CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
LILA
I never thought I would return here, but here I am, standing in front of the eerie mansion.
The same one I didn’t even want to step foot in on Halloween night.
And yet, I find myself practically running toward it.
Tonight, it’s the only haven I have. I glance over my shoulder, watching the Uber disappear through the iron gates, making sure he actually leaves.
I can’t trust anyone right now . The good news is that no one can get in without Beck’s permission. But what if the monster is already inside? What if he is behind the gate with me? What if the gate is not keeping danger out but locking me in? I am safe.
At least, that is what I keep telling myself. You’re safe, Lila. You can finally breathe.
Not a single light glows inside. The dark silhouette of the mansion is cast beneath the full moon. It looms over me, imposing and cold. I steady my breath, clutch my bag tighter, and walk toward the front doors. The same ones held open by masked men the night of the party.
I punch in my Social Security number, still unable to believe Beck even has it. Not that he would want to steal my identity. Not that anyone would. A sharp click echoes as the bolt releases.
It worked.
I push open the heavy doors. They creak with age, the sound slicing through the silence and echoing across the acres that surround the home, sending a jolt of fear through me. Inside? Silence. Pure, undisturbed silence. Oddly, it’s refreshing .
I flip on the lights and freeze. The decor, once hidden beneath Halloween decorations, is now fully visible.
And it’s magnificent. Antiques line the halls.
Exquisite sculptures and paintings, probably originals, adorn the walls.
Everything is trimmed in gold, framed by towering mirrors and grand chandeliers.
It feels royal, just like the ballroom at the company.
It leaves me speechless. However, it doesn’t feel lived-in. It doesn’t feel like Beck.
There’s nothing personal. No framed family photos. No warmth. Nothing sentimental. It's an emotionally empty mansion. Not a home.
I glance up at the grand staircase, the one burned into my memory. The one I ran up that night, desperate to escape the panic attack. The one that led me into a room that changed everything.
What if that had never happened? Would Beck and I be together right now? Would it have worked out? Would I be spending the night in his bed instead of wandering his house like a ghost?
I reach for the custom wooden handrail, my fingertips gliding over the smooth finish as a thousand memories flood back.
Him. That night. That room.
I hesitate as I take one step after the other, climbing the stairs and making my way toward the hallway lined with towering doors. I reach the top and pause, my eyes sweeping across them.
Which one is it?
I try the nearest doorknob. Locked. Another. Also locked. Not just any locks, either. These are fingerprint scanners. High-tech. High-security. The kind you can’t pick with a bobby pin or wedge open with a credit card .
Hmmmm. Where the hell is a guest room? Maybe the third floor. Probably where Beck’s room is, too.
But then it hits me. The room that the Phantom was in…
That door. The one I pushed open by mistake.
The one where I found him. The one I convinced myself wasn’t real.
I need to see it again. I need to see the room where everything started.
The room that sparked this obsession. It’s technically a guest room, so unlocking it to put my stuff down for the night counts as following instructions… right?
Please don’t be locked. Please don’t be locked.
I turn the knob. Locked. A fingerprint scanner flashes at me, waiting.
Shit. Maybe, just maybe, he added my fingerprint to the system.
My hands are shaking as I lift my thumb to the pad, glancing over my shoulder like I am about to get caught. I brace for the red light. For the error message. For the rejection. But it never comes. I hear a soft click.
It worked. Who would have guessed! So, most likely, all the keypads open with my fingerprint. Wait. How did he even get my fingerprint?
Lila, save that for another day. Not tonight. You can yell at Beck on Monday, right along with Kage.
I push the door open. A dim light glows from inside.
The room feels light and airy. I turn the corner, the same one that hid me that night, and there it is.
It is all real. All tangible. Just like I remember, the lamp still casts a soft, warm glow in the corner.
The balcony door is slightly ajar, allowing a gentle breeze to drift through.
Someone must have forgotten to close it.
Everything looks exactly the way I’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times. Moonlight streams through the skylight, casting a silvery sheen over the silk sheets. They shimmer like liquid silver, pulling me in.
