Three days had passed since Naomi's arrival in the mansion, and yet, she still hadn't seen Zylan. It felt like a relief. She had spent the days in isolation, watching the workers as they came and went, learning the structure of the mansion and its rules.
Armed with a small notebook, Naomi had taken to meticulously calculating her escape plan, mapping out every possible route and every potential obstacle. The mansion was vast and unfamiliar, but she would not remain a prisoner here for long. She had one goal in mind—freedom.
The one rule that stuck out to her was the absolute prohibition on entering Zylan's room. Naomi didn't quite understand why such a rule existed. In a way, it seemed like an unnecessary boundary, but it didn't concern her. The only thing she cared about was escaping—whatever it took.
Naomi stood at the sink, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest. "Oh no, oh God!" she exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper. Panic surged as she realized she couldn't find one of her contact lenses. Her golden eyes—eyes she had learned to hide since childhood—were exposed. She had always worn black contacts to conceal her unusual eye color, which complemented her golden-blonde hair. It was a feature that had long been a source of disdain in her family, especially her mother, who had never stopped reminding Naomi how "disgusting" her eyes were.
After finishing her bath, Naomi searched frantically for her missing contact lens. "I'll order a new one tomorrow. Maybe I'll wear sunglasses," she convinced herself, trying to steady her nerves. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm her racing heart. The thought of being without her contacts made her feel exposed, vulnerable, and the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself in this mansion full of strangers.
She quickly cleaned herself off and slipped into a long, white silk nightgown that gently complemented her figure. Staring at herself in the mirror, she saw her golden eyes staring back at her—eyes that had often frightened others. She remembered a time in elementary school when her classmates had been terrified by her gaze, leading to a visit to the principal's office. Her mother had lied, claiming Naomi was wearing fake contact lenses. That incident had pushed Naomi to start wearing real contacts to avoid further attention.
"I could just say I'm wearing contact lenses if anyone asks," she muttered to herself, brushing through her hair. It was a habit she had grown accustomed to: always being prepared to explain away her unusual features, always hiding behind something that felt safer than being herself.
After stepping out of the bathroom, Naomi walked to the table where she had left her notebook. "The plan is set, but now I need to call Rose." But as she glanced at the table, it wasn't there. Could this day get any worse?
"Where is it? Where is it?" Naomi muttered, feeling increasingly frustrated. Why am I misplacing things today of all days?
Naomi walked to the chair and sank into it, resting her back against the frame with a sigh. She knew she needed to find the notebook, but as her eyes scanned the room, exhaustion began to overtake her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and before she realized it, she had drifted off to sleep in the chair. It was clear she was utterly exhausted.
Hours later, in the middle of the night, Naomi stirred awake, feeling a discomfort she couldn't quite place. She quietly stood, her body stiff, and made her way to the bed.
As she turned, a cold shiver ran down her spine. There, in the darkness, she saw him—Zylan. He was sitting on the window ledge of her room, the highest floor of the mansion. His dark figure was silhouetted against the moonlight, the smoke from his cigarette curling in the air like a ghostly mist. The intensity of his presence filled the room, a heavy aura that seemed to press down on her, making it hard to breathe. The familiar sense of unease washed over her, and she felt her heart race.
"W-What are you doing in my room?" Naomi asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes widening in shock.
"Last I checked, this is my mansion," Zylan replied, his smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light of the room.
Naomi's heart pounded as she instinctively covered her chest with her hands. The silk nightgown clung to her like a second skin, making her feel as if she were wearing nothing at all. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck as embarrassment mixed with anxiety. "Please… l-leave," she stammered, her voice shaky and small.
She glanced toward the window, but in an instant, Zylan was gone. She blinked, her chest tightening. 'Where did he go?' Her breath hitched in her throat as the coldness of the room seemed to intensify. The eerie silence enveloped her, and Naomi's body trembled, the fear creeping in once again.
Why does this keep happening? First at the gala, now here… She couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Her mind raced, and she began to wonder if she was imagining things—or if she was still dreaming.
Is this a dream?
She let out a nervous laugh, trying to calm herself. "Hahaha…" The sound felt hollow, fake, as her heart continued to race uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself and whispered, "I need my Bible." It was the only thing that ever seemed to soothe the fear that gripped her in moments like this.
Before she could turn away, a figure appeared right in front of her. Naomi jumped back.
