The mansion did not sleep.
I realized that sometime after midnight, when the silence became too deliberate to be natural. Not the peaceful quiet of rest but the watchful stillness of a place that remembered everything.
I lay awake on the unfamiliar bed, my wedding dress finally replaced by a silk nightgown I did not remember unpacking. The sheets smelled faintly of something masculine clean, sharp, restrained.
Him.
I turned onto my side, clutching the pillow to my chest.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face at the altar.
Not smiling.
Not surprised.
As if he had been waiting for me.
I exhaled shakily and sat up, unable to bear the stillness any longer. The clock on the bedside table read 1:17 a.m.
He had said rest.
But how could I, when every wall in this house felt like it was listening?
I slipped out of bed and padded toward the door. The hallway outside was dimly lit, long shadows stretching across polished floors. My footsteps echoed softly, each sound too loud in the quiet.
I didn't know where I was going.
Only that staying in that room alone with my thoughts was unbearable.
As I walked, memories crept in uninvited.
My fiance used to pace when he couldn't sleep. He said movement helped him think. I used to tease him about it, calling him restless, broken in the best way.
The man I married tonight didn't pace.
He stood still.
Like a predator.
I stopped abruptly.
At the end of the hallway, a door stood slightly a jar.
Light spilled out from within.
I hesitated.
Curiosity warred with fear but curiosity won.
I pushed the door open slowly.
A study.
Dark wood shelves lined the walls, filled with books and neatly organized files. A large desk sat near the window, illuminated by a single lamp.
And behind that desk
He stood with his back to me.
Jacket off. Sleeves rolled up. Tie loosened.
For a moment, the sight of him like that unguarded, human stole my breath.
He spoke without turning.
"You shouldn't wander at night."
I froze.
"How did you know it was me?" I asked softly.
"This house doesn't have many ghosts," he replied. "And none of them walk like you."
I swallowed. "I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I."
That surprised me.
He turned then, slowly, his gaze settling on me with unsettling intensity.
"Do you always watch your wife roam the house?" I asked.
"Yes."
The bluntness of his answer sent a shiver through me.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.
"I didn't come to"
"Sit," he repeated, his voice calm but unmistakably commanding.
My body betrayed me before my mind could object. I sat.
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes moving over my face as if memorizing it.
"You're frightened," he said.
"That's not your concern."
"It is now."
I scoffed softly. "You married me for convenience. Don't pretend this is care."
His lips curved slightly. "Care is a luxury. Protection is not."
"Protection from what?" I demanded.
"From you?"
A flicker of something dark crossed his eyes.
"From the truth."
I leaned forward. "Then tell me."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a thin folder.
My heart skipped painfully.
"That's"
"Your past," he said, sliding it across the desk. "Every version of it."
I stared at the folder without touching it. "Why do you have this?"
"Because knowing you was a requirement."
"For what?"
"For marrying you."
My hands trembled as I opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Old ones.
Me, laughing outside a cafe. Me, holding hands with him with my fiance. Me, crying at the airport the day he disappeared.
My throat closed.
"You've been watching me," I whispered.
"For years."
The word echoed.
"Why?" I asked hoarsely.
He leaned back in his chair. "Because your disappearance would have been… inconvenient."
I snapped my head up. "Disappearance?"
"You were never meant to be collateral," he said calmly.
Cold fear crept up my spine. "Collateral to what?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out and tapped one of the photos the one of my fiance and me together.
"Do you know what your greatest mistake was?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head.
"You loved someone without understanding the world he lived in."
Anger flared. "You don't know anything about our love."
"I know everything," he said. "Including the day he decided to lie to you."
My chest tightened. "He would never"
"He did," the man interrupted. "To protect you."
Tears burned my eyes. "Protect me from what?"
His gaze locked onto mine.
"From me."
Silence crashed down between us.
My heart pounded violently. "You're saying… you're the reason he disappeared."
"I'm saying," he corrected, "that he made a choice. And choices have consequences."
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You're sick."
"Sit down," he said sharply.
"No."
In a heartbeat, he was in front of me.
I hadn't seen him move.
His hand slammed against the desk beside me, trapping me between his body and the wood.
"You are safe," he said lowly. "But do not confuse safety with freedom."
I trembled, fury and fear tangling inside me. "Get away from me."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"You are my wife," he said. "And I will not let you destroy yourself chasing ghosts."
Tears spilled down my cheeks despite my resolve.
"I loved him," I whispered brokenly.
His expression hardened.
"I know," he said. "That's why I let him live."
My breath hitched violently.
"What?"
He straightened, stepping back as if nothing had happened.
"You should return to your room," he said coolly. "Tomorrow will be… difficult."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. "You just said"
"I said enough."
I backed away slowly, my legs unsteady.
At the door, I turned back one last time.
"What do I call you?" I asked bitterly. "Husband doesn't fit."
His eyes darkened.
"Call me by his name," he said quietly. "It hurts less that way."
Then the light went out.