I reach out and run my hand across the bedding. It’s soft, familiar, and comforting. Something about it feels like home. I set my bag on the bed and unzip the dress, slipping out of it like I’m peeling off the final layer of tonight’s chaos.
I will have to return it to Aster tomorrow. It is her favorite. And with my apartment destroyed, I barely have a closet to store it in.
Still in my bra and panties, I cross the room and open the double-door closet, expecting something grand. I carefully drape the dress over my arm. I can’t let it wrinkle. It is too perfect.
No wrinkles. Please, no wrinkles. I have no idea how much this thing costs.
The closet is massive. Rows of tailored men’s clothing stretch from wall to wall. In the center stands a custom-built island displaying watches, ties, sunglasses, and colognes. Everything is pristine.
What is all of this? Maybe it is his overflow. His extras. He is rich, after all.
But something feels off. It does not feel like storage.
It feels used. It looks like someone has been in here today.
There is no dust. No untouched surfaces.
No stale air. Everything is perfectly arranged…
yet lived in, as if someone comes in and chooses from this collection daily.
And whoever it is? They were here recently.
Is this Beck’s room?
I pick up a few colognes, sniffing each one. None of them smells like Beck. Curiously, I walk deeper into the closet, fingertips brushing across the delicate fabrics.
Okay. Yeah. I guess I am snooping now. Wait. No. I am assessing what needs to be cleaned. Totally different .
I grab a hanger, carefully drape the ballgown over it, and slide it between two suits. That is when I see it. Tucked behind the clothes, hidden in plain sight, is a corkboard. A memory board.
I set the dress aside and step closer, heart thudding in my chest. The photos are old.
Faded. Their edges curling, as if they have been there for decades.
Two boys at a playground. One dark-haired, serious, protective.
The other blonde, younger, is clinging to the older one with a smile that screams trust. A woman appears in several of the pictures.
Beautiful, but broken. Her eyes are glassy.
Her smile is forced, as if she's trying to be okay for her kids.
Then I spot one of the three together. The older boy stands tall, arms around the younger and the woman. A family. I stare at it, my brain buzzing.
Is that? No. It can’t be.
It looks like Kage and Beck. But that would mean…
I glance at another one. This time, it is not a photo. It is a drawing. Crayon on yellow craft paper. A little blonde boy holding the hand of an older boy with brown hair. Above their heads, in scribbled handwriting: “I love my big brother.”
Breathing suddenly feels impossible, my vision growing foggy as none of it makes sense.
They are not just best friends…They are brothers. And this is no ordinary guest room. This is Kage’s room.
The truth slams into me like a freight train. Kage is the oldest. He was at my interview. He stood silently through every big decision. He gave the orders. He bossed Beck around. Kage is the CEO. He didn’t lie to my mom. But why did they both lie to me?
I stagger back, vision spinning. The walls feel like they are closing in on me. My skin turns clammy. My stomach twists. I bolt for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I throw up everything I ate tonight. My stomach heaves. My body trembles as I cling to the rim, completely a mess.
When it finally stops, I stagger to the sink and grip the counter with shaking hands.
I catch my reflection. Pale. Wide-eyed. Completely wrecked by this awful night.
And then I glance down, and there it is.
Confirmation. His sandalwood cologne. His spearmint toothpaste. His contact lens case. His razor.
Kage Heartford. This is his room. This whole time… I have been in his room.
I grip the sink tighter, knuckles white.
What is happening? Why are they hiding this? Why pretend they are just coworkers? Why lie about something so big? Are they working with Volkov? Are they manipulating me? Or is the truth something worse? Something I have not even begun to see yet? Beck warned me about his brother. But why?
My mind spins with questions. I don’t know what’s real anymore. What’s true. Who to trust. And maybe that was the point all along. To confuse me. To break me. To lure me here, trap me behind these iron gates.
Now I’m locked inside. Alone. A sitting duck in the monster’s room.
He’s in Paris. But even thousands of miles away, I can still feel him. In the walls. In the shadows. In me. And something tells me he’s already on his way back.