Human or Ghost

The shadow moved.

Aurora froze.

Her breath stilled in her throat, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning drum. The pale blue nightlight Ivy insisted stay on painted everything in soft, flickering hues. And in the corner, just beyond the edge of the curtain—

Movement.

She didn’t reach for her notepad. She reached for the thin dagger she kept hidden beneath her pillow.

It wasn’t paranoia if someone really was after you.

She slipped from the bed silently, bare feet soundless on the hardwood. Her hand gripped the blade—not large, but enough to slit a throat if she had to. She stepped forward, muscles tense.

The curtain fluttered.

She yanked it back.

Nothing.

The window was cracked open, letting in a ribbon of cold wind. Outside, the cliffs slept beneath mist and stars.

But no figure. No man. No monster.

Not this time.

Still, she didn’t feel relief. She felt watched.

She turned slowly, eyes scanning every shadow. Every creak of the walls sounded amplified in her ears. Her skin prickled.

She closed the window and latched it.

Then paused. On the floor beneath the sill… muddy footprints. Small. Delicate.

Ivy’s.

But Ivy had been asleep.

Aurora’s brow furrowed. She padded to the door and checked—yes, the little girl was still curled in the bed beside hers. A soft, even breath. Still as a doll.

Had Ivy walked in her sleep? Or had she been trying to tell her something again—like the night she’d appeared at her door?

Aurora lay back down but didn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling, dagger clutched beneath the covers.

And in the mansion’s control room, Damien Thorne watched her again.

Not just from the camera in the hallway, but from the tiny hidden one inside the vent above her bed—a feed only he knew existed. The picture was grainy, but clear enough to see the tension in her jaw. The awareness in her eyes.

“She knew,” he muttered, fingers tapping the desk. “She felt it.”

Felt him watching. Or someone else?

He rewound the footage five minutes.

Nothing entered her room.

Nothing human.

But those footprints… his jaw clenched.

He hit a button on his desk. “Elliot. Sweep the east wing. Now. Quietly.”

A voice crackled in response. “Yes, sir.”

He leaned back, gaze locked on the feed as Aurora finally relaxed enough to drift off. Her lips were slightly parted, hair spilled over the pillow like ink. Even in sleep, she looked like something out of a fever dream.

No nanny should look like that.

No mute woman should haunt his thoughts.

He cursed softly and turned off the monitor.

The next morning

Damien stood at the breakfast bar in his private kitchen, shirtless, glass of bourbon in hand despite the early hour. He never followed anyone’s rules. Especially not about drinking before 8 a.m.

The door creaked open.

He expected his butler.

He didn’t expect her.

Aurora stepped in wearing a soft, navy blue sweater dress—modest, but it hugged her waist, swayed around her thighs in a way that made his knuckles tighten on the glass.

Her hair was half up, loose strands falling around her face.

She signed good morning. Calm. Composed. As if she hadn’t nearly stabbed a shadow hours ago.

He tilted his head. “Sleep well?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Then lifted her notepad.

Fine. Except for the visitor.

His jaw tensed. “I sent someone to sweep the grounds. Nothing turned up.”

She gave him a look. Steady. Knowing.

Then: I don’t imagine shadows always show up on your payroll.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“You’re clever,” he said, sipping. “I like that. But don’t assume cleverness makes you safe here.”

Her brow arched in challenge. She signed quickly. Safety is an illusion.

Damien stepped closer.

The space between them tightened, charged like static before lightning.

He didn’t touch her.

But his voice dropped. “You keep speaking without words. I wonder what you’d sound like if you broke.”

Her eyes flashed. Not with fear. With something hotter.

That infuriated him. And intrigued him.

“I should have you fired,” he said, almost conversationally. “For going into the main kitchen. For being in my space without permission.”

She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she stepped closer, the toe of her boot brushing his bare foot.

Then, slowly, she raised her hand and brushed a lock of hair from her face, the movement subtle… but her fingers lingered near her throat.

A gesture.

One he recognized from the security feed.

She knew he’d watched her.

He stared.

She smirked.

And walked away.

Damien’s blood roared in his ears.

That silent little witch.

She’d turned the game around.

Later that evening…

Ivy giggled, a rare sound, as Aurora spun her in circles in the garden, the child’s laughter echoing through the hedge maze.

From his balcony, Damien watched, teeth gritted.

She was good.

Too good.

And it wasn’t just Ivy she was wrapping around her finger.

She moved like a secret. Spoke without a voice. Seduced without a single touch.

He needed control back.

He turned, storming down the stairs and through the hall until he reached the surveillance room.

“Delete all footage from the nanny’s wing,” he snapped.

“Sir?” the technician blinked.

“You heard me.”

“Of course.”

As he walked away, his hand clenched into a fist.

No more watching.

If he wanted to know her secrets, he’d have to find another way.

That night

Aurora stepped from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her, skin still damp, hair dripping.

She paused.

The balcony door was open.

She was sure she’d closed it.

She walked over, pushed it shut.

Then froze.

A single rose lay on her pillow.

Fresh.

Crimson.

Wet at the stem.

No note. No sound.

Just the rose.

She turned slowly, her fingers trembling just slightly.

Not with fear.

With anticipation.

Someone had crossed a line.

And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to punish them—

—or thank them.

Down in the wine cellar, Damien stared at the open bottle on the table. He hadn’t brought her the rose.

But someone had.

And they were still inside the house.