Chapter 05

I didn’t remember falling asleep.

But when I opened my eyes, the room was pale with morning light and smelled like coffee.

Not burnt or bitter — expensive coffee. Smooth. Rich. The kind people drank slowly because they knew they could afford more.

The sheets were wrinkled beneath me, the dress still clinging to my legs. I hadn’t moved all night. My muscles ached from how tightly I must’ve curled into myself.

The necklace was still there.

It sat cold against my throat, the clasp pressing a faint bruise into the back of my neck. I reached up to remove it—

Click.

The door opened.

A girl entered — no knock, no warning. She looked no older than me. Pretty, dark hair pulled into a tight twist, black dress uniform perfectly pressed. A tray balanced in one hand. She didn’t speak right away.

Just moved to the table near the window and began arranging breakfast like I wasn’t there.

“Is there a—” I started.

“No talking during service,” she said quickly, without looking at me.

Oh.

Okay.

She finished setting the tray: coffee, eggs, fruit, something that looked like a croissant made of gold and air. Then she turned, holding out a folded piece of paper.

I didn’t take it at first.

She waited.

Eventually, I stood — stiff and unsteady — and accepted it.

There were five bullet points typed in perfect block font.

Meals are delivered at 8 a.m., 1 p.m., and 7 p.m. sharp. Delays are not tolerated.

2. Phone access is internal only. Outbound calls require written approval.

3. The east and south wings are off-limits without escort.

4. All guests are expected to remain within the estate walls unless authorized.

5. Any attempt to bypass security will be treated as an act of aggression.

I stared at the paper a moment longer than I should’ve. My fingers tightened around it before I could stop myself.

“Do I need to sign this?” I asked quietly.

The girl blinked, surprised. Then, finally, looked at me.

Her eyes were soft. A little too soft. Like someone trying not to pity you.

“No,” she said. “You already did.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she was gone.

The door shut with a quiet click.

I walked to it.

Tried the handle.

It didn’t move.

Locked.

From the outside.

I didn’t touch the food.

Not because I wasn’t hungry — I was. Ravenous, even.

But something about the way it had already been set out when I woke up, untouched, steaming — it made me feel like prey being fattened before slaughter. Or worse, watched.

Instead, I peeled off the wedding dress slowly, stepped into the soft robe that had been left at the foot of the bed, and opened the bedroom door.

This one wasn’t locked. So, only the estate wing door is locked. It was the false hallucination of fake freedom.

The hallway outside was hushed and empty.

I stepped out barefoot, the robe brushing just below my knees, the collar still fastened around my throat. I should have taken it off. I should’ve left it on the pillow like a refusal, a silent rebellion.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t explain why.

Maybe because it felt too much like a challenge. Or maybe because some part of me was afraid what might happen if he returned and I wasn’t wearing it.

The hall curved left and right, each direction identical — sleek walls, warm lighting, artwork I didn’t recognize. Expensive. Impersonal. Not a single photo. Not one touch of life.

I chose left.

The first door I passed opened without resistance — a reading room. Shelves lined the walls, leather-bound books, untouched and perfectly aligned. A fireplace flickered, though there was no heat. I stepped inside briefly, dragged a finger across the wood mantle.

No dust.

No fingerprints.

Nobody had sat in here for a long time.

Back in the hallway, I tried the next few doors. A music room — the piano lid closed, covered in velvet. A glass sunroom facing the back gardens. A lounge with deep blue walls and silent speakers in the ceiling.

All beautiful.

All empty.

There were no staff walking through. No footsteps. No voices. I could’ve been the last person alive in this part of the house and nothing would’ve sounded different.

Then I reached a door that wouldn’t open.

It was black. Heavier than the others. No handle — just a flat panel where one should be.

I pressed my hand to it.

Nothing.

It was cold beneath my fingers. Steel. Or something harder.

I knocked once.

The sound echoed back like it had room to bounce. Like there was space behind it.

Big space.

I leaned in, listening.

Silence. But not the same kind. This was thick. Pressurized.

Like the door wasn’t there to keep people out.

It was there to keep something in.

I stepped back, heart beating faster, and turned around.

The corridor suddenly felt longer. Darker. Less designed for elegance and more like a labyrinth built to confuse.

Or trap.

My skin itched with the feeling that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be.

That I was always being watched.

The house didn’t end where it was supposed to.

After another turn — deeper into a section with thicker carpet and older wood paneling — I found myself at the end of a hallway that made no sense.

It looked normal, at first. A long stretch with soft lighting, tall arched windows on the right, a series of matching doors on the left. But unlike the others, these doors had no knobs. Just smooth, curved wood. No labels. No keypads.

And then… nothing.

The hall ended in a blank wall. Seamless.

Too seamless.

I slowed my steps.

The air shifted here — subtly colder, thinner. I could feel it against my ankles, a strange draft that didn’t belong. The curtains on the windows didn’t move, but I felt it.

There was space beyond this wall.

I placed a palm against the smooth surface.

No sound. No vibration.

Then I leaned in and tapped twice, knuckle to wood.

Hollow.

A long, soft echo came back — just barely — like there was an entire room behind the wall.

Or a corridor.

Or a wing.

My heartbeat thudded a little harder.

I wasn’t an architect, but I remembered the drone photo from the document Giovanni had shown me. A layout of the Moretti estate — a large H-shaped structure.

Only this… wasn’t half of it.

I stepped back, eyeing the space. Measured it mentally.

Something had been closed off. Walled in. Hidden.

The draft was real.

I ran my fingers along the wall’s edge, searching for a seam, a latch, a button — anything.

Nothing.

But as I stood there, listening, the faintest sound slipped beneath the door I’d passed on the way down. Not loud. Not clear.

A shift. Like a footstep on hardwood. A whisper against cloth.

I backed away slowly.

Whatever this space was… it wasn’t empty.

And whoever had sealed it off had done so for a reason.