to belong to her. Every other corner hummed with invisible eyes—cameras, servants, Kairo himself always watching. But the bathroom, for now, remained private.
She undressed slowly, her trembling hands pulling at the buttons of her dress. The mirror reflected her pale frame: skin too fragile, shoulders trembling, eyes ringed with sleepless shadows. When the dress fell away, Evelina felt no freedom, only vulnerability. She sank into the porcelain bathtub, filling it with steaming water, hoping the warmth would melt the fear that clung to her bones.
For a brief moment, her eyelids grew heavy. The water cradled her body like an exhausted child in its mother's arms. She leaned back against the edge, breaths shallow. Her lashes fluttered once, twice—then her body surrendered. Unconsciousness claimed her.
---
On the other side of the mansion, Kairo sat before the wall of monitors that glowed in the dark surveillance room. His grey eyes traced every angle of her chambers, his expression unreadable, as though he was both master and warden, judge and spectator.
He had been watching her for hours—her silence, her reluctance, the way she forced herself to swallow food without appetite. Every small rebellion, every tear. And now, his gaze sharpened when he noticed the screen showing the door to her washroom.
She had entered. The seconds bled into minutes. Then more minutes. She did not emerge.
A thin muscle in his jaw flexed. Kairo rose abruptly, chair scraping the floor. He didn't hesitate. His steps were thunder across the corridor until he reached her door. With a single strike of his palm, the lock yielded, and he stormed inside.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and damp fabric. But what caught him was the silence. Too long. Too deep.
He strode to the bathroom, his hand ripping the door wide open. There she was—Evelina, half-submerged, head tilted dangerously against the porcelain, lips parted with no sound. Her skin glistened with the shimmer of water and sweat, unnervingly pale.
For one heartbeat, Kairo's chest tightened with something he could not name. Fear was not a familiar guest in his heart, but its shadow passed over him then.
"Evelina." His voice was low, commanding, as though the force of it alone could summon her back. But her lashes didn't flutter.
He cursed under his breath and beckoned sharply. A woman servant appeared almost instantly, as if the mansion itself bent to his will. He gestured curtly, and she rushed to Evelina's side, pulling her from the water, drying her trembling body, and dressing her quickly in clean linens.
Kairo stood close, watching. Watching too intently. His eyes followed the curve of her frailty, the fragility of her breath, the way unconsciousness left her utterly defenseless. And for the first time in years, he felt a strange unease.
---
The fever struck soon after. Evelina's body burned with exhaustion and stress, her frame wracked by shivers. The servants tended to her, but it was Kairo who watched most closely. His screens never left her figure. Each tremble, each restless twist beneath the sheets, belonged to his eyes alone.
When morning came, Evelina opened her eyes weakly. The fever had not yet left, but she was no longer lost to unconsciousness. Instead, she found herself under the weight of silence. The room felt suffocating, like a cage layered with velvet.
And yet—even in her frailty, even with the fever still burning inside her—something restless stirred in Evelina. Perhaps it was madness, perhaps desperation, but she could not remain motionless anymore. Her spirit, even crushed, sought some sliver of air.
So, once she could sit upright, she rose. Her knees wobbled beneath her, her palms trembling as they brushed against the cold furniture for balance. Every movement echoed in her bones. Yet she walked.
Kairo, from the cameras, watched with a thin smile. He let her move. He let her explore, knowing that every door, every corner, belonged to him. He had no need to chain her—his web of control was invisible, and far stronger.
Evelina stepped into the corridor. The mansion stretched around her, endless and intimidating. It was beautiful, but in that beauty lay cruelty—marble floors polished to perfection, chandeliers glowing like captured stars, paintings of distant battles and emperors staring down at her. Luxury pressed in from every side, a reminder of whose world she was trapped in.
Yet Evelina kept walking. Her fever flushed her cheeks, her breaths came shallow, but her eyes searched. Every shadow, every seam in the walls. She prayed for an imperfection, a flaw, some thread she could pull.
And then—she found it.
Behind a tall velvet curtain, nearly lost to sight, her fingertips brushed against something strange. The wall there did not feel as cold, nor as seamless, as the others. It gave slightly under her palm.
Her heart quickened. Fever or not, hope surged. She pressed harder. The panel shifted with a quiet creak, revealing a narrow passage cloaked in dust and darkness.
A secret corridor.
Evelina's breath caught. She stepped closer, the fever swaying her balance but not her resolve. She peered into the shadowed hall, the air inside colder, older, as if untouched for years. The stone walls seemed to whisper of forgotten footsteps, of lives hidden away.
Her hand trembled on the edge of the panel. For the first time since she was brought here, Evelina felt the fragile bloom of possibility. A way out? Or a deeper trap? She didn't know. But her heart, fragile and desperate, clung to it.
And far away, in the surveillance room, Kairo leaned back in his chair. His lips curved—not with surprise, but with satisfaction. He had seen everything. He had let her discover it.
For in this house, even secrets were under his command.
And Evelina, fevered and fragile, had just stepped into his game.
To be continued...