She didn't change her schedule.
Didn't stop bringing the tea at the same hour. Didn't stop checking his vitals. Didn't stop folding the sheets the same way, or lighting the candles in the hall.
But everything had changed.
Mara hadn't slept the night after.
Not really.
She'd crawled into bed, still wearing the red dress. Still hearing his voice behind her, inside her. Still feeling the pressure of his hands where there had been none.
Even when you walk away, I'm still inside you.
She wanted to forget it.
So she tried.
The morning air was cool. Crisp. Birds somewhere in the garden made a faint, lonely noise. She walked the familiar path to his room with the tray balanced in her hands, jaw locked, spine straight.
It was just another morning.
Nothing had happened.
Nothing that couldn't be ignored.
Luc sat in the chair by the fire, shirt open, chest bare, skin golden in the slant of morning light.
She didn't look at him.
She didn't have to.
She felt him.
His gaze didn't leave her as she set the tray down. She moved carefully, silently. Like if she made no sound, it would make everything disappear.
"Mara," he said.
She didn't answer.
"You're quieter today."
Still, nothing.
She adjusted the tea cup. Wiped a spot that wasn't there. Reached for the sugar she knew he never used.
He stood slowly. Each movement deliberate.
"You think if you act normal," he said, "you won't remember how you moaned my name against the mirror?"
Her breath stuttered.
But her hands stayed steady.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't cry.
Didn't scream.
She just turned, looked him dead in the eye, and said:
"It didn't mean anything."
Luc smiled.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Just... deeply.
Like he knew she was lying.
He stepped closer.
She didn't move.
"Then why," he asked, "do you look like you're about to break?"
Her jaw clenched. "Because I made a mistake."
"No," he said softly. "You stopped pretending."
She didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Because he was right.
And that was the part she hated most.
Not the way he touched her.
Not the way she'd wanted it.
But the way she still did.
Even now.
Even as she left the tray untouched and walked out without another word.
YOU ARE READING
Caretaker of the Devil
HorrorMara Estrella is thirty-two, invisible, and exhausted. She lives in the margins of life-quiet, overworked, and slowly disappearing beneath other people's needs. After one too many nights caring for strangers who never remember her name, she accepts...
