The sound still echoed in his head. That soft click upstairs, like a door closing.
Adrian sat frozen at the kitchen table, his hand flat on a stack of bills he couldn't feel anymore. His ears strained for movement—footsteps, breathing, anything.
Nothing. Only the steady hum of the fridge and the faint drip from the pipes.
He whispered to the empty air, "You heard that, didn't you?"
The house creaked in reply, long and low.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's what I thought."
He stood, walked to the bottom of the staircase, and looked up into the darkness. The upstairs hallway stretched like a throat. He gripped the railing.
"Not tonight," he said softly. "You want to haunt me? Get in line."
He turned back, but the smell caught him—stronger now. Not mildew, not damp wood. Richer. Heavier. Like the aftertaste of rot hidden beneath perfume.
He pressed his fist to his mouth. "God, it smells like…"
His words broke. He squeezed his eyes shut, and suddenly he wasn't in the ruined house anymore.
He was standing in his old living room. Bright chandeliers. White marble floors. A fire crackling in the gold-trimmed fireplace.
And her laughter.
"Adrian," his wife had said, leaning against the marble bar. "You worry too much."
He remembered the way her diamonds sparkled, the way her glass of wine tilted lazily in her manicured hand.
"Do I?" he'd asked, loosening his tie. "The firm is bleeding money. I can't keep pretending it's fine."
She had smirked. "Darling, we always land on our feet. You're Adrian Cole. Men like you don't fall."
He remembered the taste of that lie. Bitter and sweet all at once.
Back in the kitchen, Adrian opened his eyes and laughed without humor. "Guess what, darling. Men like me fall hard."
The house seemed to lean closer, listening.
He pushed away from the table and wandered into the living room. The carpet was threadbare, but he traced the air with his hand, as though the old furniture still sat there—the Italian leather sofa, the Persian rug, the antique mirror worth more than most cars.
"Remember the mirror?" he asked the walls. "You hated it. Said it made the room too cold. Said it reflected every flaw."
He stared at the empty wall where it had once hung. "Funny. I kind of liked it. At least the mirror never lied."
The memory shifted. His daughter's footsteps racing down the marble stairs. Her hair bouncing, her laugh shrill with joy.
"Daddy! Daddy, watch this!"
She had twirled, almost slipping on the polished floor. His heart had leapt, but he had smiled anyway. "You're going to break your neck, Ella."
"I'm a ballerina!" she had declared, arms outstretched.
Now the silence echoed, heavier than the creaks of the house.
Adrian pressed his palms to his eyes. "Don't, Adrian. Don't go there."
But the house wouldn't let him stop.
The betrayal came next. The night he'd found out. His business partner's hand sliding into the till. His wife's hand sliding into another man's.
He remembered storming into the bedroom, voice raw. "How long?"
She hadn't even flinched. Just looked up from her vanity mirror, lipstick in hand. "Does it matter?"
His chest had burned. "Everything I built. Everything I gave you. And this is what you—"
"Spare me the speech, Adrian," she had cut in coldly. "The empire was crumbling before I stepped out. Don't blame me for what you couldn't hold together."
He staggered now in the ruined living room, gripping the wall. "You tore me apart," he whispered.
The house groaned above, a long stretch of wood that sounded almost like a laugh.
Adrian's head snapped up. "Don't you dare." His voice cracked. "Don't you dare laugh at me."
He stumbled back toward the kitchen, his hands dragging across the faded wallpaper.
"Do you know who I was?" he demanded of the house, of the silence, of himself. "Do you?"
He slammed his fist against the wall. Dust rained down.
"I was Adrian Cole! People shook my hand and smiled like I was God. Bankers, lawyers, politicians—they needed me. I built towers. I signed checks that made other men rich. I had…"
His voice faltered. He looked at the stack of bills. "…I had everything."
The silence pressed close, waiting.
Adrian sagged into the kitchen chair again, his voice softer now. "And then it all went to hell."
The fridge hummed. The drip upstairs slowed.
Adrian poured himself another cup of coffee, even though his stomach churned. He lifted the mug to his lips.
"You think I don't remember?" he whispered. "I remember it all. The cars, the parties, the way people looked at me. Like I was untouchable."
He drank, bitter liquid burning down his throat. "And then the whispers started. Rumors. Investigations. Betrayals stacked higher than the bills on this table. And now…" He set the cup down. "Now I've got mildew, rot, and the smell of something dead in my walls."
His laugh was low, broken.
But the memories weren't done. They kept pressing forward, dragging him back.
He saw his daughter again. Ella. Her face pale, her eyes wide in fear. The accident. The screech of tires. The silence after.
"No," Adrian whispered, gripping his head. "Not that. Not tonight."
But the smell pushed harder, filling his lungs. His eyes blurred, and he saw her ghost running down the ruined staircase, twirling like she had on marble.
"I'm a ballerina!"
"Stop," Adrian begged. "Please."
The house groaned again, the pipes hissed, and he swore he heard her laugh fade into the dripping.
His shoulders slumped. He dragged in a shaky breath and spoke to the empty kitchen.
"You win. You always win. You take the memories and shove them in my face until I choke on them."
Silence.
Adrian wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Fine. Bring it on. Remind me of everything I lost. Remind me of the man I'll never be again."
He looked at the stack of bills one last time.
"But you know what?" he whispered. "Maybe I'm not done yet."
The house creaked, sharp and sudden, as if mocking him.
He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, laugh while you can. Because I remember more than you think. And one day, I'll crawl out of this hole."
He lifted the mug in a mock toast to the shadows.
"To Adrian Cole. The man who had everything. And the man who has nothing left to lose."
The pipes groaned. Upstairs, something scraped lightly across the floor.
Adrian froze.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Or maybe I'm not as alone as I thought."