Chapter 16
Snow whispered across the windshield as Amayah turned onto the long, winding drive. The headlights cut a narrow path in front of her, and finally—there it was.
The house rose like something half-remembered from a winter ghost story.
The old Carroway Estate.
Three stories of weathered stone and boarded windows.
Turrets that once held promise now stood like silent watchmen.
The front porch sagged under the weight of time, its railing missing spindles, its paint stripped bare by decades of storms. Ivy clung to the brick even in the dead of winter, stubborn and skeletal, weaving through cracks like an old secret refusing to be forgotten.
Amayah parked on the old driveway.
Most people thought the place was haunted. Maybe it was.
But to her, it felt more like a wounded landmark—one that had been waiting a long time for someone to notice it again.
“Here we are,” she announced to Luke.
“Before we get out of the car, I have one more question,” Luke said.
She leaned back. “Okay. Shoot.”
“I’m curious—how do you handle the haters? I’m sure you have some, maybe even a lot. Anyone with an online presence does. And, unfortunately, the world just seems to be becoming more hateful by the moment as keyboard warriors get bolder.”
She let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, the haters are there all right. Some people just dislike you because you’re successful. Some people just want to tear everyone down. I think that says more about them than it does me.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I can’t let other people’s opinions define me.” She paused. “When I first started, this woman came after me hard online. I mean, it was brutal. Talking about how I was a fake. Just doing things for the views. That all I cared about was money.”
“What did you do?”
“At first, I really let it get to me. I felt devastated. Then I realized—not to sound like a broken record—but I realized that wasn’t a door I wanted to walk through.
And I had a choice. I could let other people’s opinions about me change the way I viewed myself.
Or I could rest in the assurance that I was simply being the person God created me to be. ”
“It sounds like you chose wisely.”
She smiled. “I think so.” She paused. “Anything else?”
He shook his head. “No, not now.”
“Then let’s go.”
Amayah slung her camera bag over her shoulder and walked toward the porch, boots crunching on the icy snow.
Her fingers brushed the rusted doorknob—original, antique, and still cold with history.
She imagined the Carroway family bustling through this doorway decades ago, long before tragedy had emptied the house and left it abandoned.
“This place is incredible,” she murmured.
Behind her, Luke took in the towering facade with something that looked like awe. “You sure it’s safe? That the porch won’t crumble beneath you?”
“As safe as any ninety-year-old house with questionable plumbing and possibly a raccoon landlord,” she said with a half laugh.
His answering grin warmed something in her chest she tried to ignore.
She stepped onto the porch, the place where she’d been given permission to record.
She’d filmed in front of dozens of rundown houses over the years, but this one . . . this one felt like a relic, a forgotten door in a forgotten chapter.
As she unpacked her tripod, her phone buzzed.
A text from her real estate agent.
CALL ME ASAP. NEED ANSWERS. TODAY.
Her stomach squeezed.
Then another text popped up immediately.
Inspection report NOT good. Need decisions before 5.
Before she could type a reply, a third message appeared.
If you want to move forward, I need confirmation—NOW.
Amayah exhaled slowly, the cold air catching in her throat.
The timing on this was terrible. She couldn’t deal with it now.
But did she have any other choice?