The hallway swallowed Rhea the moment she stepped out of the west hall. The air felt colder, sharper, as if Luca Moretti's voice still lingered on her skin.
She was never as innocent as she looked.
The sentence echoed in her skull like a slammed door. Her heartbeat stuttered, then raced. She pressed a hand against her ribs to steady it—but nothing steadied.
Serena.
Not innocent?
What did he mean?
What could he possibly know?
Rhea forced her legs to move. One step, then another. The marble floor clicked under her boots, the sound too loud, exposing her nerves.
Someone turned the corner ahead.
The woman in gray, the same one who guided her earlier stopped abruptly.
"You're pale," she said. "Is everything alright?"
Rhea swallowed the instinct to scream NO.
"Just tired from the trip."
The woman's gaze dipped to Rhea's trembling hand. "Mr. Moretti can be… intense on first meetings. You'll adjust."
"I'm sure I will," Rhea said, though her throat tightened.
The woman nodded once, respectful but distant. "If you need anything, I'll be in the west corridor."
She walked away.
Rhea breathed again.
Only then did she notice her palms sweating.
She didn't fear Luca.
She hated him.
But fear? No.
She refused to give him that.
Yet her body told a different story—every nerve alert, every breath uneven.
Rhea moved toward the east wing, scanning every shadow. The mansion was too quiet, like it was holding its breath with her.
A soft click.
A door somewhere behind her.
A footstep.
She turned sharply.
Nothing.
Her pulse jumped anyway. "Calm down," she muttered. "You're not a child in a haunted house."
But she felt watched.
The studio room was enormous, a cathedral of glass and stone. The north-facing windows framed the lake, black and still under the storm-heavy sky. Paints, brushes, canvases, easels—all arranged neatly, too neatly.
Someone had prepared this room with intention.
Rhea set her portfolio down. The silence pressed against her ears.
She crossed to the window, touching the cold glass.
And then…
Behind her…
A soft exhale.
She spun around.
Luca stood in the doorway.
Her stomach dropped.
"How did you…I didn't hear you come in."
"I didn't knock."
Obviously.
He stepped inside, every movement controlled. Too controlled. The kind of control only a man with too much on his conscience learned to master.
His eyes roamed the studio, then found her again.
"You left quickly," he said.
"I thought our meeting was finished."
He studied her with a slow, deliberate lift of his brow. "Was it?"
"I assumed so."
"Hm."
He stepped closer.
The air tightened.
Rhea forced herself to meet his gaze.
"Is something wrong, Miss Verdan?" he asked quietly.
"No."
"Your hands say otherwise."
She looked down her fingers still trembled.
She curled them into fists. "I'm just overwhelmed."
"That's normal," Luca said. "Most people are… the first time they stand in front of this room."
She frowned. "It's just a studio."
"No," he said softly. "It isn't."
Something in his voice made her chest tighten.
Before she could question him, he reached for the light switch.
The overhead lights dimmed, leaving only the muted glow of the lake behind her. Shadows stretched across his face, making him look carved from obsidian.
Then he pointed to the far corner.
"Look."
Rhea followed his direction.
A covered canvas leaned against the wall—tall, wide, draped with a black cloth.
"What is that?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately. His jaw worked, as if he debated telling her.
Then: "Serena's last portrait."
Her breath froze.
"What?"
"Before she died," Luca said, "she asked an artist an old friend of hers to begin it. She never had the chance to finish posing."
Rhea's fingers tingled.
He moved closer to the canvas. "I had it brought here today. It seemed appropriate… for your reference."
Her heart hammered.
She didn't know if she was ready to see Serena rendered by someone else's hand.
Luca's eyes softened. "Would you like to see it?"
Rhea nodded, though fear flickered in her lungs.
He reached for the cloth.
Pulled it down.
And Rhea's world tilted.
Serena stared back at her—golden hair, soft smile, eyes shining with a secret she never shared. But the painting was unfinished: the hands missing, the edges blurred, the background raw.
Still…
It looked alive.
Rhea stepped forward. Her throat tightened painfully. "She looks…"
"Real?" Luca murmured.
"Different," Rhea whispered.
"How so?"
"She looks…"
She struggled for the word.
"—afraid I think."
Luca's expression changed so subtly Rhea almost missed it. A flicker. A shadow.
"Fear isn't in the portrait," he said. "It's in your memory of her."
Rhea swallowed hard. "Maybe."
"No." Luca walked past her, close enough that she felt the brush of his sleeve. "You see what you want to see. Everyone does."
She turned to him. "And you? What do you see?"
He didn't blink. "The woman I failed to save."
