I couldn't sleep.
The bed was too soft, the room too quiet, my mind too loud. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Killian's face, heard his voice promising he wanted everything, felt his fingers on my chin.
At two in the morning, I gave up.
I pulled on the cotton robe I'd found in the bathroom and stepped into the hallway. The mansion was different at night. Shadows stretched longer, sounds echoed differently. Somewhere in the distance I could hear water running, the creak of old wood settling.
I told myself I was just exploring. Learning the layout of my prison. Definitely not looking for the gardens or that mysterious figure I'd seen.
Definitely not.
The hallways twisted and turned, each one looking exactly like the last. I passed closed doors, wondering which ones belonged to the other wives, which one was Killian's. Oil paintings watched me from the walls, dead eyes following my movement.
I was about to turn back when I heard it.
A sound. Soft, muffled. Coming from behind a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall.
I should have kept walking. Should have gone back to my room and pretended I heard nothing.
Instead, I moved closer.
The sound came again. A gasp. Feminine. Followed by a low male voice, words I couldn't make out but the tone was unmistakable.
My pulse quickened.
I knew I shouldn't look. Knew it was an invasion of privacy, that I'd be mortified if someone did this to me.
I looked anyway.
The door was open just enough. The room beyond was dimly lit, maybe a single lamp, casting everything in amber shadows. And there, pressed against the wall, was Vera.
But she wasn't alone.
A man had her pinned there, one hand tangled in her pale hair, the other gripping her thigh as he hitched her leg around his waist. He was young, younger than Killian by at least a decade, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He wore what looked like staff clothing, the plain uniform of house workers.
Vera's head was thrown back, her eyes closed, mouth open in silent pleasure as he kissed down her throat, his hips moving against hers in a rhythm that made my face burn.
"Please," she whispered, and there was something desperate in it. Something broken and hungry and alive. "Please, Marcus, I need..."
"I know what you need." His voice was rough, accent I couldn't place. He pulled back slightly, looked at her face with something that might have been tenderness. "I've got you, V. I've got you."
Then he kissed her, hard and deep, and she made a sound that was half sob, half moan.
I should have left. Should have given them their privacy.
But I couldn't move.
Because Vera, who'd looked dead inside at dinner, who'd seemed hollowed out and empty, was alive right now. Her hands clawed at his back, her body arching into his, desperate and real and feeling.
This was how she survived. This was her rebellion.
Marcus's hand slid up under her nightgown, and Vera gasped, breaking the kiss.
"Not here," she breathed. "If he finds out..."
"Let him." Marcus's jaw clenched. "I'm tired of sneaking around. Tired of watching him parade you and the others around like possessions."
"Marcus..."
"Leave with me. Tonight. We'll disappear. I've got money saved, we can..."
"Stop." Vera's voice cracked. "You know I can't."
"Because you're scared of him."
"Because he'll find us. He always finds them." She touched his face, and the tenderness in the gesture made my chest ache. "And then he'll kill you, and I'll have to watch, and I can't. I can't lose you too."
Too. Who else had she lost?
Marcus pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard. "This isn't living, V."
"No," she agreed. "But it's surviving. And sometimes that's enough."
He kissed her again, softer this time, sadder, and I finally found the strength to step back.
I'd seen enough. Understood enough.
I turned to leave as quietly as I'd come...
And walked straight into a solid chest.
Strong hands caught my arms before I could fall, steadying me, and I looked up into unfamiliar eyes.
The figure from the gardens.
He was young, maybe twenty-five, with messy dark blonde hair and sharp features. His clothes were casual, worn jeans and a t-shirt, completely different from the formal staff uniforms. And his eyes, grey-blue in the dim light, were staring at me with a mixture of surprise and something else.
"You're the new one," he said quietly. Not a question.
I pulled away from his grip, my heart racing for entirely different reasons now. "Who are you?"
"Someone who shouldn't be here." His eyes flicked to the door behind me, where Vera and Marcus were still wrapped up in each other. "Same as them. Same as you, apparently."
"I was just..."
"Spying?" A hint of amusement colored his voice. "It's okay. Everyone does it eventually. This place turns you into a voyeur whether you want to be or not."
"I wasn't spying. I heard noises and..." I stopped. Why was I explaining myself to a stranger? "Who are you?"
"Dash." He held out his hand like we were at a cocktail party instead of standing in a dark hallway at two in the morning. "Groundskeeper. Sort of."
Dash. The name fit him. Quick. Easy. Dangerous in its simplicity.
I didn't take his hand. "Sort of?"
"It's complicated." He dropped his hand, studying my face with an intensity that made me want to squirm. "You're Cassia. Number six."
"Don't call me that."
"What? Your name?"
"Number six."
"Fair enough." He leaned against the wall, casual, like we had all the time in the world. "How was your first dinner? Did Isla try to poison you yet?"
"Not yet. Give her time."
He smiled, and it transformed his face completely. Made him look younger. Warmer. "I like you already."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true. You're different."
"Different how?"
"You're not crying. You're not cowering. You're walking around the mansion at two AM like you own the place." His eyes held mine. "That's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."
"Maybe both."
"Definitely both." His smile faded slightly. "The gardens. You were looking at them earlier, from your window."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.
"Stay away from them," he said, and there was something serious in his voice now. Something almost urgent. "Especially at night. Killian wasn't lying when he said they were off limits."
"Why?"
"Because..." He stopped, glanced down the hallway like he'd heard something. "I have to go. But Cassia?"
"What?"
"Be careful who you trust here. Everyone has an agenda. Even the ones who seem kind." He pushed off the wall, started to walk away. "Especially the ones who seem kind."
"Wait..."
But he was already gone, disappearing around a corner like he'd never been there at all.
I stood alone in the hallway, my mind spinning.
Dash. Groundskeeper. Sort of. Who warned me about trust while appearing out of nowhere like a ghost.
Behind me, Vera gasped again, Marcus murmuring something low and desperate.
Everyone had secrets here. Everyone was surviving in their own way.
And I'd just witnessed one of those ways, met someone who shouldn't exist, and been warned about trusting the very people I needed to navigate.
Perfect.
I made my way back to my room, locked the door, and stared at the ceiling until dawn.
When sleep finally came, I dreamed of grey-blue eyes and forbidden gardens and the sound of Vera crying out someone else's name.
