Chapter 12: Locked In

Emilia

Hours feel like days. Every second that ticks by in this suffocating room pushes me closer to the edge of panic. I press my ear to the heavy door, straining to catch any sign of movement, a voice, anything that might signal rescue. But the silence is all-consuming, echoing around me with the faint, constant reminder of the faces pinned to the walls. Each photograph feels like an accusation, eyes following me wherever I move, telling me I don't belong here.

Just when I begin to lose hope, footsteps sound in the corridor beyond the door, firm and steady, approaching with purpose. My heart leaps as I recognize the unmistakable, measured stride of Damien.

"Damien!" I shout, pounding on the door. "Damien, I'm in here!"

The footsteps pause just outside, and a beat of silence follows before the handle turns. The door opens, and he stands there, framed by the dim light from the hallway, his expression unreadable. Relief washes over me, but it's short-lived. His gaze is hard, a storm brewing behind his eyes as they land on me, taking in the room, the walls, the photographs.

"What," he begins, his voice low and simmering, "are you doing in here?"

His question feels like a trap, laced with something darker, something that chills me. I search his face, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression is closed off, a mask of tightly held fury.

"I… I just found this room," I stammer, my voice shaking. "I was exploring the house, and the door was open—"

"Don't lie to me," he cuts me off, his voice quiet but menacing. "You had no business being here."

I recoil slightly, hurt and confused by his harsh tone. "Damien, I was curious. You've kept so much hidden from me, and I wanted to understand. These…" I gesture to the walls covered in missing person notices, feeling my own anger rise as the words tumble out. "These people… who are they? Why are they here?"

For a moment, he doesn't answer, his jaw clenching as his gaze drifts over the wall. When he looks back at me, his expression has hardened even further.

"Those are the consequences of curiosity, Emilia," he says, his voice clipped. "These walls hold secrets that would break a weaker person. And you…" He pauses, a flash of something—fear?—crossing his face. "You don't have the strength to bear them."

Anger flares within me, replacing the fear that had been pooling in my stomach. "You think I'm weak? That I can't handle the truth? You've kept me here in this house, surrounded by mystery, and you expect me to just obey without question?"

He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. His eyes are piercing, dark and full of suppressed rage. "I expect you to trust me," he murmurs, the words like a challenge. "Or did you think you could just waltz into my life, into my home, and pry into matters that have nothing to do with you?"

"But they do have to do with me," I counter, my voice rising. "I'm your wife, aren't I? Or am I just another pawn in whatever twisted game you're playing?"

He takes a long breath, his gaze flickering, and I sense a crack in his armor. "You're here because you were chosen to replace someone else, remember?" His words are sharp, and the reminder stings, reminding me of the bitter truth of our marriage. "If you can't follow my rules, Emilia, I'll send you back to where you came from. Consider this your final warning."

A lump forms in my throat, anger and hurt colliding in equal measure. "You're threatening to throw me out like… like I'm disposable?"

He doesn't answer, his jaw clenching again as he takes a step back, creating distance. "If you can't handle my terms, you're free to leave. But if you stay, you'll respect my boundaries and forget about this room." His eyes darken as they glance over the pinned notices once more. "It holds things that are best left undisturbed."

I bite back the urge to demand answers, knowing that any protest would only push him further. Yet I can't shake the gnawing dread, the feeling that these secrets are connected to something dangerous, something that's already begun to change my life in ways I don't yet understand.

"Fine," I murmur, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I won't come here again."

He studies me, his expression softening slightly, but his guard remains firmly in place. "See that you don't," he says, his tone now quiet but firm. He steps forward, reaching past me to pull the door shut, his fingers grazing mine. "Emilia… I told you once before. This house is filled with ghosts. Some of them are mine, but most…" His voice trails off, a flicker of pain in his eyes. "Most are just waiting for someone to claim them."

I shiver, his words lingering in the air like a chill. Before I can respond, he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him with a final, foreboding click. The silence that follows is almost suffocating, a reminder that whatever trust might have been growing between us has been fractured. And as I stand there alone, my mind races, torn between wanting to uncover the truth and the fear of what it might cost.