The world inside the hospital room smelled of antiseptic and fear.
Machines hummed softly, their lights blinking in a steady rhythm a cruel reminder that life hung by a thread.
Ayla hadn't moved in hours. She sat by her mother's bedside, head resting on the sheets, fingers tangled in the fabric of her hospital gown.
Her eyes were swollen, her lips dry, her spirit fraying.
And then a sound.
A breath.
A whisper.
"Ayla…"
Her head snapped up.
"Mama?"
Mrs. Vernes's eyes fluttered open, weak but focused. She looked pale, drained but alive.
"Mama!" Ayla gasped, clutching her hand. "You're awake thank God, you're awake"
Her mother's grip was faint but urgent. "Listen to me… you need to go…"
Ayla frowned through her tears. "What? Go where? Mama, please don't talk, you need rest"
"No." Her mother's voice, though weak, held that same iron tone Ayla grew up obeying. "You have to listen to me, Ayla. Damien he's not what he seems."
A chill ran down her spine.
"Mama, please, don't"
"I saw him," Mrs. Vernes whispered. "I saw the truth. He"
The door creaked open.
Damien stepped inside.
Instantly, Mrs. Vernes went still, her eyes snapping shut, pretending to sleep.
Ayla quickly wiped her tears, standing. "She just woke up. I was talking to her"
Damien smiled, soft and caring, the model of a concerned husband. "That's good news, isn't it? The doctors said she's improving."
He placed a bouquet on the bedside table white lilies, perfect and cold.
Ayla nodded hesitantly. "Yes… but she shouldn't talk too much. She needs rest."
He brushed her hair gently behind her ear. "Exactly. You take such good care of everyone, my love."
Then, with a glance at the unconscious woman, he added quietly,
"Let's hope she continues to rest."
Something in his tone made Ayla's skin crawl.
That night, Ayla returned home to fetch clothes and food.
The mansion felt emptier than ever the shadows longer, heavier.
In her absence, Damien visited the hospital again.
He stood by Mrs. Vernes's bedside, hands in his pockets, gaze cold.
Her eyes opened slowly and the color drained from her face.
"You're awake," he said simply. "Good."
She tried to sit up. "Stay away from my daughter."
He chuckled. "You should rest, Mrs. Vernes. The fall must've hurt your memory."
"I remember everything," she hissed.
He leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper.
"Then remember this too you'll stay quiet. For her sake."
Her breath hitched. "You wouldn't dare"
"Oh, I already did," he murmured, stepping back. "I warned you not to interfere. And you're still here, barely breathing. That's grace, Mrs. Vernes. Don't make me take it back."
Her hand trembled as he turned to leave, his reflection vanishing in the glass.
But as soon as he was gone, she reached for her phone with shaking fingers.
If she couldn't save herself she would still save her daughter.
When Ayla returned, the nurse stopped her at the door.
"Ma'am… your mother asked us to give you this."
It was a folded note faint handwriting scrawled in haste.
Ayla unfolded it, her heart pounding.
> Ayla, listen to me. You're not safe. Damien is not who you think he is. Leave the house tonight don't trust him. Please, my child. Go before it's too late.
The world tilted beneath her feet.
Her mother's fear, the strange calm in Damien's eyes, the lies it all clicked into place.
And for the first time, Ayla looked at her husband's smile and saw it for what it was:
a mask made of ice, hiding a monster underneath.