"Caster?!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
But when the light suddenly came on, I found myself staring into Stacker's eyes. He was the last person I expected to save me. My lips went dry as I looked at him, not knowing whether to thank him or scold him.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a surprised tone.
"I'm sorry... I broke the law..."
He interrupted me, repeating his question: "Are you okay?"
I looked at him, wiping the cold sweat from my face. "Yes... thank you."
So... could he also be a kind person on the inside? Had I judged him too early?
He took a water bottle from the desk next to us, filled the glass, and handed it to me.
"Thank you..." I said, really needing the water.
I gulp down, as if tasting water for the first time, then put the glass back in its place.
"So, the reason you broke the first law was curiosity?" he asked, leaning back on the desk and folding his arms.
Before I could answer, I looked around the room. It looks like an adult's room... Is this his? But it's a little too formal, and I don't think it's suitable for a spoiled brat like him. The place looks old, and layers of dust still cover the windows and cabinets.
"It's not curiosity... Or maybe it really is. I wanted to meet with my mom to talk about something important."
"Waiting until morning wasn't an option, was it?"
What's wrong with him? He should be thanking me for accepting these rules in the first place and not questioning them. Anyone else would have demanded their freedom, thinking they were in prison.
"It was important... What about you? Do these rules apply only to me?"
He smiles gently, the first time I've seen him smile, or even engage in a calm conversation with me, since I arrived.
"My job here is to protect reckless people like you..."
"This isn't fair... Why don't you tell me why these rules are in place?"
His eyes darken slightly. "Isn't what happened a moment ago enough?"
"I don't think he's the real danger... the dog? I think he only attacked me because I'm a new face in this mansion."
"His name is Caro..." I nod sarcastically. "How cute! A dog like that has a name!"
I turn to leave, placing my hand on the doorknob, but he doesn't move. I look at him, his gaze cold.
"Neither of us is leaving... you'll stay here tonight."
"If this is because you're afraid I'll be attacked again, then fine. I'll accept that. Just open the door so I can leave."
"I'm doing this because I'm afraid of breaking any more rules... being torn apart isn't what worries me, it's being punished for letting a reckless person like you wander around. So this is for me... please... the bed in the corner."
He gestures toward the bed, which looks clean and comfortable, but I have no intention of sleeping on it.
"Are you kidding?"
After a long struggle, I lie down in bed.
I close my eyes, trying to penetrate the world of sleep, but the memories leap out like successive shadows. The image of the raging dog won't leave my mind, and my presence in this arrogant man's room only complicates the matter further. I just stare at the dark ceiling, while I hear the rustle of pages drifting through the room.
I break the silence with a calm tone: "What is the subject of the book in your hands?"
He raises his eyes for a moment, then turns back to me: "It deals with the myths of ancient zodiac signs and the relationship of spirits to celestial bodies."
"How exciting... I used to read such books when I was a kid, but now I'm writing novels instead of reading them... I applaud your choice."
He stops his reading: "You write?"
I nod as I continue to stare at the ceiling, feeling his gaze roaming my face.
"How many novels have you produced so far?"
"Five..."
His lips smile as he returns to his book: "A respectable achievement for an eighteen-year-old. Five novels is a significant number, while I've barely finished my first novel after two years of struggle."
"You write?"
"In secret..."
A faint smile spreads across my lips. How wonderful it is to find a common denominator with someone like him. I sensed from the first moment that we had common ground, but I never expected it to extend to the world of writing.
Suddenly, the images I saw while researching the secrets of this family flash back to my mind.
"May I ask a question?"
"Here you go."
"Where did your previous families disappear to?"
He slams the book shut and turns to me, surprised:
"Where did you see them?" I raise my eyebrows in dismay: "In the annual family photo album?"
He freezes for a moment, then his eyes begin to wander through his memory. His gaze drifts to the floor.
"The family is torn apart... that's all it is."
"Does your family break up every year only to be reunited?"
He shakes his head, still deep in thought. "I think it will be the last time..."
I don't understand the meaning of his words, and I don't want to ask further. His sudden distraction arouses my suspicion. It seems that an old wound is still bleeding deep inside.
I try to change the subject, so I get out of bed and start gazing around the room.
"Whose room was this?"
He looks at me thoughtfully. When I turn to him, I find him smiling for the second time since we met.
