CHAPTER SIX

The morning light filtered through the cracked curtains, casting a pale, uneven glow across the room. I lay still, my body heavy with exhaustion, as if the weight of the previous night’s nightmare still pressed down on me. The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and decay, and I could hear the faint creaking of the mansion settling into its old bones. It was a sound I had once found comforting, a reminder of the life I had lived here. Now, it felt like a taunt, a cruel echo of what I had lost.

I sat up slowly, my head throbbing, and glanced around the room. The sunlight illuminated the cracks in the walls, the peeling wallpaper, and the faded photographs that still hung crookedly on the walls. My old room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison. The memories it held were no longer comforting—they were suffocating.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, my knees wobbling slightly as I steadied myself. The floorboards groaned under my weight, and I winced at the sound. It was too loud, too intrusive, as if the house itself was protesting my presence. I walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside, letting the sunlight flood the room. The view outside was unchanged—overgrown grass, a crumbling stone fountain, and the distant outline of the forest that bordered the property. It was a landscape frozen in time, untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

But I was not the same. I had changed, and the person who had once called this place home no longer existed.

I turned away from the window and began to dress, my movements slow and deliberate. The clothes I had brought with me were simple, a stark contrast to the designer gowns and tailored suits that had once filled my wardrobe. I had left that life behind, or so I told myself. But the truth was, it had left me behind. The scandal, the betrayal, the loss—it had all stripped me of the person I had once been.

As I buttoned my shirt, I caught a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror that hung on the wall. My reflection stared back at me, hollow-eyed and pale, a ghost of the woman I used to be. I looked away quickly, unable to bear the sight.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulled me from my thoughts. I froze, my heart pounding, as the door creaked open. It was him—my bodyguard. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice low and steady.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The memory of last night’s nightmare was still too fresh, too raw. I had screamed at him, pushed him away, and yet he had stayed. He had been there when I woke, his presence a silent reassurance that I wasn’t alone. But I didn’t want his reassurance. I didn’t want his pity.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and set a tray on the small table by the window. The smell of coffee and toast filled the air, and my stomach growled in response. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, gesturing to the tray. “You didn’t eat much last night.”

I glanced at the food but made no move to approach it. My pride wouldn’t allow it. I didn’t want to owe him anything, not even a simple breakfast.

“I’m not hungry,” I lied, my voice cold.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, he walked to the window and stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the view outside. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

I watched him for a moment, studying the way he held himself—tall and confident, yet somehow distant. He was a mystery, this man who had been thrust into my life. I knew nothing about him, not even his name. He was simply “the bodyguard,” a shadow that followed me wherever I went.

“Why are you here?” I asked suddenly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. “Your father hired me to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” I demanded, my voice rising. “From myself? From the nightmares? Or is it from the world outside, the one that’s already destroyed me?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked to the table and picked up the cup of coffee, holding it out to me. “Drink this,” he said simply. “It will help.”

I stared at the cup, my hands trembling slightly, before finally taking it from him. The warmth of the coffee seeped into my palms, and I took a small sip, the bitterness grounding me in the present.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said quietly, my eyes fixed on the steam rising from the cup.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. “I’m here because you need me,” he said finally. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re not safe. Not here, not anywhere.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to let him see my fear. “I don’t need you,” I snapped, setting the cup down with a sharp clink. “I don’t need anyone.”

He studied me for a moment, his gaze piercing, before nodding slowly. “Maybe not,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m here.”

I turned away from him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I hated how calm he was, how unshakable. He was like a rock, unmoved by my anger, my fear, my pain. And yet, there was something about his presence that I couldn’t ignore. Something that made me feel… safe.

The thought terrified me.

“Leave,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave me alone.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding and walking to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, his back to me. “If you need anything, I’ll be outside,” he said quietly before stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, my mind racing. The room felt emptier without him, the silence more oppressive. I walked to the window and stared out at the overgrown garden, my thoughts a tangled mess.

The mansion was a relic of a life I could no longer reclaim, its crumbling walls a reflection of the cracks in my own soul. Every creak of the floorboards felt like a whisper from the past, reminding me of what I’d lost. My mother’s laughter, my father’s stern voice, the warmth of a family that no longer existed—it was all gone, replaced by silence and decay.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, my breath fogging up the surface. The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable, streaming down my face as I sank to the floor. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but it was no use. The pain was too much, the grief too deep.

I don’t know how long I sat there, crying silently, but eventually, the tears subsided, leaving me drained and hollow. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt and stood, my legs shaky but determined. I couldn’t stay in this room any longer. I couldn’t let the past consume me.

I walked to the door and opened it, stepping into the hallway. The bodyguard was there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He straightened when he saw me, his expression unreadable.

“I’m going for a walk,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

He nodded and fell into step behind me as I made my way down the hallway and out into the garden. The sunlight was warm on my skin, the breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and earth. It was a stark contrast to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the mansion, and I breathed deeply, trying to clear my mind.

The garden was overgrown, the paths barely visible beneath the tangled weeds and vines. I walked slowly, my fingers brushing against the leaves and petals as I passed. The bodyguard followed a few steps behind, his presence a silent reminder that I wasn’t alone.

We walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of the leaves and the distant chirping of birds. It was peaceful, in a way, but the peace was fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake.

“Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “If what’s worth it?”

“Everything,” I said, gesturing vaguely to the garden, the mansion, the world beyond. “The pain, the loss, the struggle. Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it to keep going?”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yes,” he said finally. “But I think the answer is different for everyone.”

I nodded, his words resonating deep within me. The truth was, I didn’t know if it was worth it. I didn’t know if I could keep going, if I could find a way to rebuild my life from the ruins of what it had been. But for now, I would take it one step at a time.

We continued walking, the silence between us less heavy now, more contemplative. The garden stretched out before us, a tangled mess of beauty and decay, and I couldn’t help but see it as a reflection of myself.

Perhaps, in time, I could find a way to untangle the mess, to find beauty in the decay. But for now, I would simply keep walking, one step at a time.

It’s almost laughable, isn’t it? How life has a way of circling back to the very things—or people—you’ve tried so hard to escape. Here I am, trapped in this decaying mansion, with *him* of all people. The irony isn’t lost on me. Memories of the past, ones I’ve buried deep and vowed never to revisit, are now clawing at the edges of my mind, threatening to resurface. But I won’t let them. I can’t. Some doors are better left closed, and some wounds are better left untouched.

And yet, here he is. Standing there, silent and unyielding, as if he belongs in this twisted version of my life. As if he has any right to be here, watching me, guarding me, pretending like the past never happened. But it did. And no amount of time or distance can erase what we once were—or what we’ve become.