Sanctuary of my heart

Chapter one

Authors note

Dear Readers,
Thank you for picking up Sanctuary of My Heart. This story is a journey of love, loss, and self-discovery, set against the backdrop of a mysterious small town and the deep, untamed woods that surround it. Please note that this book is intended for an adult audience and includes some spicy chapters, so reader discretion is advised.

This story is still a work in progress, and new chapters will be uploaded weekly—though updates may come more frequently. I hope you enjoy getting lost in Lyra's world as much as I enjoy creating it.

Happy reading!

The white sand kissed my feet as I ran toward the turquoise water, which danced its way to the shore. Strands of my dark hair flew across my face as the wind blew, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Lyra, darling! Get back here!" My mother's laughter echoed across the beach as she tried to catch up to me.
"Catch me if you can!" I glanced over my shoulder and giggled.
All of a sudden, a loud crash echoed in the distance, forcing me to a stop. My eyes widened with fear, and my heart raced as the sound grew closer, more menacing.
Then, with a jolt, I awoke to the rumble of thunder, my dream dissolving into the shadows of the treehouse I lay in. My childhood memory, my mother, the laughter, all of it was just a dream.
I often wonder if time is supposed to heal, because for me, it only seems to sharpen the edges of my grief. It's been two years since my mother passed away, but the ache in my chest still feels fresh. The only place that dulls the pain is the treehouse. My only escape.
I discovered it the summer after she died, hidden deep in the woods behind the estate. It was old and forgotten, just like me, and it became my sanctuary. A place where I could escape the suffocating silence of the house, the stifling presence of my stepfather, and the cold indifference of my stepsister.
Every day, I slip away, unnoticed, through the dense trees until I reach the clearing. The treehouse sits high above the ground, nestled in the branches of an ancient oak, a relic of a time before I existed. Climbing up the worn wooden ladder feels like crossing into another world, a world where my mother is still alive and I'm not alone.
Today, as I sit curled up on the dusty floor, a book in my lap, the world outside fades away. Here, I can pretend that I'm not trapped in a life I didn't choose, that my mother's death didn't shatter everything. The words on the page are my refuge, a way to drown out the memories that haunt me.
I like being alone. Loneliness has become my closest companion, a familiar presence throughout most of my twenty years. My mother was the only friend I ever had. My father passed away when I was just three, leaving behind only faint, blurry memories.
When I was five, my mother remarried, and Merrick Wilson became my stepfather. A wealthy and powerful man, we moved to Ravenwood after they got married, a small town surrounded by dense woods, to an old sprawling estate owned by Merrick. Merrick cast a long shadow over our lives. His first wife died giving birth to my stepsister, Serena, who is a year older than me.
Serena and I never really bonded. She's cold and distant, and whenever I've tried to reach out to her, she's only responded with rudeness. Eventually, I stopped trying. She keeps to herself, and I keep to myself. We live in the same house, but in different worlds, never bothering each other.
Merrick was always distant, even when my mother was alive. I never sought a bond with him, but after her death, his demeanor shifted drastically. He became abusive, treating me as though I were a burden.
You might wonder why I haven't left. The truth is, he controls every aspect of my life. He forbids me from seeking work or going out, and I've become too frightened to even try to find a job.
The only source of solace in this oppressive environment is Clara, our servant. She was with us when my mother was alive and has continued to support me through everything. Clara's kindness and presence are what help me endure each day in this house.
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly dinner time. I was expected at the table promptly at 7. Reluctantly, I closed my book and placed it on the makeshift shelf I'd set up in the corner of the treehouse. The space could use an upgrade; right now, it only has a small mattress and a sleeping bag since I occasionally spend the night here. If it were up to me, I'd live here permanently.
It was sprinkling as I descended the ladder and started toward the house. The steady patter of rain against the leaves created a soothing backdrop, and I lost myself in the rhythm of nature. As I approached the estate, a rustling sound in the trees made me pause, but when I glanced around, I saw nothing unusual. I shrugged it off and continued on my way.
I slipped into my room through the window, quickly changed into more suitable attire, and headed downstairs to the dining room. Merrick and Serena were already seated at the table.
I took my place across from Serena, trying to avoid her cold gaze. She was in her same formal attire as I saw her every day, a meticulously tailored blouse in a muted shade of ivory, paired with a high-waisted, navy skirt that fell elegantly just below her knees. Her outfit was completed with a fitted blazer that accentuated her slender waist and a pair of polished black pumps that clicked softly on the hardwood floor. Her long, red hair was styled in loose waves, cascading over her shoulders, and her pale skin was accentuated by subtle makeup, giving her an air of pristine sophistication.
