Chapter 3: Where Shadows Wait

A knock echoed gently through the room, as soft and fleeting as the first rain of the season brushing against a glass window. Anna flinched slightly, startled by the delicate sound. Before she could utter a word, the door eased open — not hurriedly, but with a quiet decisiveness.

Leon stepped in, a bundle of neatly clipped papers held in a pale grey leather folder. It wasn’t a hospital file, nor a new business contract. It was a carefully prepared nutritional care guide tailored specifically for expectant mothers in the earliest stages following embryo transfer.

"I won’t be here for the next two weeks," he said, placing the folder on the small bedside table. His voice was calm and deep, like the ripple of a silent wave over still water. "Everything about diet and rest is outlined in there. If there are any changes in your health, inform the housekeeper or call your private doctor immediately."

Anna raised an eyebrow slightly, a flicker of unease and confusion crossing her eyes. "So... I’ll be alone in this house? What about the regular checkups?"

Leon looked at her, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Everything is arranged," he said after a short pause. "You just need to rest."

And that was it. No parting words, no gestures of comfort. She thought he might turn around, say something more, even just a gentle phrase to soften the distance. But he didn’t. He left the room, his firm silhouette disappearing behind the softly closing door, leaving Anna with the folder on the table and a silence that stretched on endlessly.

After Leon left the mansion, everything seemed suspended in the void he left behind. Anna stood by the bedroom window on the second floor, gazing at the pine trees swaying gently in the late afternoon wind. The breeze brushed the glass lightly, like a memory's faint caress, but her heart ached. He had gone, without much to say. No promises. No warmth.

In the days that followed, Anna drifted through the enormous mansion like a shadow lost in its vastness.

Each morning, she woke to a silence so thick it felt oppressive. Breakfast was always set out perfectly on the grand dining table, but no one ever sat across from her. The chairs opposite felt intentionally empty, as if someone had removed their presence on purpose. She ate in silence, the sound of cutlery against porcelain echoing like whispers in a void.

She tried to strike up small talk with the staff. Once, during a quiet lunch, she asked Klair — the housekeeper:

"Does Leon often travel for business like this?"

The woman bowed her head slightly, offering a polite smile, but avoided a direct answer. "The young master is very busy, Miss Anna."

"Does he... ever bring anyone to the mansion?" — The question slipped out before she could stop herself.

The housekeeper hesitated for a heartbeat, then averted her eyes. "I’m not very informed about his personal matters."

Another time, she tried asking Clara — a younger maid who seemed more approachable. Anna played casual:

"Leon’s handsome and wealthy. I’m sure he must have had a girlfriend or two, right?"

Clara paused, her hand halting mid-wipe across the table. Then she bowed her head, her voice almost a whisper:

"I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to speak about personal matters... And perhaps, Miss, it’s best if you don’t know too much."

That last line sent a chill down Anna’s spine. Was it a warning? A gentle reminder? Or just an excuse to dodge her question?

Bit by bit, the sense of mystery, doubt, and unease grew in her mind. Nothing in this mansion seemed willing to give her answers. Perhaps she truly didn’t belong here. There was an invisible veil between her and the world Leon lived in. She felt like an outsider, stepping into a life that had already been meticulously arranged. And maybe Clara was right: maybe she really shouldn’t know too much.

Each afternoon, Anna would take a walk in the garden. She moved slowly, one hand resting on her belly like a quiet greeting to the little life growing inside her. She often stopped by the greenhouse — filled entirely with white flowers. Yet the place felt hollow, inhabited only by the faint scent of chrysanthemums and a few scattered leaves fallen across the stone path.

One night, unable to sleep, Anna wandered down to the living room. She sat alone on the sofa, the soft yellow light casting a pale glow across her thin face and vacant eyes. She stared up at the wall clock — each ticking second slicing into her quietly.

Anna walked slowly down the long corridor, its deep red velvet carpet muffling her footsteps. The dim wall sconces bathed the hallway in a honeyed haze. Outside the tall glass windows, night had long fallen, cloaking the garden in a solemn shade of violet. The antique paintings lining the corridor seemed to stir in the flickering light, their shadows stretching and twisting as if murmuring secrets no one else could hear.

A gentle draft slipped through a half-closed window, teasing the white lace curtain. The scent of aged wood, soothing essential oils, and something unnamed — something vaguely foreboding — lingered in the air. Anna clutched her robe tighter, her heart beating softly like the careful fall of sand in an hourglass amidst the hush.

Every step she took seemed watched by the silent stone walls. And at the far end of the hall, the dark wooden door stood closed, just as it always had — the forbidden room, the one no one ever spoke of.

It wasn’t like the other doors. Its handle was coated with a thin film of dust. Beneath it, a discreet electronic lock glimmered faintly — a feature she hadn’t seen elsewhere in the mansion. A strange feeling crept into her, like a chill tracing her spine.

She reached out, hesitating, then began to turn the knob.

"Miss Anna."

The voice behind her made her jump.

It was the housekeeper — usually so composed, now with an unusual tension etched into her face.

"Mr. Leon has strictly forbidden anyone from opening that door."

Anna frowned slightly.

"It’s an order from Mr. Leon. We have no choice," she added, her voice firm and final.

Then, with a solemn tone, she said, "There are things... better left unknown."

Things better left unknown? What could that mean? Why did everyone in this house caution her like this? Was her safety truly secure within this mansion? The unease swelling inside her grew stronger by the minute.

Perhaps beyond that door was more than just a room. Perhaps it was a part of Leon himself — a part she had never been allowed to touch.