CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
ASHLEY
The car glides through the electric gates, its engine rumbling the only sound as we follow the circular drive toward the house. The headlights sweep across the dark exterior, casting shadows over the stone walls, making it look colder, more imposing than I remember.
Has it only been a couple of days since I was last here?
I get out when Zain opens the door for me, and wait for him to open the trunk so I can retrieve my suitcase. While he walks around to the driver’s side to speak to Peter, I turn to face the house.
Halfway through the drive here, I almost told them to turn around and take me back to New York. It all seemed so logical back there. Coming back, finding answers, getting closure. But now I’m here … There’s a weight pressing down on my chest, the slightest hint of fear that I’m about to open the lid on Pandora’s box and let out all the bad things.
But I’ve made my decision. There’s no turning back now. Not if I want to be able to move on with my life.
Zain’s voice is a deep, quiet murmur behind me as he talks to Peter. Too low for me to hear what he’s saying, but enough to be aware that he’s there. After about a minute, there’s a light thump, as though he’s hitting the top of the car. It’s followed by the crunch of tires on gravel, a flash of headlights, and then the car is disappearing down the drive, leaving us alone.
Me … alone … with Zain.
The night is still, quiet, like even the air is holding its breath while it waits to see what happens.
Zain moves past me, up to the front door. I stay where I am, watching as he unlocks the door and disappears inside. Lights go on a couple of seconds later. Taking a deep breath, I follow him. The wheels of my suitcase clatter over the gravel. Each step feels like a countdown. Like I’m walking along the executioner’s path.
The entrance hall is as beautiful and cold as I remember. My eyes shift to the doorway on the opposite side, but the remnants of the vase I threw at him have long gone.
Zain is standing to one side, in front of the alarm panel. Once he’s finished, he flips it closed, then turns to me.
“Follow me.” His voice is crisp, even, emotionless.
He walks up the stairs, not bothering to check if I’m following him. My heart is pounding, as I walk behind him. It’s so loud, I’m surprised he can’t hear it. Every instinct I possess is screaming at me to turn around and leave, to get as far away from here as I can.
But I don’t.
I can’t .
Because there’s something else beneath the fear, something that keeps driving me forward.
We stop in front of a door, and Zain pushes it open, revealing a bedroom. The space is large, neat, and impersonal . It looks like it was taken straight out of a magazine. The furniture is expensive, but the room feels like it’s meant for display, not comfort. Not that it matters. It’s just a place to sleep, a space I can escape to. I doubt I’ll be here that long. A week? Two? Surely by then we’ll have found the answers we’re looking for and can go our separate ways again.
“There’s a bathroom through there.” He motions toward a door. His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent to it. A hint of something I can’t quite put my finger on. It makes me look at him, and search his face looking for a hint of what I’m hearing. But his features are composed, blank.
I move to the center of the room, looking around. Everything is too perfect, too well-kept. Has anyone ever used this room? It feels sterile. Cold.
“You can lock the door from the inside.” He’s standing in the doorway, watching me with that unreadable expression he’s perfected. It’s a little unsettling, the way he’s standing there, so controlled, so contained. I wonder what’s going on inside his head. Is he as on edge as I am?
“I’ll leave you to settle in. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry. Drinks too. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”
And just like that, he’s gone. The door closes softly behind him, and I’m alone again.
Alone in this room, in this house.
I don’t move from where I’m standing in the middle of the room, staring at the door, willing my heart to slow down. But it doesn’t, and for a second I struggle to breathe.
Focus. You’re fine. This was your decision .
I force myself to move, dragging my suitcase to the foot of the bed, and then sit down. I should unpack, find something to eat, but I don’t want to move. Don’t want to leave the room. Don’t want to see Zain again.
Throwing myself back onto the mattress, I stare up at the ceiling. The room feels too big, too empty. It’s a struggle to calm my heartbeat, slow my thoughts, but eventually exhaustion from the past few hours catches up with me, and I close my eyes.
Sleep comes quickly, but so do dreams.
Shadows crawl across the walls, bringing a coldness to the air that hurts my lungs. Fear wraps its icy fingers around me. Something is coming for me, creeping closer with every breath I take. I try to move, but my legs are heavy, my body frozen into place as the shadows reach me.
Then I see him.
Zain.
He’s standing at the end of the hall, his face half-hidden in the shadows, watching me. I try to call out to him, but the words stick in my throat. My heart is pounding, panic building, and the shadows laugh.
I blink, and I’m not in the hall anymore. I’m back in the room where I found my brother. His body is lying there, covered in blood, his eyes open and staring … accusing . I try to reach for him, but my arms are pinned to my side by the shadows.
I’m trapped. Helpless. Forced to watch as a shadowy figure stabs him over and over again.
But then I’m holding the knife. I’m the one raising it above my head. I’m the one burying it into his chest. His blood spraying across my face with each strike.
I try to stop. Try to drop it. But my fingers won’t obey my commands. Blood coats my hands, my arms, warm and slick, dripping down my fingers to pool at my feet.
Then everything snaps. The shadows surge around me, suffocating me, pulling me under, and finally, finally I can scream.
I surge upright, my body drenched in sweat, fingers digging into the sheets beneath me. It takes a second to realize I’m awake, that I’m not trapped in the nightmare anymore. But the terror doesn’t want to release its grip. My heart is still racing, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
I unclench my fingers and reach out to snap on the bedside light … and that’s when I see him.
Zain is standing beside the bed, eyes on me.
“Bad dream?”