Chapter 4 - The Waking Nightmare and the Obsidian WardrobeMorning sunlight cut violently through the heavy velvet drapes of the master suite, painting golden stripes across the Persian rugs. Emily bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs out of pure, conditioned instinct. For a terrifying second, she thought she was still locked in the upstairs bedroom at the Northwood estate, waiting for the doorknob to turn.
Then the heavy scent of roasted coffee and the rhythmic crashing of lake waves outside the window grounded her.
She threw off the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. To her amazement, the sharp agony in her feet had dulled into a manageable, tight ache, thanks to Dr. Hayes’s overnight treatment. She stood up slowly, testing her weight on the hardwood floor.
As she walked toward the adjoining bathroom, her eyes fell upon a massive walk-in closet with double glass doors. Curiosity overriding her caution, she pulled them open.
Rows upon rows of designer clothing hung neatly organized by color and fabric—silks, cashmeres, tailored pantsuits, and evening gowns, all in her exact size. Sitting on a velvet tray at the center island was a new smartphone, its screen blinking with a single notification, alongside a set of car keys and a pristine black leather portfolio.
Emily pressed the power button on the phone. It unlocked instantly with facial recognition. The screen displayed a single text message from an unsaved number:
“Wear the navy wool dress. Breakfast is served in the east solarium at 8:30 AM. Don't be late.”
A ghost of a smile touched Emily’s lips. Ten minutes late had gotten her chased through the woods last night; she had no intention of testing Matthew Carter’s punctuality rules this morning.
She slipped into the navy wool dress—it fit her frame with terrifying precision, hugging her curves while projecting an aura of untouchable corporate polish. She brushed out her tangled dark hair, letting it cascade in loose waves over her shoulders, and applied a light touch of concealer over the fading purple bruise on her cheek.
May you like
When she stepped out into the hallway, a young, impeccably dressed butler was waiting quietly by the door.
“Good morning, Ms. Vance. Allow me to guide you to the solarium,” the butler said with a crisp, formal bow.
Related Stories
