𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 ― rafe cameron

δώδεκα ; 12

song of the chapter:
CIGARETTES OUT THE WINDOW ; tv girl

It had been a week since anyone had heard from Margarita.

The island's small-town whispers had started to swell, growing louder with each passing day. Her phone calls went unanswered, and every attempt to see her at he house no matter who was greeted was ended with the same vague response: "I'm sure she's okay. She'll come out tomorrow."

But tomorrow never came.

Rafe sat in his car, staring up at the towering gates of her family's estate. The pristine facade of the house, with its sprawling lawns and perfectly manicured hedges, seemed more like a fortress now, hiding the girl who had vanished behind its walls. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, a gnawing sense of unease creeping into his chest.

He had tried calling her. Again and again.

No response.

The last time he'd seen her, she had fallen asleep beside him, vulnerable yet safe in his presence. He thought he'd helped her that night, maybe even reached her in a way no one else had. But since then, she had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but silence.

Rafe exhaled, pushing open the car door as he stepped out. He wasn't going to leave without answers this time.

Rafe's shoes crunched against the gravel as he made his way toward the front entrance. The sprawling glass house loomed above him, its sleek, modern design reflecting the pale sky. The gates had been unlocked—strange, considering how guarded the house had become lately.

He hesitated at the door, glancing up at the massive windows that provided a glimpse into the foyer. The white marble piano sat untouched, gleaming under the soft sunlight streaming through the glass. It felt almost eerie, the silence within those walls louder than any music that could be played.

His knuckles rapped against the door, the sound echoing in the empty space beyond. He waited. No movement. No one coming to greet him. Rafe tried again, this time pushing the doorbell. The chime resonated inside, but still, nothing. After a few long moments, he decided to test the handle. To his surprise, it turned easily in his grip.

The door swung open with a soft creak, and Rafe stepped inside, his footsteps tentative against the cool marble floors. The house was immaculate, every surface gleaming, but it felt hollow, like a stage set waiting for actors who would never arrive.

"Hello?" he called, his voice uncertain as it bounced off the high ceilings.

No answer.

Rafe's stomach churned with unease. Something wasn't right. He wandered further into the house, passing through the grand foyer and into the expansive living room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered faintly in the air, but the house was devoid of life.

Where was everyone?

He headed toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms, pausing outside Margarita's door. His heart raced as he gently knocked.

"Margarita? Are you in there?"

Silence.

His hand hovered over the door handle, dread building in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but the thought of her, alone, scared him more than anything. Gathering his resolve, he opened the door.

Her room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn shut, casting long shadows across the bed. The air was thick, almost stifling, as if the space had been untouched for days. Rafe's eyes darted around, scanning for any sign of her.

The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled, but there was no sign of Margarita.

Panic surged through him. Where was she?