Chapter 2 — The Mansion’s Shadow

Lila

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the silence. Not the peaceful kind that comes with morning, but a heavy, unnatural stillness that pressed against my ears, wrapping around the room like a shroud. I sat up slowly, the weight of the thick quilt sliding off my shoulders, and rubbed at my arms to ward off the lingering chill. It wasn’t just the quiet that made my skin prickle—it was the emptiness, the feeling that I was being watched even when I was alone.

The storm must have passed, but the oppressive atmosphere of the mansion lingered. The room I’d slept in was enormous, the kind of luxury that felt suffocating rather than comforting. A four-poster bed loomed over me, its dark velvet drapes swallowing the weak light filtering through heavy curtains. An antique dresser and an ornate mirror stood against the wall, both gleaming faintly in the dim light. Everything was pristine, polished, perfect—and lifeless. It was the kind of perfection that didn’t invite you to stay, just to admire and move on.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the cold, polished wood floor bit at my bare feet. My damp sneakers sat neatly by the door where I’d left them, but their laces were tied in perfect bows I hadn’t made. I frowned, unease rippling through me as I slipped them on. My mud-streaked jeans and hoodie—still carrying the faint scent of rain—seemed like an insult to the museum-like decor around me.

Then it hit me like a jolt. My phone. My hand shot to my pocket before I remembered it wasn’t there. Ace had taken it. My stomach tightened as I recalled the way his calm, assured hand had reached out last night, brushing mine as he claimed something of mine without hesitation. “To dry it,” he’d said, his tone so measured it made my skin crawl. But there had been something else in his gaze, something assessing and cold, like the stern faces in the portraits that lined the hallways.

I stood and crossed the room, my hand hesitating on the heavy brass doorknob. I needed answers, and more than that, I needed my phone. The door creaked faintly as I stepped into the hallway, the muted scent of aged wood and something faintly floral catching at my senses. The silence out here was thicker, heavier. My own footsteps against the polished wood seemed too loud, as though they were being listened to.

The wallpaper was dark and embossed with ivy patterns, the designs twisting over each other like they were alive. My eyes darted to the portraits lining the walls—stern men and women with expressions so intense it felt like they might speak at any moment. Their painted eyes followed me as I moved, their cold gazes sinking into my skin. I clenched my fists to ground myself, my nails digging into my palms. I hated it here. Every inch of this place felt like it was designed to unnerve, to remind you that you didn’t belong.

I walked cautiously, my eyes scanning every detail, committing the layout to memory. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, even though the hallways were empty. The stillness was deafening, the air too cold. As I descended a grand staircase I hadn’t realized I’d reached, the faint creak of a floorboard beneath my weight made me freeze. My breath caught, and I turned, half expecting one of the painted faces to have stepped out of its frame.

“Good morning.”

I spun so fast my heart felt like it might leap out of my chest. The voice had come from behind me, calm and deliberate, yet far too close. Ace stood at the foot of the staircase, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. His dark hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his piercing blue eyes fixed on me with a sharpness that made the air feel even colder.

Immaculate. Composed. Controlled. He was all of it, just like the house. But there was something in the way he stood, too still, too poised, that made me feel like I’d just wandered into the lion’s den.

I straightened and gripped the banister, my knuckles whitening. “Where’s my phone?”

A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good morning to you, too,” he said, his voice maddeningly even.

“I’m serious,” I snapped, the frustration bubbling up before I could stop it. “Where is it?”

“It’s being taken care of.” His tone was smooth, dismissive, and it only made my irritation spike further. He spoke as if that was supposed to satisfy me, as if I wasn’t owed more than his cryptic reassurances.

“That’s not an answer,” I said, descending the stairs, my sneakers scuffing faintly against the wood. “What does that even mean?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet. “You’re persistent,” he said, his voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “An admirable quality. Though perhaps not always... wisely applied.”

I crossed my arms, meeting his gaze despite the way it made my pulse quicken. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “that you’re safe here. For now. But pushing boundaries is... unwise.”

The words sent a chill racing down my spine, but I refused to let it show. “Boundaries? You’ve got a lot of nerve throwing that word around. You took my phone without asking and—what? I’m supposed to trust you?”

Something flickered in his expression—too brief to pin down—before he took a deliberate step closer. His frame towered over mine, his presence as overwhelming as the mansion itself. “It’s not safe for you to leave,” he said quietly, his tone sharp enough to cut through any argument I might have had.

I stepped back reflexively, the polished floor cool against my heels. “What does that mean? Are you keeping me here?”

His expression didn’t change, but the air between us seemed to grow heavier. “Not keeping you here,” he said. “Protecting you.”

The laugh that escaped me was bitter and humorless. “Protecting me? From what, exactly?”

His jaw tightened, the faintest crack in his composure. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” I shot back, my voice rising. “Because right now, the only threat I see is the guy who won’t let me leave.”

He exhaled slowly, his gaze steady and disconcertingly intense. “You don’t understand what you’ve walked into.”

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “You’re right—I don’t. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

For a moment, I thought he might actually lose his composure. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes flicked past me, as if searching for something just out of reach. But then the mask slammed back into place. He stepped aside, gesturing toward an open doorway on the left.

“You should eat,” he said flatly. “It’s going to be a long day.”

I hesitated, my mind whirling, but the gnawing ache in my stomach won out. With a final glare, I brushed past him into the dining room.

The table was impossibly long, its polished wood gleaming like glass. Only one place was set, with a single plate, a steaming mug, and a basket of pastries arranged neatly at the head. The scent of fresh coffee filled the air, warm and inviting, but it didn’t reach the cold knot of unease twisting in my gut. Beyond the massive windows, the cliffs loomed over the violent sea, the waves crashing endlessly against the rocks below.

Ace hadn’t followed me, but his presence lingered, heavy and inescapable. As I sat down and picked at the food, my eyes wandered to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room, the faint reflection of myself in the polished surface of the table. Somewhere, a floorboard creaked faintly, and the sound sent a shiver down my spine.

I was alone. But I didn’t feel alone.

And no matter how good the coffee smelled, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was trapped in a gilded cage, every move watched, every moment controlled.

I needed to find my phone. And I needed to get out of here.