Chapter 63: Don’t tell me..
As soon as Naomi finished eating, she climbed the stairs of the mansion. She wasn’t sure what to make of this place—it looked like an ancestral home, though it was decorated with a modern touch that felt oddly familiar to her. The blend of old and new seemed out of place, yet strangely comforting. This was the house of her husband, a man she barely knew, yet who had become so integral to her life in such a short time.
She couldn’t help but wonder about its history. How many generations had walked through these halls? The towering portraits on the walls seemed to judge her every move, the eyes of long-dead ancestors peering down as if silently assessing whether she belonged.
"This is what happens when you overthink," Naomi chided herself under her breath. She shook her head and continued on, feeling the weight of the house’s age and the mystery that surrounded it pressing on her shoulders. Her footsteps echoed in the vast corridor as she approached her room.
She opened the door slowly, her movements hesitant, as if unsure of what she might find inside. The room was quiet, its calm atmosphere contrasting sharply with the turbulent thoughts running through her mind. Naomi paused, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the bed, the walls, the ornate furnishings. Everything about it felt both foreign and familiar, as if the room had been designed for someone else, someone who was meant to live here long before she ever arrived.
Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts. She needed rest—she needed to stop overthinking for just a moment. But the desire to clear her head was easier said than done. As she walked toward the bed, she sighed, her shoulders slumping under the weight of her uncertainty.
Lying down might help, she thought. Maybe it would calm her mind. She slipped beneath the sheets and closed her eyes, trying to relax. But the thoughts came rushing back, relentless and unforgiving. The questions, the fears, the uncertainties—how could she escape them?
She opened her eyes again, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t even remember how long she had been lying there. Minutes? Hours? Time felt like it had stopped. Her gaze drifted toward the window, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere. Something Rhea had said kept replaying in her mind: No one is allowed to enter Zylan’s room.
Naomi frowned at the memory. At the time, her curiosity had been piqued, but she’d brushed it off in the chaos of her escape. Now, however, with the quiet of the room surrounding her, the urge to know more clawed at her. She couldn’t help it—she needed to know why no one was allowed in. What was so special about Zylan’s room? Why did it seem so off-limits, even though he had been so open with her in other ways?
She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. Curiosity kills the cat, she reminded herself, trying to suppress the nagging feeling that had settled in her chest. But then, with a small, rueful smile, she added, This poor cat is just curious.
Naomi tossed and turned, her mind racing, unable to find the peace she desperately sought. Frustration crept in, and she finally reached for her phone. Her fingers hesitated for a moment, but then she unlocked the screen, scrolling through the messages Rose had sent her. Naomi felt a pang of guilt as she read through each one, imagining how worried her friend must have been when she had disappeared so suddenly.
I need to call her, Naomi thought, feeling the weight of her silence pressing on her. She had no idea how to explain where she had been, or why she hadn’t reached out sooner. But she couldn’t leave Rose hanging any longer.