Shadows of the Heart

The Helpless beginning 

The rain had not stopped for days. It clung to the air, heavy and cold, as Amara stood before the tall iron gates of the Dorian estate. Her satchel worn and nearly empty hung from her shoulder. She was seventeen, but the sorrow in her eyes made her look older.

When the gates opened with a groan, she stepped inside. The estate loomed like a giant: wide stone steps, tall windows, and a roof that disappeared into the mist. Amara whispered a small prayer. She had nowhere else to go.

Inside, the servants moved briskly, barely glancing at her. To them, she was just another orphan girl hired to scrub floors and carry trays, Invisible, Helpless.

That night, as she lay in the small attic room given to her, Amara pressed her hands together under the blanket. She promised herself one thing: she would endure. No matter what.

But even as she closed her eyes, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that the mansion itself was watching her keeping its secrets hidden in the silence of its halls.

 The Mystery House

The Dorian estate was a place of whispers. By day, sunlight spilled into its wide corridors, bouncing off marble floors and golden frames. By night, the house seemed to change, its shadows grew taller, and its silence heavier. Amara quickly learned that not all doors were meant to be opened.

Her chores kept her busy: scrubbing the carved stair rails, polishing silver, carrying baskets of firewood. Yet she noticed things others ignored. A locked room at the end of the west wing, its key always hidden away. A portrait in the gallery covered with a velvet cloth, though the rest stood proudly on display. Servants muttered among themselves but went silent whenever Amara drew near.

One afternoon, while dusting the library, she found an envelope tucked between the pages of a book. The paper was yellowed, the writing rushed as if scribbled in fear:

“If anything happens to us, protect the child. She must never fall into their hands.”

Amara’s heart pounded. What child? What danger? She meant to hide the letter, but a sudden creak made her shove it back into the book.

Turning, she found herself staring into the sharp, curious eyes of a stranger. He leaned lazily against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. His presence was unsettling too confident for someone she had never seen before.

“You don’t belong here, do you?” he asked softly.

Amara swallowed, unsure whether he was teasing or threatening.

Before she could reply, a calm voice echoed from behind him. “Lucien. Stop frightening the staff.”

Amara’s gaze shifted to the young man who stepped into the room. Adrian Dorian the master’s son. His tone was cool, his expression unreadable, but his eyes lingered on Amara just a moment too long.

Two men. One dangerous, one distant. Both watching her.

And she, helpless, caught in the middle of a house full of secrets.

 The Love Triangle

The days that followed blurred into long hours of work, but Amara could not forget the two men who had crossed her path in the library.

Adrian Dorian was a mystery in himself. He rarely spoke to the servants, but when he did, his voice carried a calm authority. To the world, he seemed untouchable polished, cold, the perfect heir to his family’s fortune. Yet Amara noticed the small cracks. The way he lingered by the window during storms, or how his hand trembled slightly when he held a glass of wine.

Lucien, by contrast, was a storm all his own. He arrived and left the estate as though he owned it, unbothered by rules or propriety. He teased Amara whenever their paths crossed, calling her “little shadow” for the way she tried to remain unnoticed. His words unsettled her, but she couldn’t deny the thrill they carried.

One evening, Amara carri