"H-h-how did you—"
"Scared?" Zylan asked, watching her fall to the floor as she gripped her hair in panic.
"W-what's going on? Naomi, wake up! Wake up!" she muttered to herself, trying to shake off the panic.
"What are you doing?" Zylan asked, now sitting on the floor, staring at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"W-who a-are you?" Naomi backed away, her voice trembling.
"I am Zylan," he replied calmly, his gaze piercing through her fear.
"How d-did you—"
As she spoke, Naomi turned to the window, pointing at where he had sat moments ago. "I should not have removed my contact lenses! Now I'm beginning to see things!"
"Mr. Ghost, I am S-O-R-R-Y," she spoke slowly, as if he might not understand. She gestured emphatically, her voice rising with each word. "I DID NOT PUSH YOU THAT DAY! IF YOU'RE COMING TO HAUNT ME, I ONLY TRIED TO SAVE YOU, BUT YOU DIED!"
Of course, what else would he be doing in her dreams but tormenting her?
As she spoke, she demonstrated her panic, convinced that perhaps his ghost had come to haunt her. The fear overwhelmed her, mixing with the disbelief of seeing him again.
"Who are you calling a ghost?" Zylan's voice darkened, the air around him thickening with tension. He stared incredulously at the girl in front of him, his dark eyes narrowing.
"It's completely normal to feel that way, Mr. Ghost. If you're not comfortable with that, I can call you Mr. Zylan," Naomi stammered, trying to mask her fear with humor, even as her heart raced.
Zylan stood, his face darkening as the air around him felt heavy and suffocating. For the first time, he felt impatience rise within him. Why does she have to be so dramatic?*
He walked toward her and swept her up in his arms. Naomi's body shivered.
"R—real?" she whispered, wide-eyed, caught between disbelief and the undeniable heat radiating from his body.
He gently placed her on the bed, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. "You pushed me. And now, tonight, I will prove to you…" He held her gaze, staring into her golden eyes. "I'm no ghost, darling."
It was not normal for someone to be sitting on the window and just appear behind her. Naomi wondered if she had calculated things too much; maybe that was why she was feeling so off.
"Oh, I'm sorry for calling you a ghost," Naomi finally spoke. Perhaps she had been under so much stress that she had misplaced her contact lenses. The confusion around Zylan's appearance and disappearance only added to her mounting anxiety. But that didn't change anything.
"P-please stop calling me darling! I have a name—Naomi."
"I am totally aware of that… darling," Zylan replied with a smirk as he finally finished speaking. He sat on the bed and pulled her toward him, resting his face against her neck.
Naomi's body shivered, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. What was that? "W-what are you doing? We can't be doing this!" she stammered, trying to push away the growing unease and attraction she felt.
"Why not?" Zylan asked, his breath fanning her back, making it even harder to think.
"It's, umm... we are meant to do this after marriage, not before…" Her words were caught off by his low, dark chuckle; he found her amusing.
"So naïve," he finally spoke.
"I'm not naïve!" Naomi turned to look at him defiantly, but he held her still, his hands resting firmly on her waist.
"Don't," he commanded, and Naomi's body stilled at his tone.
"Yes, you are. Who would believe they are not a virgin because their family told them so? So…so naïve"
Naomi froze. Had she blindly accepted everything her parents told her? According to the doctor, she could not remember the night she lost her virginity because the drug given to her had wiped that part from her brain. She had believed them.
Zylan finally lifted her chin, and she found herself entranced by his gaze.
"You smell like grape," Zylan spoke, his voice low and sultry, sending a warm thrill through Naomi. Her body stilled. She had been using grape perfume, body wash, and even hair care products, hoping that the sweet scent would at least make him wary, considering she had heard Zylan didn't eat grapes.
"You're allergic to one," Naomi managed to say, her heart racing. "You don't eat them."
Naomi felt Zylan's lips stretch against her neck, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. The way he lingered there, so close, made her pulse quicken.
"Not eating them doesn't mean I don't like them," he replied, his fingers brushing through her golden locks as he inhaled deeply, as if savoring her scent.
"In fact, I'm just obsessed with it."
Naomi's body stilled. She had jumped to conclusions, thinking Zylan didn't eat grapes because he was allergic, but now it felt like she was digging her own grave. His words echoed in her mind, and the realization that she might have misunderstood everything sent a chill through her.
"And are you aware of what happens when someone is obsessed?"