Chapter 6:The Ghost in The Hallway

Lucas’s POV

The clock in the grand hallway struck 2:00 AM. The sound echoed through the mansion, deep and heavy, like a heartbeat that shouldn’t be there. Usually, at this time, I would be in my office, buried in spreadsheets or international trade contracts. But tonight, the numbers didn’t make sense. The air in my office felt too thin to breathe.

I stood up and walked down the dark hallway. My feet moved on their own, guiding me toward the small room at the very end of the north wing. Naomi’s room.

I had never spent much time here. To me, it was just a space—a room for the woman who held the title of my wife for one year. But as I pushed the door open, the silence that hit me was different. It wasn't just quiet; it was empty. It was the kind of emptiness that makes your chest feel tight

I didn't turn on the main light. The moonlight through the window was enough to show me how little she had left behind. I sat on the edge of the bed. It was narrow and firm. I frowned. Why was this bed so small? My mother had told me Naomi preferred this wing because it was "quiet," but as I looked around, I realized it wasn't quiet. It was isolated. It was the furthest place from everyone else.

My hand brushed against a small wooden nightstand. There, tucked under a lamp, was a small, worn-out notebook.

I hesitated. I had never cared about her privacy before because I had never cared about her. But now, with the memory of that positive pregnancy test burning a hole in my pocket, I needed to know who she was. I opened the first page.

It wasn't a diary. It was a budget book.

My eyes scanned the columns. Monday: Bread, milk, tea. Tuesday: Nothing. Wednesday: Nothing.

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I gave her an allowance every month—a generous one, or so I thought. I checked the totals. She hadn't spent a single cent of my family's money on herself. No clothes. No jewelry. No makeup. Every dollar was accounted for in "House Supplies." She had used her own marriage allowance to buy the very soap the servants used to wash my floors.

"Why, Naomi?" I whispered to the empty room. "Why didn't you ask for more?"

Then I saw it. A small, dried flower pressed between the pages of the book. It was a simple daisy, yellow and brittle. I felt a sharp pain in my heart as I remembered. A year ago, on our wedding day, a child had handed me a bunch of flowers. I had walked into the house, exhausted and annoyed by the ceremony, and tossed one onto the table where Naomi was sitting. I hadn't even looked at her. I had just thrown it there like trash.

She had kept it. For a whole year, she had kept a piece of trash I threw at her as if it were a treasure.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I saw her—not as a "contract wife," but as a girl. A nineteen-year-old orphan who had moved into this cold house with nothing but hope. And what had I given her? Silence. Coldness. A family that treated her like a shadow.

I stood up and walked to the closet. It was open. Inside, there were only three hangers left. She had gone away with one small bag. One bag for her whole life. One bag for our child.

"I didn't even know," I muttered, my voice cracking. "I didn't even see you."

I walked back to the window, looking out at the dark gardens. The guards were still out there, searching the grounds, but I knew they wouldn't find her. Naomi had been a ghost in this house for a year. She knew how to disappear because I had taught her that she didn't matter.

Naomi’s POV

The hotel room was tiny. The walls were painted a dull yellow that looked like old teeth, and the air smelled like cheap cleaning spray and dust. But as I sat on the edge of the creaky bed, I felt a strange sense of peace.

For the first time in a year, nobody was whispering about me in the next room. Nobody was looking at me with eyes full of hate.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a small bottle of water and a single crackers packet. My stomach felt twisted. The morning sickness was starting early, or maybe it was just the stress. I forced myself to take a bite.

"You have to eat," I whispered, touching my stomach. "We have to be strong."

My mind kept going back to the mansion. I wondered if Lucas had found the test yet. Part of me hoped he hadn't. I wanted to be a memory to him—a name on a contract that he could finally delete. But another part of me, the weak part that still remembered the way he looked in the moonlight, wondered if he would care.