Sophie sat on the bed in the room assigned to her by the caretaker, Treyond, who had introduced himself when she first arrived. Although she had been living in the house for nearly a week, she had yet to meet her husband. Every time she inquired about him, she received the same answer:
"We're sorry, madam, but Mr. Shane is currently busy."
Treyond had repeated this phrase for the first three days without any variation, almost as if he had been instructed to provide no other explanation. Eventually, Sophie stopped asking.
"Young mistress, your food is ready," a voice called, breaking Sophie's thoughts. She sighed. That was the only consistent interaction she'd had in the house—mealtimes. Morning, afternoon, and night, the same routine. The predictability had grown so dull that it was starting to weigh on her.
"Who knew married life could be so boring?" she mused to herself.
Sophie descended the stairs, only to find the dining room more elaborately decorated than usual. Confused, she glanced at the housekeeper, Mrs. Sandra, who was busy setting the table.
"Is there a special event today?" Sophie asked, smiling at Mrs. Sandra, whom she had grown fond of during her stay.
"Oh yes, dear. The young master just called to say he's coming home today," madam Sandra said.
"It's been a long time since he came to the mansion .
He always hatred this place since he was a child " she said , her eyes cut off like she was staring into a distant memory .
Sophie's confusion deepened. The workers kept referring to Mr. Shane as "young master," but she was certain he was an elderly man.
" since he was a child?" Sophie asked, with a puzzled expression .
"Oh yes, I've taken care of him since he was born. Such a small, cute boy he was, but he's always been distant from people," Mrs. Sandra said, her smile fading into something sadder.
"The day he was born?" Sophie echoed, shocked. Her mind raced. Were they talking about the same Mr. Shane? According to the contract, Mr. Shane was supposed to be an 86-year-old man.
Had she come to the wrong place?
Before Mrs. Sandra could continue, Treyond entered the room, his presence commanding. "That's enough, Mrs. Sandra. Is everything ready for the young master?" he asked.
"Of course, everything is prepared," she replied, bowing slightly.
Sophie waited at the dining table for what felt like hours, though she had been told Mr. Shane would arrive within the hour. She grew impatient but tried to mask it.
Treyond soon returned, looking apologetic. "Madam, we are deeply sorry for the delay. I just received word that the young master has been caught up with work and will arrive late. You may begin your meal. We apologize again for the inconvenience."
Sophie forced a smile, her disappointment barely concealed. "No problem," she said politely, though her fists clenched under the table.
*I should've known,* she thought. *Why was I even excited for his arrival?*
With a sigh, she began eating, her appetite dulled by the situation.
Later that evening, Sophie wandered down the hallway, pausing in front of her bedroom door. Her gaze drifted to the room directly across from hers—the room she was told belonged to Mr. Shane. Its imposing black door loomed, as if it held secrets she wasn't meant to know.
She sighed, feeling the weight of boredom settling in once again, and entered her room.
---
"No, stop!"
"Please don't!"
"I'm not a monster, stop!"
Sophie jolted awake, her heart racing. Muffled cries echoed from the room across the hall—Mr. Shane's room. She froze, listening as the voice grew louder and more desperate. Without thinking, she rushed to the door, her curiosity and concern outweighing her hesitation.
She reached for the handle and found it unlocked. Slowly, she pushed the door open, her eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. What she saw shocked her.
A young man lay on the bed, drenched in sweat, his body trembling violently. His face was contorted in anguish, and he muttered incoherent words as he clutched the sheets tightly. Sophie stepped closer, her heart pounding.
He was having some kind of nightmare.
"Stop... please stop..." he murmured, his voice strained.
Sophie moved closer, instinctively placing a hand on his forehead. His skin was burning with fever. "He's burning up," she whispered, panic rising. Without wasting time, she rushed into the bathroom, returning with a bowl of cold water and a towel. She dipped the towel in the water and gently pressed it against his forehead, trying to cool him down.
As she dabbed his forehead, a strong hand suddenly gripped hers, startling her. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked down at him.
Mismatched eyes stared directly into her green ones .
One blue , as cold as eyes like the man she saw at the auction, and the other bright hazel a careful combination of what seemed like black and yellow .
The two colors befitting together in an odd beauty that made her heart flutter widely in her chest .
The darkness they held like a swirling pool sucking her soul in .
The hazel eyes burned brightly in the darkness as it stared at her with intensity she could not comprehend.
And she sat dumbstruck and amazed by its beauty .