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The ride back to the mansion was cloaked in silence.

Alexander didn’t say a word. He didn’t glance at me, didn’t ask if I was okay after what happened at dinner. He just sat there—stoic and silent like the cold embodiment of every wall I’d been trying to understand since stepping into his world.

When the car pulled into the estate’s private driveway, he stepped out first, not waiting or offering his hand like he had earlier. I followed, heels clicking softly across the pavement as the front door opened for us.

Still no words.

He walked in ahead of me, sharp shoulders squared, his long legs cutting across the hall toward the grand staircase. Halfway up, he paused and muttered, “I’ll be in the study.”

And just like that, he disappeared.

No goodnight. No explanation.

I stood there for a second longer, then quietly made my way upstairs. The chandelier above the corridor sparkled softly as I walked down the hallway toward my room, the sound of my own footsteps the only company I had left.

When I entered my room, the silence greeted me like an old friend.

I headed straight to the dressing room, where I’d stood earlier… nervous, unsure—before dinner. Now, in the soft lighting, everything looked still and distant. I sat before the vanity mirror and began unclasping the necklace, the gold chain cool against my skin as it slipped off.

I reached up again, removing the delicate earrings one by one, brushing aside my curls. My fingers worked slowly, almost mechanically, as if shedding the night’s skin.

That’s when I heard it.

The faint creak of my bedroom door.

I paused, instinctively turning toward the sound.

A maid—I guessed from her uniform entered quietly, carrying a stack of linens and fresh bedsheets. Her movements were careful, precise, almost too quiet. She didn’t seem to notice me at first—she was heading straight for the bed.

I stepped out of the dressing room just as she neared the foot of the bed.

We bumped into each other lightly but enough to make her jolt.

“Oh!” she gasped, startled. “I’m sorry, Ma’am Beatr—”

She stopped. Froze.

My eyes narrowed slightly. “Beatrice?”

She blinked fast, then bowed her head nervously. “I—I’m so sorry, Ma’am Isla. It was a slip of the tongue.”

I stepped closer, gently but firmly reaching out and holding her arm. “Who is Beatrice?”

The color drained from her face. “No one, Ma’am. I—It was just a mistake, I swear.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s alright,” I replied curtly.

She lowered her gaze, clutching the sheets tighter. “Forgive me, Ma’am. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She quickly crossed to the bed, neatly laying out the linens without saying another word or meeting my eyes. Her movements were rushed now, like she was escaping an invisible confrontation.

Once done, she turned toward the door. “Would you be wanting to take your dinner in bed, Ma’am?”

I crossed my arms slowly. “I just returned from dinner with my… husband.”

The word felt strange on my tongue as I said it.

But it had to sound normal.

The maid nodded quickly. “Of course, Ma’am. I’m sorry. I just— I wasn’t sure.”

She reached for the door handle again.

“Wait,” I said softly. “What’s your name?”

The woman hesitated. Her eyes darted toward the floor.

“I— I’m not supposed to—”

“Come on,” I said, stepping closer. “You can tell me.”

She looked up slowly, then gave a shy, uncertain smile. “Lucy. You can call me Lucy, Ma’am.”

“Lucy,” I repeated gently. “I like you. I want you to assist me here. Show me around the place—I don’t really know anyone here.”

“Apart from my husband, of course,” I added quickly.

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, then softened. “That’s very kind, Ma’am.”

“You’ve been working here long?”

“Yes,” she said with a slight nod. “I’m the head of staff.”

“Really?”

“There are twenty-five staff members in this house,” she added, almost proudly. “I manage them all.”

“Twenty-five?” I echoed, a little stunned.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I smiled faintly. “I had no idea this house was that massive.”

She chuckled softly. But there was still something off in her demeanor like she was holding back, hiding a thread of anxiety beneath her composed surface.

Still, I appreciated her kindness. Her warmth was a rare comfort in this place.

“Thank you, Lucy.”

She bowed slightly again. “Good night, Ma’am,” she said, then quietly exited the room.

I watched the door close behind her, the faint sound echoing in my ears. Something about her behavior lingered in my mind.

That slip of the tongue…. Beatrice.

It wasn’t just a mistake. I felt it in my gut.

My doppelgänger’s name was Beatrice.

I brushed the thought away as I turned toward the bed. My body was tired, my mind heavier. I pulled back the sheets, not even minding that I was still dressed in my dinner gown. Sliding beneath the covers, I sank into the plush mattress, letting my head fall against the pillow.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

The room was quiet, but my thoughts were loud. Loud enough to blur the line between reality and dreams.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under.

But peace didn’t follow.

The dream came in fragments at first—flashes of movement, echoes of voices, blurry images that gradually sharpened.

I saw the hospital.

Dark. Lifeless.

And then I saw them

two men in white coats dragging something heavy across the hallway floor.

My breath caught.

My mother.

Her body limp and Unmoving.

Wrapped in a white sheet. Her face pale and still beneath the fluorescent light.

“No!” I screamed in the dream, trying to run toward her, but my feet wouldn’t move.

The men zipped the body bag shut. The sound of the zipper echoed like a scream.

“No—Mama! Please!”

They dragged the bag toward the morgue doors, disappearing behind a wall of cold metal.

“Mama!”

I jolted upright in bed, gasping, drenched in sweat, my heart thudding wildly in my chest.

The room was dark.

The sheets were tangled around my legs.

It was just a dream.

But the fear was real.

My mum can’t be dead.