My appearance was much more casual. My skin, a warm tan from days spent outdoors, and my midnight-dark, curly hair, usually tied back or left in natural disarray, reflected my less controlled and more rugged lifestyle. I had hazel brown eyes unlike the ocean blue of Serena's. I wore simple, practical clothing that suited my needs rather than any formal standard: often a worn blouse and jeans, comfortable but far from the polished elegance Serena exuded.
I couldn't help but compare myself to Serena. Her immaculate, meticulously chosen attire seemed worlds apart from my practical, everyday wear. The difference between us was not just in our clothing, but in the lives we led and the worlds we inhabited. Serena's polished appearance was a constant reminder of the world of privilege and control that I could never fully belong to.
"You're late!" Merrick's voice thundered, causing me to flinch.
"I fell asleep," I murmured, my gaze fixed on my lap.
Merrick's face turned red with frustration. His dark blonde hair styled back and his formal office attire made him seem like a gentleman, but his arrogance showed through. "Have you learned nothing from Yelena? She was always too lenient with you. If she had been stricter, you wouldn't be so irresponsible now. Her easygoing nature has turned you into a careless mess!"
"I'm sorry," I said softly.
Merrick's anger reached a boiling point. He stood up abruptly and hurled my plate to the floor. The clatter echoed through the room as food and shards of porcelain scattered. Serena looked at me with a smirk on her oh-so-beautiful face, satisfied with how her father was treating me.
"There! Now you can eat off the floor!" he roared.
Tears streamed down my face as I stood up, my body shaking with sobs. Without another word, I fled upstairs to my room. The constant barrage of his anger seemed unending, and I was powerless to escape it. Clara came knocking on my door as soon as I got in my bedroom. "I'll bring food to your room, honey! Open the door, please," she called from the other side of the door.
"Please, leave me alone for now, Clara. I need to be alone," I managed to say between sobs that kept involuntarily escaping from my mouth.
Collapsing onto my bed, I buried my face in my pillow and cried until exhaustion overtook me. The weight of his harsh words and the relentless cruelty seemed to smother me as I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up the next morning and headed straight to the treehouse right after breakfast. The treehouse had become my refuge, a sanctuary where I escaped reality more eagerly with each passing day. The routine was comforting: wake up, get dressed, have breakfast, and retreat to my haven until dinner. No one expected me to return before then, and no one seemed to care, except Clara. She knew I spent my days away but never asked where I went. When she inquired about my skipped lunches, I simply told her I wasn't hungry.
As I settled into the treehouse, I lost myself in the pages of my book, trying to escape the harshness of my reality. The steady rhythm of the rain against the roof was a soothing soundtrack to my solitude. Yet, today, there was an unusual stillness in the air, a sense of anticipation I couldn't quite place.
I glanced out the small window, but the forest remained unchanged, the trees standing tall and silent. I shook off the unease, focusing instead on the comforting words of my book. Even though the thought of an intruder crossed my mind, I decided to ignore it. I preferred to believe that my sanctuary would remain undisturbed, a safe haven in a world that felt increasingly hostile. My thoughts drifted to my past. I had always been a solitary figure, even as a child. Friends were few and far between. I wasn't shy, but I preferred my own company, finding solace in books and the world of imagination they offered.
My mother was my only true friend, the one person who understood me completely. She was my confidante, my guide through the labyrinth of childhood. After her death, the void she left behind seemed insurmountable. High school was a lonely experience. I didn't fit in with any particular group, and while I wasn't disliked, I was often overlooked. I kept to myself, finding comfort in my studies and the few close acquaintances who never quite became friends.
Social gatherings felt foreign and uncomfortable. I was often an observer, content to watch from the sidelines rather than actively participate. My classmates had their own circles, their own dramas, and I was just on the periphery, feeling like an outsider in a world that never quite welcomed me.
I thought about the high school dances I avoided, the parties I skipped, and the times I chose to stay home and read rather than socialize. My mother's encouragement to branch out had always been well-intentioned but ultimately fell short of changing my nature. I cherished the quiet moments we spent together, the evenings when she'd read to me or we'd sit in comfortable silence, sharing a bond that felt more genuine than any social interaction.
Now, with her gone, the loneliness I once managed to contain had grown into an overwhelming presence. I was left with a life that felt like a series of empty spaces—my old school desk, the quiet corners of the estate, and the solitude of the treehouse. It was in these empty spaces that I felt the absence of her warmth the most.
I closed my eyes, trying to recall her voice, her laughter. The memories were precious but tinged with sadness. Even the comforting familiarity of the treehouse couldn't fully erase the ache of her absence. Here, in this small, secluded refuge, I found peace, but I also faced the stark reality of my isolation.