CHAPTER 174: THE DOOR BETWEEN THEM

Soft golden light from the chandelier spilled into the room where Julia sat, her fingers lightly wrapped around a porcelain teacup that had long gone cold.

Across from her, Ava sat quietly, watching her friend’s trembling profile with deep concern.

Julia’s shoulders rose and fell unevenly, the rhythm of someone trying to calm a heart that refused to listen.

Her gaze was fixed on the untouched drink before her, but her mind was far away—trapped somewhere between fear, longing, and self-doubt.

"Maybe," she began softly, her voice barely rising above a whisper, "maybe Roman just wanted me to feel completely ready first."

Her tone was gentle but heavy, as though she were speaking to herself rather than to Ava.

"You know him—he’s not the type to rush things. He has this way of making me feel safe... even when he’s silent."

Her lips trembled faintly as she spoke. "Sometimes I think he reads me better than I read myself."

Ava stayed silent, letting her speak, her own fingers nervously clasping the hem of her dress.

Outside, laughter drifted faintly from the ballroom where Lisa’s birthday celebration was still underway—the clinking of glasses, the soft rise of a violin—but it all sounded far away from the two women sitting in the quiet.

Julia’s eyes softened as she stared ahead, her thumb absently tracing the rim of her cup.

"There were moments," she murmured, "when he could have taken advantage of my vulnerability. But he never did.

He’d rather stay up all night holding me—whispering that I shouldn’t force myself into anything I wasn’t ready for. That kind of patience... it’s rare, Ava. Especially from someone like him."

Her voice wavered near the end, and a faint, wistful smile ghosted across her lips. "So no," she said finally, "I don’t think our intimacy—or the lack of it—defines us."

"What we share goes deeper than that. It’s trust. It’s understanding. It’s this quiet bond that doesn’t need to be proven by anything physical."

The chandelier above them flickered, sending fleeting shadows dancing across her face—her expression now tender but weighed with confusion.

"When the time comes," she added softly, "it’ll happen naturally. Until then... I’m just grateful for a love that doesn’t demand, but waits."

She sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe I was just nervous," she said in a smaller voice.

"Like any other girl would be. And Roman... he never asked. Never forced. If he noticed that I wasn’t ready, he just... stopped. He’d smile and change the subject."

Her fingers curled against the edge of the chair. "He’s such a gentleman, Ava. It’s not that I don’t love him enough to do it—we love each other deeply enough to be intimate. But somehow... I just felt it wasn’t time yet."

The air in the room grew thicker, heavier. Ava listened quietly, her green eyes reflecting the glow of the chandelier.

She had known Julia for months now—long enough to recognize when her calm voice masked something deeper. The topic was delicate, yet necessary.

"Julia," Ava began at last, her tone careful, her expression thoughtful, "Roman may never ask you, even as his wife. But I believe he wants it. He’s a man, after all—and you’re his wife." Her eyes softened, but her words carried weight.

"Sometimes love isn’t about saying things out loud. It’s about what’s unsaid. He may not tell you, but deep down, I think he’s yearning for that closeness too."

Julia’s brows furrowed, the words sinking into her slowly, each one echoing in the still air. Ava’s face softened with pity and quiet sincerity.

"You may not realize it, Julia, but I believe he’s dying to be close to you. He’s just waiting for you to open that part of your heart."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric. Julia’s lashes fluttered as she stared down at her lap, her mind unraveling the truth in Ava’s voice.

The thought pierced through her chest—guilt, confusion, and a dawning realization all at once.

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came. For the first time, she felt the full weight of what she might have denied him.

Ava leaned forward slightly, worry flickering across her face. "Julia?" she whispered, reaching out to touch her friend’s hand. "What’s wrong?"

Julia blinked, her breath quickening. "Ava... you’re right," she whispered. The words came out shaky but certain.

She rose suddenly, her chair scraping lightly against the marble floor. "You’re right. I’ve been so—so afraid to face it."

"Julia—wait, what are you doing?" Ava asked, startled, rising after her.

"I’ll find him," Julia said with sudden determination, her eyes blazing with urgency. "I’ll find Roman."

Before Ava could stop her, she was already moving—her steps quick, almost frantic, as she left the room. Ava hurried after her, calling her name, but Julia’s pace didn’t falter.

They reached the long corridor outside, where the sound of laughter and music from below faded into a distant hum.

The hallway stretched endlessly, lined with flickering lamps and portraits that seemed to watch silently.

