Chapter 2 The Ghost's Bride

Zara smiled when she needed to. She nodded when expected. She didn't flinch when Khalid touched her arm or brushed a kiss against her temple.

But inside, every nerve screamed.

She was a prisoner in silk. A hostage in a mansion that smelled like money and secrets.

And now she had a shadow.

"Her name is Amina," Khalid said that morning, gesturing to the tall woman standing just behind him. "She'll help you adjust. Anything you need, tell her."

The woman looked no older than thirty. Hijab neat, expression blank. Eyes hard. Not the usual kind of maid.

Zara knew the type. Her father had hired women like her. Beautiful. Quiet. Trained.

Amina wasn't here to fluff pillows.

She was here to keep Zara in line.

Zara forced another smile. "Thank you."

"Breakfast is in the east wing," Khalid said. "I'll be in meetings all day."

She watched him leave, his back straight, every step silent. The moment the door closed, she turned to Amina.

"Do I get any privacy?"

Amina looked her in the eye. "Not really."

Honest. That was almost worse.

---

The mansion was a fortress, wrapped in silence. Zara wandered its halls with Amina two paces behind her. The corridors were long and lined with art she didn't recognize. Every corner was guarded by security cameras. Every door locked with biometric access.

But one door was different.

Carved mahogany. Brass handle. No camera. No keypad.

Zara stopped in front of it.

"What's in there?" she asked.

"Storage," Amina said, too fast.

Zara turned. "Can I see it?"

"No."

A pause.

Then: "It's not safe."

That was a lie. The kind delivered too smoothly.

Zara didn't push. She just smiled and moved on. But her mind stayed on the door.

Why hide a storage room in plain sight?

---

Flashes started that afternoon.

She was walking past a marble hallway when a sound hit her-a crack, like something breaking. And then-

"Zara!"

A man's voice. Not Khalid's. Urgent. Afraid.

She turned. Darkness. Red taillights. Screeching tires. A gunshot.

Gone.

She gasped, clutching the wall.

Amina looked at her. "Are you alright?"

Zara straightened. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. The visions were real. Pieces of a puzzle someone didn't want her to solve.

---

That evening, Khalid knocked on her door without waiting for a response.

He wore a navy suit with no tie, shirt open at the collar. His cologne-amber and something sharp-clung to the air. He held out a box.

"For you."

Inside: a dress. Blood-red. Silk.

"Put it on," he said.

She didn't argue. Amina helped her zip it up. When Zara stepped into the dining hall, she felt like a stranger in her own skin.

Crystal glasses. Candlelight. Imported roses. Everything staged.

Two guests sat at the table. One was a lean man with sharp eyes and an easy grin. He stood when he saw her.

"You must be the miracle bride," he said. "I'm Idris. Khalid's younger brother."

Zara extended her hand. Idris kissed it.

"You're even prettier than the photos."

Khalid's eyes flicked to him. Warning.

The other guest-a silent, broad-shouldered man named Sefu-nodded but didn't speak.

Dinner was a performance. Khalid played the doting husband, serving her himself, brushing her wrist, whispering things in her ear for the guests to see. But under the table, his hand rested possessively on her thigh. Not lovingly. Like a claim.

Zara laughed on cue. Smiled when she had to.

Idris sipped his wine and leaned forward. "Can't believe she survived that wreck. Most people wouldn't."

Silence.

Zara looked up.

Khalid's jaw tightened.

Idris kept smiling, but his eyes were sharp now.

"You were lucky, Zara," he said. "Some people... aren't meant to come back."

The words lingered like smoke.

Zara forced her smile wider. "Guess I'm hard to kill."

Khalid said nothing, but his grip under the table tightened. She didn't flinch.

---

Later that night, in the quiet of her bedroom, Amina finally left.

Zara waited five minutes. Ten.

Then she moved fast.

From under her mattress, she pulled the diary she'd hidden earlier. Her hands shook as she flipped through the pages, breath catching when she found another entry.

The next piece of herself.

> "I've made the worst mistake of my life. I think I'm falling for a killer."

Zara stared at the words, bile rising in her throat.

She wasn't just trapped.

She'd chosen this once.

But why?

And could she survive it now?

Outside, footsteps passed her door. She snapped the book shut and shoved it back beneath the mattress, heart racing.

She lay back down, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, she'd start digging for the truth.

Even if it killed her.