Chapter Four: The Voice Behind the Glass
The world around her was too quiet.
When Clarissa Morelle opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the smell — faint, sterile, and cold, like a hospital mixed with dust. The second thing was the silence. Not a car horn, not a bird, not even the hum of electricity.
Just silence.
She blinked against the dim light above her. The room was unfamiliar — white walls, steel door, a single table, and a chair bolted to the floor. No windows. No clocks. Only a long mirror stretched across one wall.
But she knew better. It wasn't a mirror.
It was glass.
And someone was behind it.
Her heart raced. She tried to stand, but her legs wobbled. She was still wearing the same silk dress from the night of the villa — only now it was wrinkled and torn at the shoulder. Her shoes were gone.
"What is this place?" she muttered, her voice hoarse.
Then it came.
A voice — low, distorted, almost metallic — echoed from a speaker somewhere above her.
> "You're awake."
Clarissa froze. Her head jerked toward the mirror.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her tone sharp despite the fear clawing inside her.
> "I'm the one asking questions here, Clarissa."
The sound was mechanical, filtered through a voice changer — she couldn't tell if it was a man or a machine. The calmness of it made her skin crawl.
She took a shaky step forward. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
> "Of course. Clarissa Morelle. Heiress of the Morelle Empire. The only daughter of Lord Damien Morelle and Lady Helena. You live in luxury. You spend what others earn in a lifetime in a day."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then you should also know my father will destroy you when he finds me."
> "Oh, he's looking," the voice replied smoothly. "He's looking everywhere. But he won't find you. Not yet."
Clarissa's stomach twisted. "Why am I here?"
> "Because someone wanted you here."
She stiffened. "Who?"
The voice paused for a long moment before replying.
> "Someone close. Someone you trust."
Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
"You're lying."
> "Am I?"
She turned toward the glass, glaring at her own reflection. "Show yourself!" she shouted. "If you have the guts, come out!"
There was a faint hum — like a chuckle distorted by static.
> "Not yet. You're not ready for that."
Clarissa took a deep breath, her pride fighting through the fear. "What do you want from me? Money? A ransom? Because if that's it, you've chosen the wrong girl. My father doesn't negotiate with kidnappers."
> "I don't want your father's money."
That answer hit her like ice water.
She frowned. "Then what do you want?"
Another pause.
> "The truth."
She blinked. "The truth about what?"
> "About you."
Her confusion deepened. "Me?"
> "Who you really are, Clarissa. Not the image. Not the spoiled daughter. The woman beneath all that shine."
Her lips trembled — anger, fear, disbelief mixing into one. "You don't know anything about me."
> "Oh, I know more than you think," the voice said softly. "I know what happened that night at the villa. I know who you were waiting for before you stepped outside to look at the stars. I know the call you received an hour before you were taken."
Clarissa's blood went cold.
She hadn't told anyone about that call.
No one.
Her knees felt weak. "Who are you?" she whispered.
> "You'll find out soon enough. But first, you'll tell me everything about that night."
"I won't tell you anything!"
The voice lowered, darker now, dangerous.
> "Then you'll stay here. Alone. Until you do."
A soft click echoed in the room.
The lights dimmed. The speaker went silent.
Clarissa stood in the darkness, her breath shallow, her heart hammering.
For the first time in her life, she didn't have control. She didn't have power.
She only had fear — and questions.
She looked at her reflection in the glass, her voice barely above a whisper.
> "Who did this to me?"
No answer came.
But somewhere, behind that mirror, someone was still watching.