---
CHAPTER — Morning in the Zyphrose Mansion
The first thing Dee noticed when she woke that morning was the faint smell of cinnamon drifting in from somewhere far beyond her room. It was warm and rich, mingled with the sharper aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the soft light filtering through the sheer curtains.
It had been weeks since she'd first stepped into Rayyan Zyphrose's world, and even now, the sheer size of the mansion felt unreal. She feeling unusual strange and some bad . Her room was bigger than her entire old apartment — the bed a vast cloud she sank into every night, the walls painted in a pale cream that caught the sunlight gently. A vase of fresh white lilies stood by the window, replaced every few days without fail. She didn't have to ask to know Haley Zyphrose was behind that.
Dee swung her legs out of bed, toes brushing against the thick Persian rug that muffled her steps. She padded over to the window, pushing the curtain aside to look at the sprawling garden below. Robert Zyphrose pride — perfectly trimmed hedges, the fountain in the center still glittering with last night's rain. She'd once caught him out there at dawn, still in his dressing gown, trimming a stubborn branch himself.
Downstairs, the kitchen was alive with quiet morning bustle. Haley stood by the counter in a silk robe, her hair swept up, humming softly to herself as she plated scrambled eggs. The way she moved — graceful yet precise — reminded Dee so much of the women in old films that she'd found herself staring more than once.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Haley said as soon as Dee appeared in the doorway. Her voice was warm, that practiced maternal tone that could melt away any lingering awkwardness. She some kind of wired Dee thought cause she's too sweet .whatever Dee says and went with usual.
"Morning," Dee replied, trying to smooth her hair down with one hand.
"Sit," Haley said gently, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island. "You look pale. Did you sleep enough?"
"I did," Dee said quickly, though it wasn't exactly true. Sleep still came in patches, and sometimes her dreams were too heavy to rest through.
Haley slid a plate toward her — eggs, toast, a little pile of sliced strawberries — and poured her a glass of fresh orange juice. "Eat. I don't want Rayyan complaining to me that you're skipping meals again."
Dee rolled her eyes and muttered, "He would complain."
From behind her, a familiar voice spoke. "I heard that."
She turned to find Rayyan leaning in the doorway, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was still slightly damp from a shower, a few strands falling over his forehead. He had that half-smirk that made her want to throw something at him.
"You always hear the wrong things," she said.
"And yet I never miss your sarcasm," he replied smoothly, walking over to pour himself coffee.
Haley glanced between them, her lips curving in amusement. "You two sound like an old married couple in the mornings."
Dee choked slightly on her juice. "We do not—"
Rayyan didn't miss the chance to pile on. "We kind of do," he said casually, taking a sip of coffee. "She nags. I ignore her. Classic."
Haley shook her head with a small laugh. "Honestly, it's refreshing to have someone who can give back what he dishes out. You've been too quiet without her, Rayyan."
Robert entered just then, the morning paper in one hand. "Too quiet? That's not a phrase I've ever associated with my son."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Rayyan said without missing a beat.
Robert gave Dee a brief nod. "Morning, young lady. How's the wing treating you? The heating's working fine?"
"Yes, thank you," Dee said politely. "It's more comfortable than I deserve."
"Deserve has nothing to do with it," Robert replied, his tone gentle but firm. "You're family here. And family is taken care of."
That word — family — still caught her off guard.
---
Over the days, life in the mansion fell into a strange rhythm. She clearly can't be at ease. She ..wanted to know the truth so she stop her thoughts maybe it's just her wild thinking.
Haley took it upon herself to see that Dee ate properly, often joining her for afternoon tea in the sunroom. They'd sit by the tall glass windows, the light spilling in golden ribbons, Haley asking questions about Dee's favorite flowers, favorite colors, subtly learning her likes and dislikes.
One afternoon, Haley had draped a shawl around Dee's shoulders when she'd noticed her shivering. "Cashmere," she'd said with a smile. "You keep it. You look better in it than I do." Dee hadn't known how to respond except with a quiet, "Thank you."
Robert's care was quieter, less direct. He'd show up at her door with books he thought she might like — everything from history to crime novels — and leave them without a word. Once, when she'd mentioned in passing that she missed the smell of rain-soaked soil, he'd arranged for the gardener to bring potted jasmine to her balcony.
And then there was Rayyan.
If Haley and Robert made her feel like a guest of honor, Rayyan made sure she didn't forget she was living in his space.
"Don't use my mug," he'd say when she reached for the black ceramic one.
"Why? Does it have magical powers?" she'd retort.
"Yes. It keeps my coffee safe from thieves."
She'd deliberately drink from it the next morning.
There were other small battles — over the thermostat ("It's freezing in here!" "It's called air conditioning, Dee."), over music volume in the shared lounge ("You have terrible taste." "Better than your depressing playlist."), even over the correct way to fold laundry ("That's not folding, that's… crumpling with purpose.").
But there were also moments when she'd catch him watching her quietly across the room, expression unreadable. Moments when his usual sharpness softened, if only for a second, before the teasing mask slipped back on.
