KAIRA.
I woke up gasping.
My body jerked upright so violently the sheets tangled around my legs, nearly dragging me back down.
My heart beating a million drums of warning against my ribs, my skin was crawling, sweat clinged to my skin despite the morning chill pouring through the curtains.
Kaira.
The voice from the dream still echoed in my ears.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the image of the silver ring out of my mind, I pressed a shaking hand against my chest, trying to calm the violent pounding of my heart.
This house was already making me lose my mind.
I refused to let nightmares join the list of things trying to destroy me.
I pushed the covers off and sat there for a while, staring at nothing.
My throat felt like I had swallowed sand.
I needed water.
I forced myself out of bed.
The mansion was quiet as I stepped into the hallway.
I walked slowly, one hand brushing the wall as I moved toward the staircase.
Halfway down, I heard voices.
I stopped.
I pressed my back against the wall of the hallway, stepping down just enough to see into the living room below.
Halston stood near the fireplace, across from him stood an older man, with silver hair, tall despite the age in his shoulders, but it wasn’t any of that that caught my attention, it was Halston’s posture.
He wasn’t leaning back with his usual arrogant smirk.
He was standing straight, his head tilted in a way that suggested respect.
Was he his uncle?
A distant relative?
Did it even matter?
Thinking of who could be related to him was the least of my problems.
I didn’t wait to hear what they were saying, so I retreated to my room. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
A few hours later, I stood by my window and watched as a black sedan rolled down the driveway.
The elderly man sat in the back, his face obscured by tinted glass.
I watched until the car was nothing but a speck of dust.
I couldn’t explain the dread pooling in my stomach, but in this house, this unease was the only thing that I felt.
The days began to bleed into one another.
True to his word, Halston allowed me “liberty” to go around the estate.
Now, I was a prisoner with a longer leash.
The guards followed from a distance like silent shadows pretending not to be there.
At first, it was just movement.
Something to stop myself from thinking too much because too much thinking led to memories and memories led to pain.
Eventually, I found the garden.
It sat behind the east wing of the estate like a secret.
It was sprawling of roses, lilies, lavenders and plants I couldn’t name.
I started spending my mornings there, found myself returning everyday.
At first, I sat, gazing at the different colours and how beautiful they bloomed.
With time, I started gardening.
My hands went deep in the dirt, watering the roots, pulling weeds and replanting flowers that had bent too far..
It was the only time my mind went quiet.
I knew he was watching.
From the terrace, from the windows, I could feel Halston’s gaze on me.
He must be trying to solve a puzzle, trying to figure out how the woman who laughed at his whip could find peace in a patch of dirt, or probably he just busy thinking of the various way to torture me, trying to extract everything little peace I had found.
“Good morning miss Voss.” She greeted
“Morning.” I responded as I leaned onto the counter.
I noticed most of the maids here hardly met my gaze, perhaps they were unsure If I was the mistress of the house or the woman most likely to stab them with cutlery.
Whatever thoughts ran in their mind, was totally none of my fucking business.
The maid went about her business, preparing breakfast for Halston.
One thing people don’t know is routine gives comfort, but it is also a security weakness.
A man who always walks the same road at the same time is a man waiting to be ambushed.
When the maid turned her back to fetch a tray, I slipped the powder into his coffee, I stirred it once and walked away like innocence in human form.
I went to the sink to rinse the glass cup I had used to take juice.
I walked into the living room, sat on the edge of the armchair, and opened a book.
My eyes tracked the words, but I didn’t process a single word.
Every sense was tuned to the dining hall.
A few minutes later, Halston walked downstairs adjusting the cuff of his shirt, looking expensive and irritatingly alive.
I didn’t look up as he entered the room, but I felt him pause, his eyes lingering on me for a second before he moved toward the table.
I turned a page I hadn’t read, while paying close attention.
I heard the clink of the spoon against the cup as he stirred the coffee.
My grip on the book tightened.
Drink it, I thought.
Drink it.
He dropped the spoon to the tray and brought the cup halfway to his lips, the steam rising to meet his face.
Then, his phone rang.
He froze, the cup inches from his mouth.
He set it back down on the saucer and pulled the phone from his pocket.
“Speak,” he snapped into the receiver, his eyes snapping to mine across the room.
He stood there listening attentively, he picked the cup back up, holding the cup in his left hand, the phone in his right.