Arriving at the Villa
The elegant black car pulled smoothly to a stop in front of the iron gate, and the parking attendant bowed without saying a word.
Behind me, the villa rose like a stone monolith, its windows glowing coldly in the dusk.
A butler in an impeccable graphite suit opened the door and stared at the floor.
“Welcome, Mrs. Montemayor,” he said in a practiced whisper.
I stepped inside. The marble floor was cool under my shoes, and the scent of polished wood mingled with the faint scent of perfume.
In the lobby, a line of employees stood silently with their backs turned, their faces hidden behind shiny masks.
A silver-haired woman led me up a grand staircase, her heels clicking like a metronome.
“The Master will escort you to your quarters,” he whispered, stopping in front of the enormous doors. la afrr
The bedroom interior was a veritable cathedral filled with silk curtains and gilded furniture, but the focal point of the room was a huge, custom-made wheelchair propped against the wall.
From there came Baste’s voice: “The couch is yours tonight.”
I stared at the plush sofa next to the impressive bookcase, feeling the weight of his gaze.
He pointed to the wheelchair. “Don’t touch the panel. It’s not for guests.”
My curiosity ached when I noticed a weak connection between the metal and the casing – a hidden clasp that could never be opened.
That night the house settled around me, sighing softly, while the wheelchair remained still like a closed secret.
A Discovery at Midnight
The clock struck midnight, and a restless wind blew through the corridors, making the old portraits tremble.
I slid off the couch, stepping silently on the Persian rug, and followed the echo of my heartbeat.
The corridor stretched on forever, its walls decorated with portraits of men I had never seen, whose eyes followed my steps.
From behind the wheelchair’s hidden panel came a faint mechanical hum, a sound like gears turning in a forgotten machine.
I knelt down, feeling the gentle vibrations of the smooth wood, and pressed my hand against the crack.
The panel opened with a soft click, revealing a narrow door hidden behind the seat.
Cold air brushed against my cheek as I stepped into the darkness, the faint light of my phone piercing the gloom.
Inside was a hidden laboratory, its walls decorated with consoles and rotating valves.
Engineers dressed in white moved with impeccable precision, tending to the massive, lifelike synthetic skin that covered the slender, almost ethereal figure.
The skin pulsed faintly, in a rhythm that seemed almost human, its edges smooth and its texture unsettling.
My hand trembled as I reached for the control panel, the metal warm under my fingers.
Suddenly the lights flickered and then came on, casting shadows that danced like ghosts.
From the darkness came a deep, familiar voice, whispering, “You shouldn’t have seen that.”
Morning Comparison
Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting scattered reflections of color onto the marble floor.
Clara remained in the doorway, her heart pounding, as Don Baste entered the room.
“You disappeared last night,” she whispered in a trembling voice.
He hesitated, the weight of the secret weighing on his back like a chain.
“I… I can’t hide it anymore,” she said, tugging at the edge of the synthetic leather.
The material ripped apart with a quiet, empty sigh, revealing the pale skin beneath.
His face was gaunt, his jaw sharp, his eyes deep-set but wild.
On his scarred arms one could read the map of a life spent in shadow.
“I’m not a monster,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.
