By the third day, Emily stopped trying to count the hours.
There was no point. The clocks in the mansion all seemed slightly off — one slow, one fast, one stuck at midnight. It felt deliberate, like the house itself didn't want her to know how much time had passed.
Lucas hadn't said much to her since that moment by the window. He'd apologized once, in his quiet, clipped way — something about "precaution" and "security measures." Then he disappeared into his office, taking his phone and a dozen unreadable expressions with him.
Now Emily sat in one of the mansion's endless sitting rooms, curled up on a velvet couch that probably cost more than her entire apartment. She'd tried to read, but the words blurred after a few minutes. The silence was too heavy, pressing on her like a weight.
Her reflection stared back at her from the glass coffee table — pale skin, tired eyes, hair tied in a messy knot. She didn't recognize herself anymore.
A soft creak echoed behind her.
She turned. Nothing.
The guards didn't move from their posts. The hallway beyond was empty. Still, her pulse didn't slow down.
She wasn't alone. She could feel it.
The sensation had started that morning — the prickle at the back of her neck, the faint shift in air whenever she walked through a doorway. Someone was watching her. Not Lucas. Someone else.
She stood up, forcing herself to move, to think.
"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath. "You're just tired."
Still, she found herself walking toward the hallway that led to Lucas's office.
She didn't plan to knock. She just wanted… to see him. To remind herself that there was at least one person here who wasn't a ghost behind a door.
As she approached, she heard voices — muffled but sharp.
Lucas's low, steady tone. Another man's voice, tense.
"…it's too risky. She shouldn't be here."
"She's not leaving."
"You're crossing a line, Vale."
"I crossed it the second she got out of that car."
Emily froze.
They were talking about her.
She took a quiet step back, heart racing. She shouldn't listen — she knew that — but something in Lucas's tone made her stay.
The other man lowered his voice. "What if she talks?"
"She won't."
"You sure about that?"
A pause. Then Lucas's reply, softer — almost tired.
"I'll make sure."
Emily's throat went dry. She didn't wait to hear the rest.
She turned and slipped down another hall, footsteps light against the marble floor. She didn't know where she was going, only that she couldn't breathe. The mansion suddenly felt smaller, closer, like it was closing in around her.
She found herself near the back staircase — the one that led down to the servants' quarters. She hadn't gone there before. The area was dimly lit, lined with old portraits and the faint hum of hidden generators.
That's when she saw it.
A small, dark lens embedded in the corner of the ceiling.
A camera.
Her stomach dropped.
There was another one across the hallway. And another.
Every room she'd walked through that day flashed through her mind — the library, the kitchen, even her bedroom. How many had these little black eyes hidden in the corners?
Her pulse thundered.
She spun around — and collided with someone.
Strong hands caught her before she fell.
Lucas.
His expression was unreadable, but his grip tightened just enough to keep her still. "You shouldn't be down here," he said quietly.
She stared at him, anger and fear rising together. "There are cameras everywhere. You're watching me?"
"Not me," he said. "Security."
"That's the same thing!"
"It's for your safety."
She laughed — harsh, incredulous. "Do you even hear yourself? You have me locked in your house, tracked like a criminal, and I'm supposed to believe this is about safety?"
Lucas's jaw flexed. "If I wanted to hurt you, Emily, you'd know."
That shut her up — but only for a second.
Because the way he said it wasn't a threat. It was a truth.
Quiet. Unflinching. Dangerous.
He let her go slowly, his hand brushing her arm before he stepped back. "You're being watched because someone's already tried to find you," he said. "Yesterday, a car was spotted near the back entrance. No plates. No trace."
Her breath caught. "You think they were after me?"
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
For a moment, the world felt like it tilted. Emily tried to speak but nothing came out.
The only sound was the faint hum of the lights — and the soft echo of his voice when he added,
"You were right to be afraid."
Something in his tone changed then — the sharp edges softening. He looked at her the way one might look at something fragile, something he didn't want to admit he cared about.
"Emily," he said, quieter now. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
She didn't know whether to believe him or run.
Her chest ached from holding her breath.
She wanted to scream, to fight, to demand answers — but the truth was, the fear beneath her anger was real. Whoever had been watching from the gates wasn't just a coincidence.
Lucas studied her for a long moment before stepping back. "Go upstairs," he said finally. "And stay there tonight."
"What about you?" she asked, her voice smaller than she meant it to be.
He hesitated. "I'll take care of whoever's watching."
Then he turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving her standing beneath the blinking red light of a hidden camera — alone, but not unseen.
---
That night, Emily sat on her bed, staring at the dark ceiling.
The house was silent again, but it didn't feel empty anymore. It felt alive.
Every flicker of shadow, every whisper of wind sounded like breathing.
When she finally turned off the lamp, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye.
For just a second — only a second — she could've sworn the mirror flickered.
As if someone was watching her from the other side.