Pieces of the Truth

Yiran's pulse hammered in her ears.

Lu Zeyan's smirk lingered, his gaze still unreadable.

But finally—finally—he spoke.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this soon."

Yiran's fingers curled against her sides. "Then when?"

He exhaled, tapping his fingers lightly against the desk. Thinking. Choosing his words.

"After you had settled in," he said smoothly. "After you understood things better."

Yiran's chest tightened. "Understood what?"

Lu Zeyan tilted his head slightly. "The way this house works."

Her stomach twisted.

This house.

Not our house.

Not the Lu family's estate.

This house.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep her voice even. "You're talking like the place has a will of its own."

Lu Zeyan smirked. "Doesn't it?"

Yiran's fingers twitched.

Enough.

Her voice sharpened. "What was that thing?"

This time, Lu Zeyan didn't answer immediately.

He just studied her.

Then, finally—

"It depends."

Her stomach clenched. "On what?"

His gaze darkened slightly.

"On whether you believe in ghosts."

Yiran's breath hitched.

The room suddenly felt colder.

Lu Zeyan leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering just a fraction.

"Or if you believe in something worse."

A slow chill crawled down Yiran's spine.

Her throat was dry, but she forced the words out. "And which one is it?"

A beat of silence.

Then—

Lu Zeyan smiled.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Yiran's skin prickled.

Something about the way he said it—

Like it was a promise.

Like it was already too late.

And then—

Just as she thought the conversation was over—

Lu Zeyan's voice turned quiet.

"You should be more careful."

Her breath stalled.

And then—the final blow.

"It likes you."

Yiran's breath stayed even.

Steady.

But inside—her stomach twisted.

It likes you.

The words curled in her mind, heavy, clinging to the edges of her thoughts like something she couldn't shake off.

She forced herself to meet Lu Zeyan's gaze.

"What does that mean?"

His expression didn't change.

He didn't smirk this time.

Didn't tease.

Didn't soften.

He just… watched her.

Like he was waiting.

Like he wanted to see how she would react.

Yiran inhaled slowly, trying to push down the unease creeping into her chest.

"Why do I feel like you already know the answer?" she murmured.

Lu Zeyan leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the desk.

"Would it make a difference if I told you?"

Yiran's fingers twitched.

"Yes."

A small smirk flickered at his lips. "Would it?"

The way he said it—

Like knowing the truth wouldn't change what was already happening.

Like it had already chosen her.

A slow chill ran down her spine.

Enough.

She exhaled, forcing herself to stand straighter.

"I'm not playing this game with you."

Lu Zeyan chuckled softly, but there was no real amusement in it.

Then—

Just as she turned toward the door—

His voice dropped.

Quiet.

Certain.

"You'll dream about it tonight."

Yiran froze.

A slow, sickening weight curled in her stomach.

She turned back, pulse tight in her throat.

Lu Zeyan was watching her again.

But this time—

He looked serious.

And that—

That scared her more than anything else.

Yiran walked out of the study.

Not too fast.

Not too slow.

Just… steady.

Controlled.

Even though her pulse was anything but.

Lu Zeyan's words curled in her mind, lingering like the taste of something bitter.

You'll dream about it tonight.

She exhaled sharply, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she made her way back to her room.

It was a lie.

A manipulation.

It had to be.

He wanted her to be afraid.

Wanted her to second-guess herself.

But she wouldn't.

She reached her door, pushing it open without hesitation.

The room was quiet.

The lamp still glowed softly on her bedside table, casting warm light over the polished furniture and drawn curtains.

Everything was exactly as she had left it.

Normal.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Then—she hesitated.

Her gaze flicked toward the mirror.

The handprint was gone.

Yiran inhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple.

Enough.

She wouldn't let this get to her.

She crossed the room, slipping beneath the silk sheets.

The moment she lay back, exhaustion settled in.

Her body was tense, but her mind…

Her mind was already drifting.

Maybe she wouldn't dream.

Maybe—

Then—

A whisper.

Inside the room.

Close.

Too close.

"…Yiran."

"…Yiran."

The whisper brushed against her skin.

Soft.

Familiar.

Wrong.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She didn't move.

Didn't react.

Didn't open her eyes.

But her mind was screaming.

I'm awake.

I heard that.

I'm not dreaming.

The air in the room felt heavy.

Thick.

Like something unseen was pressing down against her chest, waiting.

Watching.

Yiran kept her breathing steady.

Slow. Measured.

Fake sleep. Don't react. Don't acknowledge it.

Because the moment she did—

It would know she was awake.

Another whisper.

Even closer.

"…Are you sleeping?"

Yiran's body locked up.

The voice wasn't coming from the mirror.

Not from the door.

Not from the far side of the room.

It was next to her bed.

Right beside her.

Something shifted.

Not a whisper this time.

A sound.

Like fabric moving.

Like someone—something—was leaning in.

Her skin prickled.

The air grew colder.

And then—

A soft breath ghosted against her ear.

"…Wake up."

"…Wake up."

Yiran's breath hitched.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Her eyes snapped open—

Morning light flooded the room.

The whispers were gone.

The presence beside her bed—gone.

The suffocating weight in the air—gone.

She lay there, frozen, her heartbeat still hammering against her ribs.

Had she imagined it?

Slowly, she turned her head.

The room looked the same as before.

Soft golden light streamed in through the curtains. The bedside lamp was still on, its glow pale against the sunlight.

The mirror stood across the room.

Untouched.

No handprint.

No ripples.

Nothing.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Yiran exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest.

A dream.

It had to be.

Didn't it?

She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.

Then—

Her fingers stilled.

Her skin was cold.

Not just cold—icy.

Like someone had been touching her in the night.

Like something had been there after all.