Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the House
For three days, Clara lived in a state of constant, suffocating terror.
Every time Mrs. Gable went up the stairs, Clara expected to hear a scream, or to find herself thrown out of the house by Adrian’s security men. But the mansion remained quiet.
On the fourth night, Clara climbed the stairs. When she sat down by the door, she heard a sound that made her hold her breath.
It was the sound of bedsheets rustling, followed by a heavy, sliding thump.
Then, the sound of fingernails scraping against the floorboards as something dragged itself toward the door.
“Clara?” Eva’s voice was different tonight. It was sharper, clearer, and though she sounded exhausted, the heavy, slurred quality was gone. “Clara, my hands don't shake anymore.”
Clara pressed her face against the wood, tears pricking her eyes. “And your legs, Eva? How do they feel?”
“They hurt,” Eva whispered, but there was a strange, frantic excitement in her voice. “They hurt so much, Clara. They’re burning. Like they’re waking up.”
It was the nerves, Clara realized. Without the constant sedation of the poisoned tea, the girl’s nervous system was beginning to fight its way back to life. The paralysis wasn't permanent; it was a chemical prison.
“Keep spilling it, Eva,” Clara urged. “Every single drop.”
“Who is there?”
The deep, resonant voice cut through the dark corridor like a physical blow.
Clara scrambled to her feet, her back slamming against the opposite wall.
Adrian Vale stood at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a black silk robe over his trousers, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. In his hand, he held a glass of amber liquid. His dark eyes were fixed on her, cold, unreadable, and incredibly dangerous.
Clara felt her knees weaken. She was caught on the restricted third floor, talking to the forbidden daughter. In the Vale syndicate, people disappeared for much less.
“Mr. Vale,” she gasped, her voice betraying her absolute terror.
Adrian walked down the hallway, his steps slow and measured. Each click of his leather slippers against the floorboards felt like a countdown. He stopped a foot away from her, his towering height casting a long shadow over her small frame.
“I believe Barrow was very clear about the rules of this house,” Adrian said, his voice dangerously low. “Why are you outside my daughter’s door?”
Clara looked at the floor, her hands trembling so violently she had to tuck them into her sleeves. “I... I heard her crying, sir. A few weeks ago. I couldn't leave her.”
“And so you decided to ignore my orders? To interfere with a child who is under the care of the best physicians in the country?”
“The physicians are wrong, Mr. Vale,” Clara said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
The air in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. Adrian’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in their depths.
“What did you say?”
Clara took a deep breath, forcing herself to look up into the face of the man who ruled the city’s shadows. “The doctors didn't miss anything, sir. They were given a false map. Your daughter isn't paralyzed. She is being poisoned.”
Adrian did not move. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply stared at her, his face a mask of absolute, terrifying stillness. Clara wondered if this was the last thing his enemies saw before they were buried beneath the docks.
May you like
Then, slowly, he reached out. His hand closed around Clara’s arm, his grip firm but surprisingly not painful, and pulled her away from the door.
“My study,” he said. “Now.”