---
One evening, Haley insisted they all have dinner together in the formal dining room. The chandelier bathed the table in warm light, silverware polished to a shine. Dee had tried to excuse herself — "I don't want to intrude"— but Haley wasn't having it.
"Nonsense," Haley said. "You live here. That means you eat here."
Robert raised his glass in her direction once they were all seated. "To new beginnings," he said simply.
Rayyan added under his breath, "And to not burning the toast tomorrow."
Dee kicked him under the table.
He didn't flinch, but his smirk widened.
---
One rainy afternoon, Dee found herself curled up on the couch in the library, a blanket over her legs, reading one of the books Robert had left. Rayyan walked in without knocking, holding two mugs of tea.
"You look like you belong here," he said, setting one mug down in front of her.
"I do live here now," she pointed out.
"Living somewhere and belonging are different things," he said quietly, before picking up a book himself and settling into the armchair across from her.
They didn't speak much that afternoon, the only sounds the patter of rain on the tall windows and the occasional turn of a page. But when she glanced up, she saw him watching her again — not with the teasing glint she was used to, but with something heavier.
---
The days continued to pass like this — some filled with warmth, others with harmless bickering. Haley and Robert became anchors of calm, Rayyan remained the unpredictable storm.
And Dee… she found herself caught somewhere in between, wondering how long she could stay before the world outside came calling agaim.
Days went by it's maybe one month she there and everything is okay . She got more curious about her past life . They love her so much. What was she like before she wanna know it all.
The Zyphrose mansion could have been mistaken for a resort—if resorts came with overprotective parents, a suspicious uncle, and a man who looked far too good leaning on balcony railings.
Days passed in a rhythm that felt almost too good to be real. Breakfasts in the glassy sunroom where Haley Zyphrose served her pancakes with the kind of smile you only see in commercials. Afternoon walks through gardens that smelled like a perfume shop had exploded. Even Robert Zyphrose, who looked like the type of man who could bankrupt a city just for fun, smiled warmly at her over dinner.
Too warmly.
Dee's ability was a secret. No one knew she could slip into thoughts and memories like fingers into silk gloves. And while the Zyphroses were sunshine on the outside, their minds were tangled forests.
Haley's thoughts were all about keeping her comfortable—choosing the right flowers for her room, planning her favorite desserts, making sure she smiled.
Robert's were… different. His memories flickered—boardrooms, coded conversations, a shadowy figure passing an envelope under a table. And Rayyan's uncle—ah, now that one's head was a vault lined with smoke. Dark corridors she couldn't fully see, just enough to make her gut twist.
It was all too perfect, too sweet. And Dee didn't trust perfect.
She doesn't seems to join these puzzles so she search up in her phone .
What If someone is to sweet to you ?
And get the answer : when someone is to sweet to you without any reason it's will be two possiblities that either she want something maybe they are your enemies or they will gain something from it .
--
One evening, she found herself on the rooftop garden, legs dangling over the low wall, watching clouds burn pink in the setting sun. Rayyan came up behind her, leaning on the wall with a lazy smirk.
"You'll fall if you keep sitting like that," he said.
"I'll fly before I fall," she replied without looking at him.
His smile tilted, but she caught the way his eyes flickered over her face. "What's going on in that overthinking head of yours?"
"I still can't remember the past," she admitted, twisting a loose thread from her sleeve. "It's like… there's a locked door in my head and I don't have the key."
Rayyan's voice was warm but firm. "It's okay. You don't have to remember that."
Her brows drew together. "Why not? What if it's important?"
"Some things aren't worth remembering," he said quietly, and looked away at the horizon as if that ended the conversation.
---
It was raining two days later, the kind of soft, silver rain that painted the gardens in mist. Dee sat curled on the balcony's cushioned bench on the second floor, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She didn't step into it, just watched.
Rayyan appeared, sliding the door open with a faint creak. He sat beside her, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne—woody and sharp—reached her.
"You're not getting soaked?" he teased, glancing at the untouched rain.
"I don't know," she said, staring at the drops streaking the railing. "I just… don't want to."
His brow furrowed. "You love rain. You even got yourself soaked in Vienna when I took you out, remember? Trying to help you get your memories back… make new ones."
She glanced at him. "So what about you? Do you love rain?"
"I used to hate it," he said after a pause, eyes shadowed. "Especially when you had that accident—"
He stopped.
Dee's head snapped toward him. "What accident?"
Rayyan shook his head lightly. "Nothing. Forget it."
"What? No. Tell me."
"Dee—"
"I wanna know now. If you don't tell me…" she leaned closer, eyes narrowing, "I'll run away."
His lips quirked. "Run away?"
"Yes. Very far. And I'll send you postcards that just say 'Your loss'."
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You had an accident because you're the Dee—the queen of racing. You were competing with some cocky bastards, they played dirty, and you crashed. You were covered in blood. And then…" His jaw tightened. "Then I hated it all."
And just like that, he pushed back his chair and walked inside, leaving her with the rain and a racing heart.
---
Her fingers tightened around her mug. She tried to remember—flashes of screeching tires, the roar of engines, metal twisting—but the images dissolved like wet paint.
Nothing came.
Only the sound of rain, and the ghost of his voice saying her name.
---