A Ghost at the Door

Amelia's POV

Sunlight cascaded through the lofty glass panes of my office, enveloping the space in a warm, golden embrace. The gentle illumination danced across the polished wooden floors, making them shimmer like liquid gold, while the elegant furniture gleamed. Yet, I remained oblivious to this radiant spectacle.

My gaze was riveted to the envelope lying ominously on my desk.

It bore no return address, no branding, only my name, inscribed in bold black ink that churned my stomach.

I studied it intently, paralyzed by trepidation. My fingers hovered uncertainly above the flap, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, drowning out the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. At last, after a deep, trembling breath, I unveiled the contents.

Inside, a photograph awaited in an unguarded moment captured by Lucia and me.

We were sauntering home from school, Nora's backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder while I held her tiny hand. The smile plastered on my face was slight, wearied, yet genuine. This snapshot had been taken just days ago.

On the reverse side of the picture was a hastily scrawled note, the handwriting slanted and chaotic.

Do you really believe he can shield you?

My hands trembled uncontrollably.

My surroundings felt constricting, as if the very walls were inching closer. My throat went dry, my palms clammy, and a cold, heavy weight sank into my stomach.

With meticulous care, I returned the photo and note to the envelope, burying it deep within a drawer before securing it with a lock.

Yet the shadow of fear lingered.

For the remainder of the morning, my breath remained shallow, an unseen tide. My team sensed my unusual quietude, but no one dared to address it. I was often a fortress of solitude—this merely seemed to be an extension of that.

Inside, however, a tempest brewed.

My first impulse was to reach out to Adrian. But then the image of his face flashed in my mind, his jaw tightening with fury, his tone constricting whenever I found myself in peril. He would unravel, slipping into protector mode.

And that was precisely what I wanted to avoid.

This burden belonged to me.

Later that night, I lay curled up in bed, feigning interest in my book when a soft whimper from Nora drifted down the hallway like a ghostly whisper.

I sprang to my feet.

I dashed to Lucia's room, gently swinging the door open, and found her upright in bed, tears glistening on her cheeks like morning dew.

"Darling, what’s wrong?"

Lucia rubbed her sleepy eyes. “I saw a man. In the garden.”

My heart stopped.

Frantic, I rushed to the window, peering out into the stillness of the backyard, where the motion lights had surrendered to darkness. All was quiet.

Yet Lucia trembled like a leaf in the wind.

“Was it a nightmare?” I asked softly, though my pulse thundered in my ears.

Lucia nodded but then murmured, “I wasn’t asleep.”

I enveloped her in a tight embrace, wrapping my warmth around us both.

“There’s no one out there,” I whispered, a soothing lie. “You’re safe. I swear.”

Yet doubt clawed at my heart.

That night, sleep eluded me. Each creak of the house sent jolts through my body, and every gust of wind made me jump. I kept my phone within reach, torn between calling someone perhaps the police? Or Adrian?

No.

I couldn't risk this becoming known. Not with the custody hearing looming just weeks away. If anyone believed Lucia was unsafe in my care, I’d lose everything.

The following morning, I moved through my routine like a well-oiled machine. I prepared Lucia for school, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and sent her off with the driver. Then I dove into my work at the office, trying to concentrate.

But my focus was nowhere to be found.

My phone buzzed, causing me to flinch.

It was an email from my assistant.

Just a quick reminder: You're expected at the charity gala next weekend. Should I confirm Adrian’s RSVP as well?

Without a second thought, I replied with a yes. Then, I found myself staring blankly at the screen.

Adrian.

He had been nothing but gentle since that night, never prying, never demanding. He observed me like an unsolvable puzzle but never pressed for answers.

Until now.

That evening, upon returning home, I found him in the living room, tie discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up, a book in hand. Yet his gaze locked onto me as soon as I entered.

“You seem off lately,” he remarked.

I kept my coat on. “Just work. It’s nothing.”

“Amelia.”

His voice halted me in my tracks.

It wasn’t demanding or harsh; it resonated quietly and carefully.

I hated how that made my heart ache.

“What’s the matter?” he inquired.

“Nothing,” I replied too quickly.

He stood up slowly, bridging the gap between us.

“Don’t deceive me.”

My heart fluttered, not with affection, but with anxiety. I feared that if I spoke, everything would tumble out into the open.

He stepped closer, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “Is someone threatening you?”

I blinked, fighting back tears.

“No,” I fibbed again. “I’m just exhausted. I didn’t sleep well.”

He scrutinized my face, and I could feel his disbelief, yet he didn’t pry further.

Instead, he said, “Let me help you, Amelia. Whatever the issue may be. You don’t have to bear this burden alone.”

Those words nearly shattered me.

But I couldn’t afford to break.

Accepting his help would jeopardize Nora, and that was a risk I would never take.

That night, I retrieved the photo from my drawer once more.

My gaze lingered on it, my fingers tracing the outline of Nora's tiny face.

Then I unearthed an old photo album, one that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

Within, images from my first marriage emerged of a man with a cruel smile, bruises concealed beneath silk dresses, and fear masquerading as elegance.

I quickly snapped the album shut.

The past was closing in.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I might soon be unable to outrun it.