Chapter Two: Shadows in the Hallway

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains like an intruder, sharp and unwelcome. I woke with a start, my body aching from a night spent twisting in sheets that smelled of unfamiliar detergent, crisp, sterile, nothing like home. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then it all crashed back: the vows, the cold eyes, the house that felt more like a mausoleum than a sanctuary.

I sat up, rubbing my temples. My wedding dress lay crumpled on the floor where I'd peeled it off in the dark, a ghostly reminder of yesterday's farce. I hadn't unpacked yet; my suitcases stood sentinel by the door, as if they too were unsure about staying. The room was elegant, high ceilings, antique furniture, a four-poster bed that swallowed me whole, but it was empty. No personal touches. No photos on the walls. Just echoes.

Downstairs, the silence was thicker. I padded barefoot through the hallway, the marble floor cold against my skin, sending shivers up my legs. I needed coffee, or tea, or something to ground me. Anything to pretend this was normal.

The kitchen was a cavern of stainless steel and granite, gleaming under recessed lights. A woman stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with rhythmic precision. She looked up as I entered, her face lined with years but softened by a tentative smile.

"You must be the new Mrs. Hargrove," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. Her voice had a lilt, maybe Irish, warm in a way that caught me off guard.

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes. I'm... Elena." I hadn't said my name out loud since the ceremony. It felt strange, like claiming something that wasn't mine anymore.

"I'm Mrs. Thorne," she replied. "Housekeeper. Been here fifteen years. Coffee?"

"Please." I slid onto a stool, watching her pour from a pot that was already brewing. She knew I'd come down. Of course she did; people like her always anticipated needs in houses like this.

As she handed me the mug, steam curling up like a question mark, I asked, "Is he... Mr. Hargrove... around?"

She hesitated, just a fraction. "Left early for the office. Said he'd be back late." Her eyes flicked to my left hand, where the ring sat heavy and gold. "Rough first night?"

I laughed. "You could say that."

She leaned against the counter, her expression turning maternal. "These old families... they carry weights. Give it time."

Time. As if that could erase the venom in his voice last night. I sipped the coffee, burning my tongue, but the pain was a welcome distraction. "What weights?" I ventured, keeping my tone light

.Mrs. Thorne straightened, glancing toward the doorway as if expecting ghosts. "Oh, you know. The accident. His sister." She shook her head. "Tragic, really. But that's not for me to gossip about."

His sister. The words landed like stones in my stomach. I remembered the whispers from my family, the vague mentions of a loss that had hardened him. But no details. No one had thought to tell the bride what she was walking into.

Before I could press her, a door slammed somewhere in the house. Footsteps echoed, quick, purposeful. Mrs. Thorne busied herself with the vegetables, and I turned just as a man entered the kitchen. Not my husband. This one was younger, slimmer, with the same sharp jawline but softer eyes. He stopped when he saw me, surprise flashing across his face.

"Elena?" he said, like he was testing the name.

I stood, suddenly self-conscious in my rumpled pajamas. "Yes. And you are...?"

"Lucas. Alex's brother." He extended a hand, his grip firm but kind. "Welcome to the family. Sorry I missed the wedding, business trip."

Alex. So that's his name. My husband. It felt odd to learn it from someone else.

"No problem," I murmured. "Nice to meet you."

He grabbed an apple from the bowl, biting into it with a crunch. "Alex treating you alright? He's not the warmest, but he grows on you."

I forced another smile. "We're... adjusting."

Lucas chuckled. "That's diplomatic. Look, if you need anything, I'm around. This place can feel like a tomb sometimes."

As he left, I felt a flicker of warmth, human connection in this cold void. Mrs. Thorne watched him go, then turned back to me. "He's a good one. Not like..." She trailed off, but I knew, not like Alex.

I spent the morning wandering the house, trying to map it in my mind. Endless rooms: a library with books that smelled of dust and forgotten stories, a study locked tight, a conservatory overgrown with vines that clawed at the glass like prisoners. In the living room, I found a single photo on the mantel, a girl, maybe twenty, laughing with wind-tossed hair. She had Alex's eyes.

His sister.

I reached out, tracing the frame. What happened to you?

The day dragged. I unpacked, hung clothes in a closet that dwarfed my wardrobe, stared at the ceiling. Loneliness crept in, thick and suffocating. By afternoon, I ventured outside. The grounds were vast, manicured lawns rolling into woods, a pond glinting under the sun. I walked to clear my head, the grass soft under my feet.

That's when I heard it: a car engine, revving too loud, too fast.

I turned toward the driveway. A sleek black sedan, Alex's?, was pulling in, but something was wrong. It swerved, tires screeching against gravel. My heart lurched as it veered off the path, slamming into a tree with a sickening crunch of metal and glass.

Time slowed. Smoke curled from the hood. The driver's door hung open, but no one emerged.

I ran, my breath ragged, feet pounding. "Hello? Are you okay?"

As I neared, I saw him, slumped over the wheel, blood trickling from his forehead. Not Alex.

Lucas.

"Oh God," I whispered, yanking the door wider. "Lucas! Can you hear me?"

He groaned, eyes fluttering. "Elena... what...?"

"Stay still. I'll get help." My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone, left inside. Panic surged. "Mrs. Thorne! Help!"

She came running from the house, her face paling as she saw the wreck. "Call an ambulance!"

I sprinted back inside, dialing 911 with trembling fingers. Words tumbled out: accident, brother-in-law, head injury, hurry.

By the time I returned, Lucas was trying to stand, but he collapsed against me, his weight heavy and warm. Blood smeared my shirt. "It... brakes... didn't work," he mumbled.

Brakes? My mind raced. An accident? Or...

Sirens wailed in the distance. Mrs. Thorne hovered, wringing her hands. "Poor boy. First the sister, now this."

The paramedics arrived, swarming the scene. They loaded Lucas onto a stretcher, his face ashen, eyes closed now. I stood frozen, watching them drive away.

Then, another car pulled up. Alex.

He stepped out, his face a mask of control until he saw the wreckage. Something cracked, raw pain flashing in his eyes before he schooled it.

"What happened?" he demanded, voice like steel.

I opened my mouth, but the words choked me. "Lucas... the car... brakes failed."

His gaze snapped to me, accusation burning. "You were here. What did you do?"

Nothing. But the look in his eyes said everything: he blamed me. Again.

As he stormed toward the house, leaving me in the gravel with blood on my hands, a chill settled deeper than the evening air.