Chapter 4

Three weeks in Adrian Vale's mansion, and Isla had become a ghost haunting her own life.

She'd mapped out a routine designed around one singular goal: avoid him. Breakfast at 6, before he wakes up, lunch in her room claiming headaches, exhaustion, anything. Dinner at 8:30 after he'd already eaten and disappeared to whatever corners billionaires stayed when they weren't destroying lives.

It almost worked.

Except the cameras never blinked. An Adrian always knew exactly where she was. The only constant was Margaret. The housekeeper moved Through the house like smoke so quiet and observant, appearing at odd moments with fresh towels or perfectly made tea. She was an amazing 

At first if love Isla barely noticed her. Until small things stated appearing. Tea prepared exactly how she liked it, even though she'd never told anyone what she liked. A door she'd found locked the day before suddenly open when she tried the handle.

Isla didn't trust it. Couldn't afford to.

But god, she was starved for any scrap of kindness.

One afternoon, Margaret was changing sheets when Isla returned from her daily pacing ritual disguised as a walk through the gardens.

"What a beautiful day," Margaret said. Still didn't look up from tucking in the corners.

"I guess." Isla hovered in the doorway, unsure how to go about having an actual human conversation after weeks of surveillance and silence.

Margaret smoothed the bed, then paused. "The west wing." She said it casually. "He doesn't want you there." 

Isla's pulse jumped. "What?"

"Mr. Vale doesn't want you in the west wing." Elena finally looked up. "He's very specific about it. You're to stay in the east wing, main floor common areas only."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than intended.

Elena gathered the old linens, moving toward the door. Stopped beside Isla. Leaned in just slightly.

"Because men like him always have something to hide."

Then she was gone, footsteps fading down the hallway, leaving Isla standing there with her heart pounding against her ribs.

Nicolas Maddox arrived for dinner on a Friday, and everything shifted.

Isla heard cars in the driveway from her room, voices in the foyer, Adrian's tone shifting into something almost... pleasant. She'd planned to skip dinner as usual, claim another headache, avoid whatever business was happening downstairs.

Then Adrian knocked. He actually knocked.

"We're having dinner. Seven-thirty. You're attending." 

"I'm not hungry..."

"Wear something appropriate. Nicolas is important." He was already walking away. "Don't embarrass me."

So Isla showed up in a simple black dress, zero makeup, hair in a ponytail, and found Nicolas Maddox standing in the dining room looking genuinely happy to meet her.

"Isla!" He crossed the room with an easy smile, extending his hand. "Finally. Adrian won't shut up about you." 

Adrian made a sound that might've been a laugh if he'd been human. "I mentioned you once." 

"It's over three times. I've been counting." Marcus shook Isla's hand warmly. "It's really nice to meet you. So How you settling?"

The question was so normal, that Isla nearly forgot how to speak.

"I'm... it's fine." Isla replied awkwardly. "The house is big."

"Big's an understatement. I got lost trying to find the bathroom last time I was here." Marcus pulled out her chair, actual basic courtesy that felt foreign after weeks of Adrian's unreadable expression. "So what do you do? Adrian never mentioned..."

"I was studying art history." She said was, because it was in the past. That life died three weeks ago. "Before everything..."

She trailed off, he already knew what that meant.

But Nicolas just nodded like she'd said something completely ordinary. "Art history, that's amazing. What period?"

And just like that, they were talking. About artists and museum exhibits. Nicolas listened like he actually cared, asked follow-up questions, laughed at her awkward jokes.

It was the first time in three weeks someone had treated her like a person instead of a problem to manage.

Adrian sat at the head of the table, cutting his steak with surgical precision, saying very little but watching everything.

After dinner, Nicolas excused himself to take a call. The moment he left, Adrian's mask dropped.

"Don't get comfortable with Nicolas."

Isla looked up from her untouched dessert. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Adrian's voice was flat. "Don't get attached. Don't think he's your friend."

"Why?" Isla pushed her plate away. "Afraid I might actually like someone who speaks to me like a human being?"

"He's useful to me." Adrian stood, adjusting his cuffs. "You're not useful to him. That's the only reason he's being nice. Remember that."

Something hot flared in Isla's chest. "What are you so afraid of?"

Adrian paused. Turned slowly. "Afraid?"

"You heard me." She stood too, meeting his gaze across the table. "What are you afraid of? That I might have an actual conversation? That someone might treat me with basic humanity? That I might remember what it's like to be a person instead of..."

"I'm not afraid." His voice cut like a blade. "I'm being careful."

"Careful of what?"

But he was already walking away, disappearing into whatever dark hallway led to whatever secrets he kept locked away.

Isla stood alone in the dining room, hands shaking, feeling like she'd just poked something dangerous and didn't know if it would bite.

Isla lay in bed, feeling the cameras blink their red eyes in the darkness.

Around two AM, she gave up trying to sleep.

The library was on the main floor, she'd discovered it during one of her exploratory missions, back when she still thought she might find an unlocked exit. 

She ran her fingers along spines, looking for anything to quiet her racing mind.

That's when she found the desk drawer.

Stuck at first, then giving way with a reluctant creak. Inside: old papers, fountain pens, random keys.

And blueprints.

Isla pulled them out carefully, architectural drawings, yellowed like it had been there for ages, the mansion layout sketched in precise detail.

Except it was wrong.

She knew this house. Had walked every inch of the east wing, memorized the main floor, stared at the forbidden west wing from windows.

But these blueprints showed rooms that didn't exist. Spaces where walls should be. A entire section in the west wing that according to the actual house was just... nothing.

Her pulse kicked up. She spread the blueprints on the desk, tracing the lines with her finger, trying to make sense of...

Footsteps.

Isla's head snapped up.

Adrian stood in the doorway. Perfectly still. Watching her hold the blueprints with those empty eyes that saw everything.

The silence stretched. Pulled tight. Snapped.

"Put those back." His voice was quiet

Isla's hands tightened on the paper. "Why? What are you hiding?"

He crossed the room slowly, and stopped close enough that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw.

"Give them to me." He held out his hand.

"No." Her voice shook but held. "Tell me what's in the west wing. Tell me why these blueprints show rooms that don't..."

Adrian took the blueprints from her hands. 

Isla stumbled back, heart hammering.

He rolled the blueprints carefully. Met her eyes.

"You want to know what I'm hiding?" His voice was soft. "Keep pushing, Isla. Keep digging. But when you find out...and you will, because you won't let this go..don't expect me to protect you from the truth."

He walked out.

Took the blueprints with him.

Left Isla standing alone in the library, hands shaking, breath coming too fast.

She was terrified of him.

And she needed answers more than she needed safety.