Chapter 5: The Room She Was Never Meant to Find

The West Wing hallway felt colder than the rest of the house.

Bliss paused at the edge, where polished floors gave way to faded carpet and the walls lost their warmth. The double doors stood tall before her, black wood with silver handles. They had always been locked. Damon had never told her what lay beyond them, and she had learned not to ask. Until now.

This morning, something had changed.

The hallway had been unguarded. No staff. No closed-off stairwell. No whispered excuses.

And the key she had found it beneath her pillow.

Not a dream, not a memory, just a small iron key on white linen, as if it were always hers.

Her fingers closed around the cool metal.

The key slid into the lock.

She hesitated. Her pulse thudded in her ears but curiosity pushed harder than fear, and the lock clicked open.

The hinges groaned as the door creaked inward.

Bliss stepped into stillness.

The corridor stretched ahead like a forgotten spine, lined with old paintings draped in white cloth. Dust hung in the air, softening the light that filtered through the small, stained-glass windows. The whole space felt asleep, frozen in time.

She moved carefully, her slippers silent against the carpet.

At the far end of the hall, she found a single door. It was painted the same soft gray as her own bedroom, but the doorknob was different, porcelain, with tiny roses painted along the edge. Her fingers curled around it and paused.

A small scrawl had been carved just beneath the knob, in handwriting she recognized.

Her own.

“Don’t forget who you are.”

The words made her throat tighten.

She pushed the door open.

The room was quiet, but not abandoned. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and old perfume. Pale curtains framed the windows, swaying gently in the breeze. Everything was perfectly preserved. A vanity sat by the window, with brushes, lipsticks, and perfume bottles arranged neatly across its surface. A red lipstick stood uncapped beside a mirror on the vanity chair hung a silk robe.

Bliss stepped farther in.

A pair of high heels rested near the bed, one had a broken strap. A necklace glinted beneath a jewelry box lid.

She walked slowly, taking in the details.

This was a woman’s room. It was filled with someone’s life but not just anyone’s.

Hers.

Or at least, a version of it.

She moved to the vanity and picked up the perfume bottle. The label had faded, but the name was still visible.

‘Ivana.’

The name sent a chill across her skin.

She looked up into the mirror. Her reflection stared back, pale and wide-eyed. She didn’t know who she was looking at.

Next to the perfume, she saw a framed photo. The glass was cracked through the middle, but the image was clear.

Damon stood between two women.

One clung to his arm, beaming boldly at the camera. The other stood just behind, her smile gentle, almost uncertain. Both women were nearly identical,one in red, the other in white.

They both looked like her but only one was labeled.

Ivana and Bliss.

Bliss stumbled back, her heart pounding.

Her mind raced.

How could they both have her face?

She turned from the photo and opened the small drawer beneath the mirror. Inside, she found a stack of worn notecards, all with the same neat script, her handwriting.

One card said:

“If he says you’re imagining it, write it down anyway.”

Another read:

“Do not trust the dreams. The dreams lie.”

Her hands trembled.

She turned to the closet. A long gown hung alone inside; a deep crimson silk with a plunging neckline. The same one she’d worn in the dream. Beneath it, in a glass display box, rested a silver locket.

She opened it.

Inside were two names: ‘Ivana’ and ‘Bliss’, engraved on opposite sides.

Her breath hitched.

A low creak behind the mirror caught her attention.

She turned slowly.

There was a seam where the mirror met the wall. She reached out and ran her fingers along the edge. The frame shifted slightly.

She pushed.

The mirror swung open on silent hinges, revealing a small compartment. Inside, tucked into a velvet-lined box, sat a collection of cassette tapes.

Aged, inked with a label.

She picked one up and read the words scrawled across the tape.

"Truth, waiting if you're ready."

There was a dusty tape player on the floor beside the box. Bliss crouched down, loaded the tape, and pressed play.

Static hissed for a moment. Then a woman’s voice filled the room.

Soft. Familiar.

“If you’re hearing this, it means he’s still lying to you.”

Bliss’s entire body went still.

“I don’t know which name he’s using for you now. Maybe Bliss… maybe Ivana… maybe both. But if you're listening, you’ve begun to remember. You’ve seen the clues. You’ve felt the fracture.”

The voice faltered slightly, then steadied.

“He said I was the problem, called me sick, but I knew the truth: I wasn’t alone in here..”

A pause, then silence stretched between them.

“They tried to erase me. They called it mercy…, they said it would keep you safe.”

Bliss’s hands tightened around the player.

“But I didn’t go away. I left these behind, for you because you were always stronger than me. You asked too many questions and remembered too much.”

There was a rustle, then another voice in the background, male, distant.

The woman’s voice grew urgent.

 “He’s coming. Don’t let him–”

The tape clicked.

Silence.

Bliss stared at the player, her breath ragged.

Then the door behind her opened.

She turned.

Damon stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked tired. Not surprised.

His gaze drifted to the open closet, the gown, the locket, the tape player in her lap.

Neither of them spoke.

At last, he stepped forward and said quietly, “You weren’t supposed to see this room.”

Bliss rose slowly to her feet.

She held up the locket.

Her fingers pointed to both names.

He looked at the silver gleam of the metal, then back at her.

“You think this will tell you who you are?”

She didn’t answer.

“You want a name?” he asked, voice rough. “Fine. But the name won’t give you peace. It won’t give you the past.”

She took a step forward, notebook in hand. Wrote carefully.

‘Did you lie to me?’

He closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I loved you,” he said softly. “That part was always true.”

But she didn’t ask about love.

She asked about lies.

Bliss turned and picked up another cassette from the box. This one had only a single word written on it.

"Memory."

She didn’t press play, instead glancing back at him, standing motionless in the doorway, both frozen as thunder rumbled outside, the storm drawing near.