The honesty cut deeper than she expected. Her voice softened despite herself. "Luca…"
His eyes sharpened instantly. "Don't."
"What?"
"Don't use my name," he said. "Not yet."
Her stomach twisted.
A warning.
Or a boundary.
She didn't know which.
He stepped back, giving her space. "You should rest. Tomorrow, you begin."
Rhea nodded. She gathered her things, trying to steady her breathing.
Just as she reached the door, Luca spoke again.
"Miss Verdan."
She turned.
His eyes pinned her in place.
"When you paint her…"
He paused, voice low, controlled almost broken.
"…don't paint the Serena you knew. Paint the Serena she really was."
Rhea felt the floor shift beneath her.
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
Luca didn't answer. He looked past her, as if speaking to a ghost.
"Goodnight," he said.
Dismissed.
Rhea left the studio.
Her mind raced.
What was he hiding?
What version of Serena was he talking about?
And why did he seem… angry?
Sad?
Haunted?
She walked quickly through the east wing corridor until she heard footsteps behind her. Fast. Soft. Close.
She stopped.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
She turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
The corridor was empty.
Her heart thudded painfully.
She wasn't imagining this.
Someone was following her.
She started walking again, faster this time.
Another footstep.
She whipped around and froze.
A figure stood at the end of the hallway.
Tall.
Slim.
Still.
Face hidden by shadow.
"Who are you?" Rhea demanded.
No reply.
She took a step back.
The figure didn't move.
Another step back.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Rhea's breath caught.
She spun
And ran straight into a chest.
A hand closed around her wrist.
She gasped.
"Easy," Luca's voice murmured.
She jerked away, breath shallow. "Don't…don't sneak up on me like that."
"You were shaking."
"Because someone was in the hallway!"
Luca's expression tightened. "Who?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "Someone was just…standing there."
He didn't question her further. Instead, he stepped past her, scanning the empty corridor with a predator's stillness.
After a long moment, he turned back.
"No one is here now."
"I swear…"
"I believe you, he cut her shut before she could finish."
The certainty in his voice surprised her.
"You should go to your room," he said. "This house is… not always kind at night."
"What does that even mean?" Rhea whispered.
He held her gaze.
"Exactly what it sounds like."
A chill ran down her spine.
She backed away slowly, her heart pounding.
Luca didn't move. He simply watched her walk down the hall his expression unreadable, his silhouette framed by darkness.
She reached her door, hands trembling as she unlocked it.
Before she stepped inside, she glanced back.
Luca was gone.
Rhea slammed the door shut and locked it. Hard.
Her breath came fast, too fast.
She pressed her back against the door, sliding down until she crouched on the floor.
"What did I walk into?" she whispered.
Her hands shook. She curled them into fists.
She needed to calm down, to think. She paced the room, rubbing her arms.
Someone had been watching her.
In the hallway.
In the studio.
Maybe longer.
Was it Luca?
A staff member?
Someone else entirely?
She didn't know.
And that terrified her.
She went to the mirror above the dresser. Her reflection looked fragile wide eyes, flushed cheeks, hair messy from the rush.
"Get it together," she told herself. "You came here for answers."
She breathed deeply.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Her heartbeat slowed.
She walked to the window. The lake glimmered under moonlight, cold and distant. The mansion lights reflected off its surface like fractured stars.
She touched the glass, closing her eyes.
Serena.
What happened to you?
A soft sound broke the silence.
Tap.
Rhea opened her eyes.
Tap… tap…
Something hit her window from outside.
She stepped closer cautiously.
Lightning flashed.
A silhouette moved near the treeline too close to the mansion, too still to be an animal.
Her mouth dried.
"What the hell…?"
A third tap.
And then she noticed something.
A small, white object stuck to the outside of the window.
A paper.
Folded.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She reached for the latch, opened the window slightly, grabbed the note, and shut it again quickly.
Hands trembling, she unfolded it.
Three words were scribbled in rushed handwriting:
"HE KNOWS YOU."
Rhea's blood ran cold.
The paper slipped from her fingers.
A fourth word was written on the back:
"RUN."
Lightning split the sky.
The note fluttered at her feet.
Rhea stared at it—frozen.
Then…
A knock sounded at her door.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Another knock.
"Miss Verdan," Luca's voice called quietly through the wood.
"We need to talk."
Rhea backed away from the door, pulse roaring in her ears.
Because she suddenly realized!!!
The person in the hallway earlier…
The figure outside her window…
The note…
None of it terrified her as much as the possibility that Luca Moretti was standing on the other side of that door…
Just right after someone warned her that he knew.