Shadows in the mansion

Chapter 2: Shadows in the Mansion

The morning light barely touched the edges of the mansion when I woke, still shivering from the night before. My body ached, and my mind replayed every second I had spent in the basement. The cold stone walls, the silence, the darkness pressing against me—it was as if the house itself was alive, whispering secrets I couldn’t yet understand.

When I finally emerged, Ethan was already in the study, the soft click of his shoes echoing against the marble floors. He didn’t speak, didn’t glance at me, but I felt the weight of his presence like a chain around my chest. I wanted to run, to escape, but the world outside these walls seemed smaller than the one inside the mansion.

Then the first email arrived. My phone buzzed on the side table, and the subject line was blank. My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside were photos of Damien’s children, Anastasia and Alexandre, playing in the garden—but the images had been taken at night. Their smiles were frozen in time, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

I looked around. Nobody was there. Ethan didn’t say a word, but I could feel him watching, calculating. My mind screamed, Is he behind this? But the truth was, I had no idea who to trust.

Kyra appeared in the hallway, perfectly composed, every step deliberate. “Good morning, Lyra,” she said, her voice smooth, almost too sweet. “Did you sleep well?”

I wanted to answer, to demand the truth, but her smile alone made my words stick in my throat. There was something in her eyes—something that didn’t belong to anyone who genuinely cared.

The day unfolded like a careful performance. Meals were silent, conversations measured. Damien tried to joke, to ease the tension, but even he looked uneasy, glancing over his shoulder as though expecting the walls themselves to betray a secret.

That night, the emails came again—more images, more questions. And then, a note: “You’re closer than you think.” I couldn’t tell if it was a threat, a warning, or… a test. Ethan didn’t react outwardly, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the tight line of his lips.

And as I lay in the cold, vast bedroom that was supposed to be mine, I realized that the mansion was no longer just a home. It was a labyrinth of secrets, a stage for obsessions, and I was trapped in the middle. Every glance, every gesture, every shadow could hide danger—or desire.

I had to survive. I had to understand. But most of all, I had to find out who was playing this game before it was too late—and whether Ethan was my captor, my protector, or something far more complicated.

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