I ran my fingers over the cool, carved wood of each door I passed. How many rooms did this place even have? Hundreds? Thousands? The size of the estate hadn’t truly hit me until now that I was wandering aimlessly through its endless halls. The one time I’d “visited” with Celeste and Vincenzo, I’d been too busy plotting our exit strategy to pay attention to the architecture. Besides, everything had been illusioned to look shitty.
Most of the rooms I peeked into were unremarkable. Cold, impersonal bedrooms with matching furniture. Guest rooms, maybe, though it was hard to imagine The Shadow entertaining guests. Somehow, I doubted anyone spent time here willingly.
I turned another knob and pushed the door open, stepping into a room that made me pause. Easels were scattered throughout, some standing empty, others draped with sheets. A few had half-finished paintings, their vivid strokes contrasting sharply with the sterile perfection of the other rooms.
I walked closer to one of the canvases. The scene was dark, almost oppressive—swirling shadows devouring a lonely figure standing at the edge of a cliff. I stared at it, unease curling in my stomach. Who had painted these? Not The Shadow. No way. I snorted. He probably ate paint for breakfast.
I shook off the thought and left the room, descending a winding staircase that led to even grander spaces. The estate was a labyrinth of opulence and excess—polished floors, intricate moldings, and gilded details that seemed to mock my every step.I descended a staircase to another level and wondered just how many sets of stairs were in this place. I could easily get lost.
Occasionally, I passed a guard, but none of them stopped me. They barely even glanced my way. It was odd. Maybe I really did have free rein of the place, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was always watching.
I wandered aimlessly until I came across a pair of huge, ornately carved wooden doors. The intricate patterns of flowers seemed to writhe under the dim light, as though alive. My curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed the doors open.
I gasped. So many books. I’d never seen so many books in one place outside of the public library.
The bookcases stretched up three stories, and there were ladders on tracks. Rows upon rows of leather-bound books filled the room, their spines gleaming in the faint glow of the chandeliers overhead. Long tables were arranged neatly between the shelves, each one adorned with elegant reading lamps and untouched stacks of parchment.
This was a monument to knowledge—or maybe just another display of The Shadow’s unimaginable wealth. It was breathtaking. And yet, it felt oddly incongruous with what I knew of him. Did he actually read all these? Did he even care about the stories between their pages, or were all these books just a way to flaunt his power and intelligence?
The sheer magnitude of the collection tugged at my heart. I’d once yearned for a world filled with stories and possibilities, far removed from the dark reality of life. It felt almost cruel, standing here, surrounded by knowledge and escape, while being trapped at the same time.
I wandered deeper into the room, brushing my fingers over the spines as I passed. I marveled at the textures of smooth leather, worn cloth, and embossed titles in gold and silver. The smell of aged paper and ink filled the air, a rich, intoxicatingaroma. Here, it was as though time stood still, each book holding a fragment of another world, untouched by the darkness that seemed to cling to every corner of The Shadow’s domain.
I paused before a particularly ornate shelf and studied its contents. Some titles were in languages I couldn’t even begin to decipher—flowing scripts and angular runes that looked more like works of art than words. Others bore names I recognized, old classics and historical texts, their bindings so pristine it seemed impossible they’d ever been opened.
The scent of the books brought back memories, unbidden and vivid. For a moment, the grandeur of the library melted away, replaced by the image of the small, dusty public library my mother used to take me to when I was a kid. It wasn’t anything like this—the shelves there were chipped, the carpets threadbare, and the fluorescent lights always buzzed faintly overhead. But to me, it had been a palace.
I could still see her face, her faint smile as she sat at a corner table, her hands cradling a battered paperback. Back then, she couldn’t afford to take me anywhere special. There were no amusement parks, no movie nights, no ice cream parlors. But the library? That was different. It didn’t cost anything, and it was a sanctuary where she could give me the world.
We’d walk the aisles together, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books just like mine did now. She’d let me pick out any book I wanted, no questions asked. “Books are the best kind of adventure,” she’d say. “They’ll take you farther than your feet ever could.”
I swallowed hard, grabbing the nearest shelf to steady myself. After she died—no, after she killed herself—the library became more than just a sanctuary. It was my escape, my lifeline. I’d sit in the same chair she used to favor, burying myself in story after story. I preferred to be there instead of at our apartment, where the silence was so heavy I was sure it wouldsuffocate me. The characters in those books became my friends and my family. They gave me a world where mothers didn’t leave, and children didn’t have to fend for themselves.
But no book, no story, could truly keep reality at bay. I’d stay until closing time, until the librarian—an older woman with kind eyes—would gently tell me it was time to go. And every time I walked out into the night, the weight of my life would settle back onto my shoulders like a familiar, suffocating cloak.
Standing here now, surrounded by more books than I’d ever dreamed of, I felt that old ache again. This wasn’t my sanctuary, and it never could be. These books weren’t here to comfort or inspire. They were just another piece of The Shadow’s empire, another reminder of the chasm between us.
But still, I lingered, touching the spines as if they might tether me to something safe and real.
At the end of the aisle, a single leather-bound book sat alone on a pedestal, its cover engraved with an intricate symbol I didn’t recognize. It glinted faintly in the dim light, as though daring me to touch it. My fingers itched with curiosity, but part of me hesitated. It felt wrong, somehow, like stepping into a sacred space without permission.
Did The Shadow ever come here? I tried to picture him in this space, tall and commanding, his piercing dark blue eyes scanning the shelves. It didn’t fit, not with the dark, ruthless image of him I had. And yet, there was a part of me—an infuriating, traitorous part—that wondered if this room was more than just another piece of his arsenal. Was it a refuge for him, too? A place where he could escape from the world, even for a moment?
I shook my head, trying to dispel the thought. He was a monster, I reminded myself, a manipulative, dangerous man who had trapped me in this nightmare. But as I moved through the aisles, I couldn’t help but feel like this room, with all itsquiet wonder, belonged to someone more complex than the man I thought I knew.
Deeper into the library, the shelves grew taller, the books older. The temperature seemed colder here, the light dimmer. At the far end of the room, a black door stood out starkly against the rich wood paneling. Its surface was unmarked, save for a small silver plaque that readPrivate Collection.
Private. Of course. As if everything here wasn’t enough, he had to have secrets even within this treasure trove of knowledge.
I hesitated, staring at the door. My pulse quickened as my hand reached out of its own accord. My fingers brushed the cold surface of the handle, and defiance surged through me. Whatever lay beyond this door wasn’t meant for me. Which only made me want to see it more.
I pressed down on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Locked. Of course. My lips twisted into a frustrated smirk. What secrets was he hiding here? And why did I feel like they were calling to me?
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to go where you’re not invited?”
The low, dangerous voice behind me froze me in place. I spun around to find The Shadow standing there, his piercing gaze locked on me. Fury radiated off him like a storm about to break.
“I wasn’t—” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I didn’t see anything. I just?—”
