Chapter 8: Elias the Guard

The morning sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting the marble floor in muted gold. Mara stirred awake, the softness of the guest room bed enveloping her in a comfort she wasn’t used to. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was. Then the memories from yesterday surged back—the unexpected marriage, Damon’s unreadable gaze, and the heavy silence that lingered between them after the vows, especially that particular door that was chained.

She sat up slowly, her curls falling around her face, and glanced around. Everything in this house seemed larger than life. The polished chandeliers, the endless rows of books stacked neatly on the shelves, the quiet hum of wealth that clung to every surface. Yet beneath that beauty, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a gilded cage.

The door creaked, and Damon appeared, dressed sharply in a navy suit. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharper than usual, as though he had already been up for hours handling something she couldn’t begin to imagine.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice smooth, controlled.

Mara nodded, clutching the blanket to her chest. “I… I didn’t know if I should come out.”

“You don’t need to ask permission to walk around the house,” Damon replied, stepping further inside. But his tone carried an unspoken warning: some doors weren’t meant to be opened.

Her eyes flickered to him, wanting to ask what exactly he meant, but Damon’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen, and in that instant, his calm demeanor hardened into something darker. His jaw tightened, his hand curling around the device with restrained force.

“I have to go,” he said simply.

“Now?” Mara asked, frowning.

“Now,” he repeated. “Stay inside. Don’t answer the door for anyone. And Mara…” He hesitated, then softened just slightly. “Trust me on this.”

Before she could reply, he was gone, the sound of his footsteps fading through the hall.

The mansion felt impossibly empty without him. Mara wandered down the corridor, her slippers echoing against the polished floor. The silence weighed heavily on her, pressing against her ears. She wanted to keep busy, to distract herself from the gnawing confusion of her new life, but the house itself seemed determined to remind her of its secrets.

Halfway down the hall, she noticed a section she hadn’t explored before—a dim stretch leading to a heavy wooden door with chains looped tightly across it. Her breath caught. Why would anyone lock a door inside their own home? The chains weren’t casual either; they looked deliberate, secure, as though someone wanted to keep whatever was behind it from ever being opened.

Mara reached out, her fingers grazing the cool metal, and a strange chill crept down her spine. She pulled back quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. This wasn’t her place. Damon’s earlier warning rang in her head: Don’t answer the door for anyone. But he hadn’t said anything about this one, and that made it worse.

She retreated, trying to shake the unease from her mind.

Meanwhile, Damon’s car sped through the city streets, his calm façade slipping once he was alone. He dialed a secure number, his voice low and dangerous.

“They moved again?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” a gravelly voice replied on the other end. “Moralise made contact with one of our suppliers last night. They’re circling closer.”

Damon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Moralise—the shadow organization that had once been nothing more than whispers—was growing bolder. For years, they had lingered in the dark, preying on anyone who dared oppose their methods. Now they were inching dangerously close to his family’s empire.

“I want eyes on every corner,” Damon ordered. “No mistakes. If Moralise is testing us, we won’t let them find a weakness.”

“Yes, sir.”

The call ended, and Damon leaned back, exhaling slowly. His mind drifted unwillingly to Mara. She was innocent, oblivious to the storm surrounding him. He had dragged her into his world without giving her a choice, and now, with Moralise circling, the danger had doubled.

He promised himself, silently and fiercely, that he would protect her. No matter what it cost.

Back at the mansion, Mara tried to busy herself in the kitchen. She wasn’t used to so many maids bustling around, each offering to prepare meals or fetch anything she wanted. Feeling awkward, she insisted on helping, though her clumsiness quickly turned the task into a comedy. She nearly dropped a glass, spilled flour across the counter, and almost set a dish towel on fire before the head maid gently ushered her to sit down.

Despite the embarrassment, Mara laughed. For a few minutes, the heavy silence that haunted the house lifted. But her laughter faded when she caught one of the staff exchanging a knowing glance with another, whispering words she couldn’t catch. It reminded her again that she was an outsider here, thrust into a world she didn’t understand.

Later, when Damon returned, the tension in the air shifted. He carried himself differently, his presence filling the space with authority and something darker Mara couldn’t quite name.

“Where were you?” she asked quietly as he entered the living room.

Damon paused, loosening his tie. “Business.”

“That’s all you ever say.”

His eyes flickered toward her, sharp and unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might brush her off entirely. But then he sat across from her, leaning forward, his voice lower than usual.

“Mara… there are things about me you don’t know. Things I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

Her heart skipped, unease mingling with curiosity. “But you will? One day?”

Damon’s silence was answer enough.

That night, Mara struggled to sleep. The mansion, with its countless hallways and hushed staff, seemed alive with secrets. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside made her restless. Finally, she slipped out of bed and padded quietly down the hall.

Her feet carried her back to the chained door. It loomed in the dim light, the metal glinting faintly. Something about it gnawed at her, like an itch she couldn’t ignore.

This time, she leaned closer, pressing her ear against the wood. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then—so faint she almost thought she imagined it—came a sound.

A low, muffled thud.

Mara jerked back, her breath catching in her throat. Someone—or something—was behind that door.

Her pulse raced, and fear clawed at her chest. She wanted to run, to pretend she hadn’t heard it. But her feet refused to move. She stared at the door, her hand trembling as she reached toward the chain again.

“Mara.”

The voice behind her made her whirl around. Damon stood at the end of the hall, his face unreadable in the dim light.

Her hand froze inches from the chain.

“I told you,” Damon said, his tone quiet but laced with steel, “some doors are not meant to be opened.”

Mara swallowed hard, words caught in her throat. The weight of his gaze pinned her in place. She wanted to ask what was behind it, why it was locked, why the sound had come from inside—but Damon’s expression warned her not to.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and gently but firmly guided her hand away from the door.

“Trust me, Mara,” he murmured. “For your own safety.”

The finality in his voice left no room for argument. Yet as Damon led her back down the hall, Mara couldn’t shake the sound she had heard—or the unsettling truth that the man she had married was far more dangerous, and far more haunted, than she had ever realized.