"It belonged to an elderly servant."
"Wow! It doesn't look like an ordinary servant's room. Despite its simplicity, it's neatly organized... stacked books, old magazines, a copper coffee pot, and fragrant incense sticks."
"He was an old man, my favorite of all."
"A favorite servant?"
"A dear friend... I used to give him my short stories to read and give me his honest opinion."
The words came out of his lips with an unexpected clarity. I no longer saw a trace of arrogance in his face; instead, it seemed to me that he was opening a window into his real world.
"To write a piece of your soul, then entrust it to a discerning reader, is the most beautiful gift of writing. I also used to give my father my texts... Despite my young age and my frequent spelling mistakes, he would overlook all of that and discuss ideas with me."
In a moment of clarity, I found myself sharing with him a part of a memory I hadn't shared with anyone.
"Where is he now?"
"He died of a heroin overdose..."
"My condolences..."
My father was my shield and my guiding light. I still carry his memory in every letter I write. Without him, I wouldn't be this strong woman... He still accompanies me on my journey.
Stacker notices the clouds of sadness gathering in my eyes and tries to steer the conversation in a different direction as he rises from his seat.
"You know, that old man had a secret that no one knew."
I realize he's trying to comfort me, which only increases my respect for him.
"What was that secret?"
"He made the best cup of coffee in the world..."
I laugh heartily. "Really?"
He nods and adds, "And the best thing is, he taught me that secret."
For a moment, I see him as a different person. His harshness has turned to kindness, his coldness to warmth. An astonishing change from that first moment in the dark hallways.
"I love coffee passionately..." I say.
"Do you want to know the secret recipe?" He tells me, and I nod enthusiastically.
He walks over to the wooden cabinet, pulls out a ceramic bowl containing Ethiopian coffee beans, and lifts the copper brewing pot. He washes it meticulously, then begins the familiar dance. I watch as his hands mix the roasted coffee beans with the cardamom pods and saffron, then slowly pours the hot water as if pouring out memories.
When he offers me the first cup, I eagerly grasp it. I take the first sip and feel an indescribable euphoria. I pretend to fall to the floor in delight.
He laughs, wiping his hair from his forehead. "Don't exaggerate... Is it that bad?"
I stand up, holding the cup. "Worse than I thought," I say jokingly, knowing how much I like it.
He takes his own cup and sits opposite me, and we drink in silence. Our eyes meet occasionally, then we shatter like windowpanes.
I finish my drink, put down the cup, and head towards the bed: "It's time for bed. There are only two hours until dawn, so we should get some rest... And I have one last question: Don't you think this coffee blend is getting old now that that old man is gone?"
He shakes his head. "Don't worry. I make sure to always update it. My frequent presence in this room ensures that the blend stays fresh."
"Since you spend so much time here, wouldn't you like to do some housework and clean the room?"
I curl up under the covers and fall asleep. Although coffee usually energizes me, the combination of cardamom and saffron brings me a deep sleep. As dawn breaks, my eyes open to the sunlight filtering through the window, revealing the room's beauty in the morning light. I turn to see Stacker asleep at his desk, his head resting on a book, seemingly in a rare state of peace.
I get up and wake him up quietly. He puts on his glasses without our eyes meeting. I notice how he returns to his old self. I understand that the real person who appeared yesterday was just a passing visitor.
He heads towards the door and opens it violently, only to come face to face with Caster standing on the threshold, his eyes shining with a mixture of disappointment and pain.
"I hope you had a good night?..."
"Caster, don't rush to judgment..." Stacker says in a calm tone, but his brother interrupts sharply.
"What judgment are you talking about? Look at you! Are you trying to convince me that the person whose presence was initially rejected spent the entire night with her for no reason?"
I see anger flashing in his eyes, and it doesn't take much to realize that the image before him looks suspicious. If I were him, I would have thought the same thing.
"Caster! Stop this childish hysteria and listen to what I have to say!" Stacker yells at him.
I feel a weight of guilt settle in my chest, despite my innocence. Perhaps it's because Stacker was the first person to treat me kindly in this place, and he realized how much his brother meant to him.
I try to intervene, but I hold back. Perhaps Stacker's explanation will be clearer.
"I went out last night and found her in the corridor. She was in front of Caro, on the edge of danger. I just took her into the room. Nothing happened. You can ask her yourself... I know you don't trust me."
