The Puppet Master

Chapter 3: The Puppet Master

The mansion felt colder than ever that evening. Shadows stretched across the marble floors, twisting unnaturally in the flickering candlelight. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching—not just Ethan, not just Kyra, but something darker, unseen.

Then the emails arrived again. This time, the subject line read: “Do you see now?” The attachments were worse than before. Photos of the mansion interiors, Damien’s family, even the garden—but all taken from angles no one could possibly access without permission. And the last image… me, asleep in my own room, the photograph perfectly framed. My blood ran cold.

I didn’t notice Ethan enter at first. He leaned against the doorway, expression unreadable, and I instinctively stiffened.

“You’ve received them again,” he said, his voice low, controlled. “Who sent them?”

“I… I don’t know,” I whispered. My hands shook as I showed him the images.

He didn’t touch me, didn’t even look at me fully. Instead, his eyes narrowed, scanning the files like a predator calculating its next strike. “Someone’s playing a dangerous game. And I intend to find out who.”

Kyra appeared behind him, serene as ever. “Perhaps it’s nothing,” she suggested, her tone sugar-coated. “Just the worries of a new bride adjusting to a new life…” But the gleam in her eyes betrayed amusement. She knew more than she let on.

That night, I stayed awake, heart pounding, thinking about the photos. And then I remembered the name whispered to me in the halls of the mansion, half-heard through the cold air: Mathéo.

He wasn’t just a shadow behind the emails. He was a force, moving pieces, manipulating events. Damien had mentioned him once in passing, calling him a “dangerous player in the wrong circles,” but I had brushed it off. Now, I realized he wasn’t a rumor. He was real—and he was coming closer.

The following morning, a package arrived at the mansion, unmarked and heavy. Inside, a note in bold, precise handwriting: “You can’t hide forever. I see everything.” Alongside it… another photo, this time of Ethan. Standing alone in the study, unaware that someone was watching him.

I felt a chill. Mathéo wasn’t just targeting me. He was testing, threatening, infiltrating every corner of our lives. And the terrifying part? There was no way to know what he would do next, or who he would strike first.

Ethan finally spoke, his voice a mixture of anger and concern. “Lyra… stay close. No one is safe until we find him.”

And I realized then: the game had changed. I wasn’t just trapped in a mansion. I was trapped in Mathéo’s web, and every secret, every betrayal, every desire could be turned against me… or against Ethan.

The lines between predator and prey blurred, and I understood the cruel truth: in this house of power, obsession, and lies, the real enemy was someone no one expected—and everyone feared.

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