Chapter 3
Ayla
The dress itches.
It’s too tight in the sleeves. Too black. Too much like goodbye. I sit on the edge of my bed. Tears dried stiff on my face. My lips are cracked from crying.
I miss Baba.
So much my chest aches.
I reach for the stuffed bunny on my pillow. The only soft thing left in this house. The door opens.
I stiffen.
Gabriel.
His hair is tied up today, pulled back like a knife held at the ready. Sharp cheekbones. Shadows under his eyes. Jaw tight.
Two men step in behind him, all muscle and silence.
They carry boxes.
I blink.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice small.
Gabriel doesn’t answer. He nods at the men. They start packing.
My drawers.
My books.
Even the brush with pearls on the handle.
“Where… where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He doesn’t look at me when he says it.
“We’re not going anywhere. You are.”
I clutch the bunny tighter.
“Am I moving in with Hala Mira?”
“No.”
He finally meets my eyes.
“You’re my responsibility now.”
My stomach flips.
“This is my house,” he adds. “And I need this space, so you will live downstairs.”
My voice shakes.
“But there’s no rooms downstairs.”
He raises his hand—just a twitch, but I flinch anyway.
He sees it.
Smirks.
“No rooms?” he repeats. “We made one.”
He leads me down the stairs. The walls are colder here.
Darker.
Past the kitchen. Past the pantry. All the way to the back hall. He stops in front of an old utility closet. Opens the door.
Inside—a thin mattress on the floor. A small dresser.
No windows.
The air smells like bleach and dust.
“The clothes you need are in there,” he says. “Everything else is going into storage.”
My throat burns. I want to ask why. But I already know.
“You can use the guest bathroom now,” he adds. “Don’t come upstairs unless I call for you.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
He leaves me standing there, bunny clutched to my chest, trying not to cry in a room that was never meant to hold a person.