Chapter 5:Shadows In The Hallway

The soft patter of Elara's slippers echoed faintly against the marble floor as she wandered the dim corridor of the mansion, drawn by a pull she couldn't explain. The house, majestic and brooding, whispered its secrets through creaking wood and flickering chandeliers. She clutched the edge of her silk robe tighter, her heart thrumming with an unnamed anticipation.

She wasn't supposed to be out of her room. Ares had been clear about that—too clear. But something about the locked hallway with the red door had haunted her thoughts ever since he had led her past it on the first day.

"Some doors," he had said, "are locked for your protection."

Now, with the house still and silent, that door was only a few steps away. She paused in front of it, heart racing. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, then slowly grasped it.

Locked.

Of course it was. But the sound of movement—barely audible, like a breath—came from the other side.

"Elara?"

She jumped, spinning around. Ares stood at the end of the corridor, his presence commanding even in a half-unbuttoned shirt and dark slacks. His eyes glinted, unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was calm, but edged with warning.

She tried to compose herself. "I… I couldn't sleep. I was just walking."

He took slow, deliberate steps toward her. "I told you not to leave your room at night."

"I'm not your prisoner."

"No," he said softly. "You're something far more valuable."

The words unsettled her more than she'd admit. She stepped back, but the wall met her spine. He reached her, caging her in with one arm on either side of her head.

"You're not ready to know everything yet," he said. "But I'm protecting you, Elara. From them."

"From who?" she whispered.

His gaze dropped to her lips before lifting again. "From the past. From yourself."

He turned and walked away without another word, leaving her with more questions than answers.

The next morning, Elara stood in the garden, trying to shake the dream—or was it a memory? She had seen herself running through the woods, blood on her hands, her face streaked with tears. Someone had been chasing her. A man. But not Ares.

A creak of the gate drew her attention. A woman in a black suit, tall and severe, entered and walked straight to her.

"You must be Elara." Her voice was sharp, clipped. "I'm Dr. Velin. I've come to assess your mental state."

Elara frowned. "Assess? Why?"

"Ares called me. Said you've been having episodes. Unstable flashes. Dreams."

"Dreams aren't illegal," she snapped, uneasy under the woman's cold gaze.

"They are… concerning, when they blur into reality."

Before she could protest, Ares emerged from the house, his expression unreadable.

"Elara," he said. "Let her help."

She turned to him, betrayed. "You think I'm losing my mind?"

"I think someone is trying to manipulate it."

Dr. Velin cut in. "Let's start with the basics. What do you remember from before the accident?"

"Nothing," Elara muttered. "Except the scent of smoke. Gunshots. And a voice—someone calling my name."

"Male or female?"

"Male."

Ares tensed.

The doctor jotted something in her notes. "We'll schedule regular sessions."

"I didn't agree to that."

"You don't have a choice," Ares said gently, his hand brushing her back. "If we're going to protect you… we have to understand what's buried in your mind."

Later that night, Elara stared at her reflection in the mirror. Who was she really? Why did every answer she was given feel like another lie?

A cold breeze wafted through her room. The balcony door stood open.

And on the desk, where her journal had been, lay a single white card.

Her hands trembled as she picked it up.

You're not safe here. You never were.

No name. No signature.

Just fear.

Elara's breath caught in her throat as she clutched the card. Her pulse quickened, a chill spreading through her body like frost. She spun around, scanning the room, half-expecting someone to be standing there watching her.

But she was alone.

Or at least, she seemed to be.

She stormed toward the balcony, pushing the door wide open. The cold wind bit her skin, and her gaze swept across the dark garden below. No movement. No shadows.

Just silence.

Her fingers tightened around the card.

Someone had been in her room.

Someone had left her a warning.

And that someone had known she'd be alone long enough to get away with it.

Elara backed away slowly, locking the balcony doors and pulling the curtains shut. Her thoughts spiraled. Was this a threat? Or a plea? Were they trying to help her—or frighten her into silence?

She thought of Ares. Of his careful words. His smothering protectiveness. His vague answers.

Could he have written it?

No. That wasn't his style. He confronted things directly. Possessively. If he wanted her scared, he wouldn't have used a card—he would've used his voice.

Who then?

Elara's grip loosened and the card fluttered to the ground.

She didn't sleep that night. Not really. Her body laid still, eyes wide open in the dark, heart beating loud enough to drown out her thoughts.

By morning, she was dressed and ready before the sun had fully risen.

She needed answers. Real ones.

Breakfast was served in the glass dining room, overlooking the garden. Ares was already seated, dressed impeccably as usual—black shirt, cufflinks, and that signature calm that made her want to throw something at him.

"Sleep well?" he asked, not looking up from his tablet.

"No," she said sharply.

His eyes flicked to hers. "Nightmares again?"

She sat down opposite him. "No. Warnings."

Ares stilled. Just for a moment. Then he set his tablet down slowly.

"What do you mean?"

She didn't break eye contact. "There was a card left in my room. Someone got inside."

He leaned forward, voice low. "Where is it?"

"I burnt it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to see how you'd react."

His jaw clenched. "You think I wrote it?"

"I don't know what to think," she said, her voice trembling despite her efforts. "You keep telling me you're protecting me, but from what? Who? And why does it feel like I'm the only one in this house who doesn't know the truth?"

He stood up abruptly and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. "There are things I can't explain. Not yet."

"Then give me something," she said, standing too. "Because if I don't start getting answers, I'll find them myself."

He turned slowly, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. "You don't want to uncover things you can't handle, Elara."

"Try me."

They stood in silence, the tension thick as fog.

Then, softly, he said, "You were in danger. Before you came here. You ran from someone who wanted you dead."

She stared at him.

"Why?"

"I don't know. But you were terrified. I found you half-conscious, bleeding. You were trying to get away from someone. You said a name before you passed out."

She swallowed. "What name?"

"Luca."

The name sent a jolt through her. It sounded familiar—but only in the way that thunder does when you know a storm is coming.

"Who is Luca?" she whispered.

Ares shook his head. "That's the part you forgot. Maybe for a reason."

"I need to remember."

"I'm afraid when you do… everything will change."

She stepped closer to him. "Then let it."

That night, Elara sat alone in the library with a thick leather journal she found hidden in the shelves. It wasn't hers—at least not in a way she could remember—but the handwriting was feminine and familiar.

The first few pages were blank. Then, slowly, the ink appeared.

"I'm being watched. He thinks I don't know, but I do. I've made a copy of the files. If I disappear, they'll know it was him. I just have to get out alive."

Her fingers trembled as she flipped to the next page.

"Ares is dangerous. But he's not the one I fear most."