Chapter 4 The Mask at the Door

Lucy

I heard the doorbell just as I stepped out of my room.

Mom answered it, her voice soft from sleep. I stayed in the hallway, only half curious-until I heard his voice.

"I'm so sorry to budge in this early, Mrs. Jacobs," he said, smooth as ever. "My name is Mike Van Doren."

My breath caught.

No. Not here. Not now.

From where I stood, I could see him-just enough to confirm what I feared. Impeccably dressed, tall, confident. He looked like everything my mother would call respectable. But I knew better.

"Do you know my daughter, Lucy?" Mom asked politely.

He smiled. "Yes. I'm her boyfriend."

My mother hesitated-just a beat, but I noticed. She turned slightly, maybe to call for me.

I stepped back, pressing myself against the wall, pulse thudding in my ears.

He had found me.

I didn't move.

I couldn't.

I stayed pressed against the wall, just out of sight, heart pounding in my chest like it wanted to run for me.

"I wasn't aware Lucy had a boyfriend," my mother said slowly. Her voice was kind, but cautious now-like she sensed something wasn't quite right.

Mike chuckled softly, that polished, disarming laugh he used when he wanted to win someone over. "We've been together for a while. Things have just been... tense lately."

Tense was one word for it.

"She didn't tell me she'd come here," he added, voice dipped in concern, like he was the one left behind.

I closed my eyes, jaw tightening. He was laying it on perfectly-just enough charm, just enough worry. He always knew how to bend the truth into something sweet and believable.

"Well," Mom said gently, "she's still asleep, but you're welcome to wait in the lounge. I'll go let her know you're here."

No. Please don't.

I held my breath as her footsteps moved away from the door.

And then I heard his-slow, steady, as he stepped inside my safe place.

---

Before Mom could climb the stairs, Mike's voice followed her gently.

"Mrs. Jacobs?" he said.

She paused, turning back.

"If it's alright," he continued, "don't wake her just yet. I imagine she's exhausted. Lucy works hard-always pushing herself. She deserves a little extra rest."

There was a warmth to his tone. Anyone else would've been touched by it. He sounded like he cared.

"If you don't mind..." he offered with a soft smile, "Could I use your kitchen? I'd love to make her some breakfast. Just a little surprise in bed."

My mother hesitated, surprised but not suspicious.

"Oh... that's very thoughtful of you," she said. "Yes, of course. Make yourself at home."

I gripped the edge of the hallway table, heart hammering.

This was classic Mike.

Warm. Gentle. Perfect on the outside.

But every move he made was a performance-just polished enough to make people believe he was someone worth trusting.

He was setting the stage.

And I was the only one who knew what was really waiting behind that smile.

I slipped quietly back into my room, my bare feet silent against the floor.

I didn't close the door all the way-just enough to keep the illusion that I was still fast asleep. My heart hadn't stopped racing since I heard his voice. I climbed into bed, pulled the covers over me, and lay still, staring at the ceiling.

Downstairs, I heard the faint clatter of pans. Mike was already in the kitchen.

Of course he was.

Mom's footsteps passed my door, soft and unhurried. She still believed this was a sweet surprise.

Moments later, her voice drifted from the master bedroom.

"Love, wake up."

A low murmur from Dad, groggy.

"Someone came by early this morning," she said gently. "A man. Mike Van Doren. He says he's Lucy's boyfriend."

There was a pause.

"He's downstairs now-he offered to make her breakfast. Seems polite... respectful."

My father mumbled something I couldn't catch. Probably still half-asleep. But I could imagine the look on his face.

And I stayed frozen beneath the blankets, listening as my world slowly, quietly closed in around me.

The scent of eggs and coffee wafted up the stairs. If I hadn't been so anxious, I might've admitted it smelled good.

I stayed frozen under my covers, barely breathing, ears tuned to every sound downstairs.

I heard my parents come down. First Mom, then Dad, his usual slow, heavy steps. Chairs moved. Muffled greetings followed.

"Mr. Jacobs," Mike's voice drifted up, polite and composed. "It's an honor to finally meet you, sir."

My father responded, measured but civil. "Likewise... though I didn't know Lucy was expecting company this morning."

"I wanted to surprise her," Mike said smoothly. "She's been working so hard. I thought she could use a slow morning. I hope I haven't overstepped."

Mom's voice, light with surprise: "You made all this?"

"Of course," he replied. "It's the least I could do. And I made enough for all of you. Please-eat while it's hot."

The sound of plates being served, silverware clinking gently, chairs scraping the floor.

"I'll take Lucy her breakfast," he added. "Let her sleep a bit longer. She deserves that."

Footsteps on the stairs again-closer now.

And still, I didn't move.

In the hallway, Mila's door creaked open. Her morning playlist echoed faintly from inside. She was probably brushing her hair, clueless that he was even here.

I closed my eyes tighter, every muscle tense.

He was coming.

He carried the tray carefully-two poached eggs, toast with avocado the way she liked it, and a mug of chamomile tea. Every detail mattered.

The house was quiet except for faint music coming from another room-probably the younger sister, Mila. He ignored it.

He kept his smile in place as he climbed, each step steady and rehearsed. He'd made a good impression downstairs. Her mother had been warm. Her father, more cautious-but polite. As expected.

He didn't blame them. They barely knew him. Yet.

But they would. Soon.

He reached the top of the stairs, slowing just slightly as he neared her door.

She hadn't come downstairs. Hadn't called out. Hadn't run to him. That bothered him more than he let on.

Sleeping, they said.

But he knew Lucy. She was smart. Independent. And lately, secretive.

He adjusted his grip on the tray and took a quiet breath.

Then, without knocking, he opened the door.