Chapter 2 - The Ghost Behind the Apron
The grand ballroom lay dark and empty,
the elaborate decorations for the engagement party left abandoned.
In the upper wing of the mansion,
inside the private study,
a single desk lamp cast long shadows across the room.
Clara sat on the edge of a velvet armchair,
looking frail and out of place in her stained maid’s apron.
Leo and Toby refused to leave her side,
sleeping soundly on the plush sofa nearby,
exhausted from their tears.
Andrew stood near the fireplace,
staring into the dying embers.
In his hand,
he held a framed photograph of his late wife,
Evelyn.
Her bright green eyes and warm smile matched the terrified woman sitting across from him.
“How long have you worked for the temp agency,
Clara?”
Andrew asked quietly,
without turning around.
Clara swallowed hard,
her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
“Two months,
sir,”
she replied softly.
“Before that,
I was in a rehabilitation clinic in the countryside.
I was told I was found near the river three years ago,
with no memory of who I was or where I came from.”
Andrew turned around slowly,
his gaze piercing through the dim light.
“A clinic in the countryside?”
he repeated.
“Who paid for your medical care?”
Clara shook her head,
her brow furrowing in confusion.
“An anonymous donor,”
she explained.
“The doctors said my head injury caused severe retrograde amnesia.
They gave me a name,
gave me clothes,
and told me to move on with my life.”
Andrew felt a chill run down his spine.
Three years ago,
after the tragic fire at the estate,
the authorities had produced a charred body,
claiming it belonged to Evelyn based on dental records provided by Victoria’s family physician.
Andrew had buried that casket with a broken heart,
plunging himself into work while raising his sons alone.
He approached Clara slowly,
stopping just inches away from her chair.
“Do you know who Victoria is to me?”
Andrew asked softly.
Clara looked up,
her pale green eyes catching the light.
“She is your fiancée,
isn’t she?”
“She was my wife’s closest friend,”
Andrew corrected,
his tone cold as ice.
“After Evelyn died,
Victoria stepped in to manage the household.
She took over my wife’s charity foundations,
moved into this house,
and slowly pushed herself into my life.”
Clara looked down at her hands,
her mind swirling with faint,
blurry fragments of memory.
She remembered a smell of smoke,
the sound of glass shattering,
and a cruel voice whispering in her ear before everything went black.
Suddenly,
the study door burst open.
Victoria stood on the threshold,
wearing a silk robe,
her eyes wide with fury and anxiety.
“Andrew,
this has gone far enough!”
Victoria demanded,
walking toward the desk.
“You are keeping a mentally unstable servant in your study while our guests are leaving in confusion!
Have you lost your mind?”
Andrew did not flinch.
“Look at her face,
Victoria,”
he said quietly.
“Look into her eyes and tell me you don’t see Evelyn.”
Victoria scoffed,
though her hands trembled as she pulled her robe tighter.
“Evelyn is dead,
Andrew!
We buried her three years ago!
Are you going to throw away our future for a hallucination?”
Andrew walked over to his desk and picked up his phone.
“I just called Detective Miller,”
Andrew said calmly.
“He is exhuming the grave tomorrow morning for a full DNA comparison.”
May you like
Victoria’s face drained of all color,
her lips parting in silent horror.