Stacker's explanation was brief and convincing. He didn't mention the coffee or the conversations we had, which is probably for the best.
But Caster's gaze shifts to me. He completely ignores his brother, staring at me with pained eyes. Then he raises his hand, and I see a tub of vanilla and chocolate ice cream between his fingers.
"I was looking for you... to apologize. I thought I made you sad yesterday, when I promised you ice cream and then left. But it seems you're fine... What my brother ruined, I made right, right?"
I've never heard words that pierced my heart so deeply. I feel guilty despite my innocence. Perhaps because his heart is so fragile.
Caster takes two steps back, then storms off.
Stalker turns to me, adjusting his glasses. "That's his nature. He's as tender as a child's. Don't worry, he'll be back. And by the way... you missed breakfast. It's ten o'clock, and we usually gather at the table at nine. I apologize, it's my fault. I'll have the servants send your food to your room."
He leaves too, leaving me alone.
I stand there, trying to process what happened. For the millionth time, I wonder: How did my first day in this palace turn into a recurring nightmare? Even Caster... I feel like he's been my brother for years. And Stacker... I've recognized a side of him I never imagined. This isn't what I expected when I heard the news of my mother's marriage and our move to Scotland.
I snap myself out of my reverie, and the first thing that comes to mind is Caster. I quickly run around the palace looking for him. As I wander, I feel as if the scene is repeating itself... The difference is that darkness ruled the scene yesterday, and now light fills everything despite the palace's gloomy brown walls.
I run through the corridors, searching for her, until I find the old woman I met yesterday. The same... but today her features are different. Not cold like a doll, but bright, smiling as she wipes the paintings.
I approach her and ask her with a questioning look, "Have you seen Caster?"
She nods respectfully and points, "In the garden, ma'am... near the Indian jasmine flowers."
I thank her and turn to leave, but I stop. This is my chance to ask her how she was yesterday.
"Excuse me... Are you okay? You looked sad yesterday."
She looks at me in surprise: "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."
"I met you yesterday in the corridor. You were scared, and you told me to run."
"You must be imagining things. Yesterday was my day off; I was at my daughter's wedding."
I nod. I'm certain of what I saw. Either she's hiding the truth, or she doesn't remember.
I start to walk on, but she stops me. "When exactly did this happen, ma'am?"
"Yesterday... at night."
Her expression suddenly shifts. She flinches, sweat drips from her forehead, and she doesn't say a word. She grabs the cleaning supplies and runs away as if she's seen a ghost.
Her behavior only increases my suspicions. I don't understand what's wrong with the inhabitants of this mansion.
It doesn't matter. What I saw yesterday was worse. My concern now is Caster.
I run to the garden, to where the old woman pointed. I find him standing, watering the flowers. He looks like an angel... gentle despite the harshness of the situation.
I approach him and whisper, "My dear..."
He ignores me and continues watering the flowers.
"Don't be so dramatic..."
"I'm trying not to fight with you on your second day with us. Is that dramatic?"
"No."
"So... please, I want to be alone."
I gently grabbed his wrist and turned his shoulders toward me. "Come on, let's go eat ice cream together."
He yanked his arm forcefully. "I don't want it anymore, eat it alone."
I felt his movement stiff, but I wanted to finally try. "Okay, let me help you water the flowers..."
"Get out of here!" He interrupted me abruptly.
I'd never known myself in this situation before. I didn't remember ever flattering or trying to appease anyone. Even this remorse was new to me.
"Okay... I apologize."
Those were my last words before I left for the interior of the palace. I began searching for the kitchen, until I found it in the west corner. It was spacious beyond my wildest imagination, four times the size of my room. Every detail bore that gloomy brown hue, embossed with Arabic motifs and scented with oud and incense.
The servants moved frantically, wearing uniform navy blue uniforms. As soon as I saw me, a girl in her twenties came forward, wiping her hands with a napkin.
"Are we taking too long to serve you, madam? Breakfast is ready. I was about to send it to your room."
I wasn't used to such excessive generosity. I remembered my morning quarrels with my mother over the preparation of breakfast. I couldn't believe how my life had been turned upside down overnight.
"No need to send it. I'll eat it here."
"Here?" she said, surprised.
She nodded, smiling, and turned around, calling out, "Auntie Visa, set the table. The lady will eat here!"