The faint scent of lilies from the flower vases mingled with the sharp tang of polished oak.

Ava caught up, slightly breathless. "Julia, slow down! Where are you even going?"

"To Roman," Julia replied firmly, her voice low but quivering with emotion. "Something doesn’t feel right."

Before Ava could question further, a sound split through the quiet—a heavy thud, deep and dull, like something heavy collapsing onto the floor.

Both women froze instantly.

Julia turned sharply toward the direction of the noise. It had come from one of the guest corridors—a darker stretch of hallway that branched toward the private rooms. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

"Did you hear that?" Ava whispered, her face pale.

Julia nodded slowly. "It came from there," she said, pointing ahead.

Her feet began moving before her mind could stop her, drawn by instinct.

Ava followed close behind, her pulse racing.

They walked cautiously down the dim hall, their footsteps soft against the carpet.

The faint light glimmered off the brass handles of closed doors. Then, another sound—a metallic clang, sharper this time, echoing from the same direction.

Julia’s breath hitched. "Something’s wrong," she whispered.

Ava’s hand trembled as she clutched Julia’s wrist. "Maybe we should call someone—"

But Julia didn’t answer. Her body was moving on its own, driven by fear and something deeper—an invisible pull toward him.

When they reached the end of the hallway, they stopped in front of a closed door. The sound had come from inside.

The two women exchanged a quick glance—Ava’s eyes wide with dread, Julia’s set with trembling determination. She raised her hand and knocked softly.

"Roman?" Her voice was barely audible. "Is someone in there?"

She asked hoping to be some to answer and the answer should come from Rome.

There was no response before she tries again.

She tried again, louder this time. "Roman, it’s me."

A faint rustle came from within. Then, a voice—weak, low, but unmistakable—answered.

"Love... is that you?"

Julia’s blood ran cold. Her entire body went still. She recognized that voice—she would know it anywhere—but something about it was off. It was slower, strained, almost slurred.

Ava’s eyes widened. "Was that—Roman?"

Julia pressed closer to the door, her hands trembling. "Roman?" she called again. "Roman, are you alright?"

A pause. Then came the reply, softer this time, but filled with unsettling calm.

"Yes, love... it’s me."

Her heart clenched. There was something wrong. His voice lacked its usual strength—its steady, commanding tone. It sounded... empty, distant.

"Roman, please answer me properly," she said, panic edging into her tone. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

"Yes, my love," came his slow response. "I’m alright... just open the door."

Julia’s hand hovered over the doorknob. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Something about the way he said it made her hesitate—like the words were spoken by a mouth that didn’t belong to the soul she knew.

She swallowed hard, fingers trembling as she reached forward.

And then—another voice shattered the fragile silence.

"Don’t even dare open that door."

It was sharp, venomous, and female.

Julia froze instantly, her heart leaping to her throat. The voice carried from within the room, each syllable laced with hatred and mockery.

Ava gasped beside her, her hand flying to her mouth. "Who—who was that?"

Julia’s breath came in shallow bursts. "Abigail," she whispered, the name escaping her lips like poison.

From inside, a cold, derisive laugh followed—low and chilling. "Or should I say," the voice continued, "you can’t open it. Because your man," a pause—then a cruel, breathy chuckle, "has always been mine. From the very beginning."

Julia’s vision blurred for a second, disbelief flooding through her.

The corridor spun—the scent of lilies now felt suffocating, the air too thick to breathe.

Her fingers curled into fists as her body trembled.

"Roman would never—" she began, her voice cracking.

"Oh, wouldn’t he?" Abigail’s tone turned mocking. "You think your love makes you special? You think his patience is virtue? No, my dear... it’s pity."

The words sliced through Julia like blades. Ava reached for her arm, trying to steady her, but Julia’s knees felt weak.

Inside, something clattered—a chair, maybe a lamp. The thud reverberated through the door.

Then, silence again. The kind that screams louder than noise.

Ava’s eyes filled with fear. "Julia—we need to call someone—Lisa, Azazel, anyone—"

But Julia didn’t hear her. She was staring at the door, tears glimmering in her wide eyes.

Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Roman," she whispered, her tone breaking. "Please... answer me."

No reply came. Only the soft sound of Abigail’s laughter—slow, deliberate, and cruel—echoing faintly through the wood. The kind of laugh that promised ruin.

And for the first time that night, the Thompson Mansion no longer felt like home.

It felt like a cage—its white halls hiding something dark and unforgivable behind one closed door..