CHAPTER 3: The House That Watches

ZARIA POV

“Good morning, darling. You look tired.”

Mirelle's voice was soft, but there was something hard under it. I stood at the top of the stairs a moment longer, fingers tight on the doorframe, then forced myself to descend.

I came downstairs.

She was already seated at the long breakfast table as though this were her home, cream blouse flawless, smile gentle and practiced. My mother-in-law sat across from her, sipping tea with quiet approval.

I took my usual seat at the far end, spine straight. “Good morning.”

Rowan arrived twenty minutes later, strolling in like he belonged here. He scanned the entrance hall and dining area with those sharp, inventory-taking eyes before dropping into the chair beside his mother.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around slowly. “Ethan treating you well?”

The question was light on the surface, but his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t really asking.

“Well enough,” I replied, keeping my tone even.

Ethan came down shortly after. He greeted Mirelle first with a warm smile and a brief hug. “Always good to see you here, Mirelle. You brighten the place up.”

He slid into his seat without a glance in my direction.

Mirelle leaned forward, eyes soft with that familiar fake concern. “How is the marriage settling, Zaria, dear? You seem a little quiet this morning. Are you comfortable? Eating enough? I worry about you in this big, empty house all by yourself.”

I wrapped my fingers around the warm coffee cup, letting its heat ground me. The mark on the back of my hand felt hotter under the table.

“The house is beautiful,” I said smoothly. “Everyone has been very kind. I’m adjusting well, thank you.”

She tilted her head, a smile never wavering. “That’s good to hear. Still… Ethan can be quite focused on his own affairs sometimes, can’t he?” She glanced at him with a little laugh, then back to me. “A new wife needs attention, don’t you think? Have you two been spending enough time together? Really getting to know each other?”

Each word pressed like a thumb into a fresh bruise. Memories from last night flashed, but I pushed them down hard.

“We’re finding our rhythm,” I answered, offering a small, polite smile. “These things take time in any marriage.”

“Of course, of course,” Mirelle said, reaching over to pat my hand. Her touch lingered a second too long. “Just remember, if you ever need anything — advice, a listening ear, even a little company — I’m always here. We’re family now. You can tell me anything.”

Rowan smirked into his glass but stayed silent, watching.

“Thank you,” I said, gently pulling my hand back. “I appreciate that.”

Mirelle wasn’t done. “And how are you sleeping? You really do look exhausted this morning. Is everything alright? You know you can be honest with me.”

The question landed heavy. I felt the exhaustion in my bones, the weight of pretending, the ghost of a stranger’s touch still on my skin. But I kept my face calm.

“I slept fine,” I lied softly. “Just a long night adjusting to everything.”

She nodded sympathetically, but her eyes stayed sharp, probing. “Marriage can be overwhelming at first. Especially when you come from… different backgrounds. If things feel difficult, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’d hate for you to feel alone here.”

“I’m not alone,” I replied, my voice steady. Inside, the words felt hollow. “Thank you again for your concern.”

Rowan eventually excused himself to use the bathroom. He disappeared for far too long, wandering the halls under the pretense of getting lost in the massive house.

When they finally left, I stood at the tall window and watched their car glide down the long driveway. 

The mother-in-law passed behind me, heels clicking sharply.

“Your family visits often?” The way she said *family* made it sound like something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

I didn’t turn around. “They check in.”

“Hmm.” She sounded unconvinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

That evening, at the first full family dinner I had been required to attend, one chair at the far end of the long table sat empty.

The patriarch cut his steak with precise movements. “My son returns tomorrow. He’s wrapping up the London meetings.”

The table shifted subtly. Shoulders straightened. Eyes flicked toward the empty seat. Even Ethan paused mid-bite. Whoever this son was, his name alone changed the energy in the room before he arrived.

I filed the information away without asking questions.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Late that night, after the house had gone quiet, I sat on the edge of my bed and called Nala.

She picked up on the second ring.

“I feel like I’m disappearing,” I said, my voice flat.

“You’re not disappearing,” she answered right away. “You’re just in a place that doesn’t know you yet.”

I stared at the wall across from me. “What if it never does?”

Nala stayed quiet for a moment. “Then we burn it down and build something better. Obviously.”

A small breath escaped me. The next words slipped out before I could stop them.

“I miss my mum.”

The silence that followed was the most honest thing all day. No jokes. No quick fixes. Just space for the ache.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

After we hung up, I went to the wardrobe and pulled out the small box from the very back. My mother’s photograph was on top. I held it for a long time, my thumb tracing her warm, genuine smile.

I’m doing this for you, I thought. I just need more time.

I was carefully putting the box away when I heard the front door open downstairs.

The patriarch’s voice was warm and welcoming.

Then another voice answered him.

Low. Unhurried. The kind that didn’t need to be loud to fill the entire space. Calm. Controlled. Deep.

I stood very still at the top of the stairs, my heart suddenly loud in my ears. I didn’t go down.

But something in that voice made the faint mark on the back of my hand burn hotter than before.

He was here.

I didn’t know what that meant yet.

But my body did.