THE HOUSE HAS SECRETS

Later that afternoon, the clouds had cleared, giving way to warm sunlight that poured in through the tall windows of the living room. Velma sat curled on the edge of the couch, her bare feet tucked beneath her, reading a novel she had barely turned two pages of.

A knock at the front door broke the quiet.

"I'll get it," Daniel called, walking past the archway in a fresh button-down shirt.

Velma peeked over the top of her book, watching him as he opened the door to greet a tall, sharp-looking man in a deep green suit. His expression was composed but pleasant, and he held a slim leather folder under one arm.

"Lucian," Daniel said with a firm handshake. "Right on time."

Lucian's smile widened. "You didn't think I'd miss the chance to congratulate you in person, did you?" His eyes moved to Velma, who stood from the couch.

"You must be the beautiful bride," Lucian said smoothly. "I'm Lucian—Daniel's business partner and, for better or worse, his oldest friend."

Velma offered a small smile and shook his hand. "It's good to finally meet you. Daniel talks about you."

"Nothing bad, I hope."

"Nothing I can use against you," she teased.

The men shared a quiet laugh before Daniel nodded toward the study. "Come on, we can talk inside."

Velma stepped aside as they passed, Lucian giving her a polite nod before disappearing into the dim room with Daniel. The heavy door closed behind them with a soft click.

Alone again, Velma returned to her book but couldn't bring herself to focus. Something about Lucian's presence had shifted the energy of the house. It wasn't that he was rude—he was perfectly cordial—but there was something unreadable behind his smile, something that didn't quite reach his eyes.

She stood, stretching, and glanced around.

The hallway stretched further than she remembered, its end swallowed in soft shadows and framed by ornate arches. For the first time, Velma realized how massive the house actually was—high ceilings, carved wood panels, and quiet corridors that seemed to lead in all directions. She had been so caught up in the wedding, the celebration, and the dream, that she hadn't really explored.

Driven by mild curiosity—and the need to get away from the uneasy feeling gnawing at her—she stepped out of the living room and began walking down the hall. Her fingers trailed the smooth wallpaper as she walked, noting the framed paintings and intricate sconces on the wall.

Halfway down, she paused.

She tilted her head. A sound—soft, low, almost muffled.

Her brows furrowed. It wasn't quite a voice, not exactly a hum either. It was something in-between, a vibration more than a tone. The kind of sound you don't hear, but feel.

She leaned slightly closer to the wall.

Still nothing.

She stepped nearer again, her chest now almost touching the wallpaper, and pressed her ear against the surface.

Still silence.

Then, faintly… the sound returned. For a fraction of a second.

It was gone before she could even register what it was.

Velma pulled back quickly, eyes narrowed, breath shallow. Her fingers brushed over the wallpaper again, as if expecting to feel heat or a heartbeat.

Just then, a gentle but firm hand touched her shoulder.

She gasped and turned sharply, recoiling.

Mrs. Williams stood behind her, eyes slightly wide with surprise at Velma's reaction. "Oh! I'm so sorry, dear. I didn't mean to startle you."

Velma placed a hand over her chest, her heartbeat racing. "No—no, it's okay. I just didn't hear you coming."

Mrs. Williams looked at her with quiet concern. "Are you alright?"

Velma hesitated for a moment. "Yes. I think I'm just… still shaken from the dream I had this morning."

"The one you didn't tell Daniel about?" the older woman asked gently.

Velma looked at her, startled. But Mrs. Williams' expression remained neutral.

"I'm fine," Velma said, more to convince herself. "Maybe I'm just imagining things now."

Mrs. Williams nodded slowly. "That happens sometimes. Especially when we're adjusting to new surroundings."

There was something about her tone—too careful, too composed—that made Velma feel like more was being left unsaid.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Velma said after a moment. "Clear my head."

Mrs. Williams gave a small, approving smile. "The garden is peaceful this time of day. The roses just started blooming."

Velma turned and walked back toward the staircase, one hand still brushing the wall as if hoping to feel that sound again. But the hallway was quiet now, and everything seemed… normal.

Still, as she stepped out into the sunlit garden, she couldn't shake the unease.

It wasn't just the dream.

Or the sound.

Or Mrs. Williams' question from breakfast.

It was everything.

And in the back of her mind, a single thought echoed louder than all the rest:

What don't I know about my husband?