THE GIRL WHO HEARD THE DEAD HEART BEAT

CHAPTER ONE part -1 ; 3:17 AM

The first time Ayla heard the heartbeat, she was eight years old.

It was raining that night. Not the soft kind of rain that made people want to sleep, but the heavy kind that hit the windows so hard that the whole house seemed to shake with it.

Ayla was sitting on her bed with a book in her lap. She wasn’t reading anymore. She had been staring at the same page for almost ten minutes.

Her mother was downstairs.

She had gone to answer the telephone a few minutes earlier, telling Ayla not to leave her room.

Ayla had nodded.

She always listened to her mother.

Until she heard it.

Thump.

She lifted her head.

For a few seconds, she didn’t move.

Then it came again.

Thump.

Ayla slowly put the book aside.

Her eyes moved toward the wall beside her bed.

The sound was coming from there.

She climbed off the mattress and walked closer.

The room was cold.

Much colder than it had been a moment ago.

Ayla placed her small hand against the wall.

Nothing.

She waited.

Then—

Thump.

Her hand jerked away.

It sounded like a heartbeat.

A real heartbeat.

Slow.

Heavy.

Close.

Ayla looked toward the bedroom door.

It was still open.

“Mama?”

No answer.

She took one step toward the hallway.

Then she heard something that made her stop.

“Ayla.”

She froze.

The voice had come from outside her room.

It sounded like her.

Not exactly like the Ayla she was now.

Like the little girl she heard every morning when she spoke to herself.

She stared at the doorway.

“Ayla...”

Her own voice called her again.

Ayla’s eyes filled with tears.

She wanted her mother.

She wanted to run downstairs.

But before she could move, her mother appeared at the end of the hallway.

Her face was pale.

Very pale.

“Ayla.”

Her mother rushed into the room and grabbed her arm.

“Come here.”

“But Mama—”

“Don’t talk.”

Her mother pulled her away from the door and shut it.

Then she locked it.

Ayla had never seen her mother look so frightened.

“Mama, what happened?”

Her mother knelt in front of her.

Both hands came around Ayla’s face.

“Listen to me carefully.”

Ayla nodded.

“If you hear someone calling your name tonight, don’t answer.”

Ayla frowned.

“Why?”

“Just don’t.”

Her mother looked toward the door.

Ayla followed her gaze.

Nothing.

Then the heartbeat came again.

Thump.

Her mother went completely still.

Ayla could feel her fingers trembling against her cheeks.

Thump.

Then someone whispered from the other side of the door.

“Ayla...”

It was her voice.

Exactly her voice.

Her mother quickly covered her mouth.

Neither of them moved.

The voice came again.

“Ayla...”

This time it sounded closer.

Almost like whoever was outside had pressed their lips against the door.

Ayla’s tears finally fell.

Her mother pulled her into her arms.

“Don’t answer,” she whispered.

They stayed like that until morning.

Ayla never saw who was outside.

She never asked her mother about it again.

But she remembered the clock.

It had been 3:17 AM.

Seventeen years later, Ayla still woke up at exactly the same time.

She opened her eyes and stared at the dark ceiling.

For a few seconds, she didn’t know where she was.

Then the rain hitting the window reminded her.

She was in a hotel.

Again.

Ayla reached for her phone on the bedside table.

The screen lit up her face.

3:17 AM.

She closed her eyes.

“Seriously?”

She dropped the phone beside her.

It had been happening for years.

No matter where she slept, she woke up at 3:17.

Sometimes it happened after a nightmare.

Sometimes there was no reason.

And sometimes...

She heard the heartbeat.

Ayla turned onto her side.

She tried to ignore the sound of rain.

Tomorrow she was going back.

Back to Blackwood Manor.

She hadn’t been there since she was eighteen.

Not properly, anyway.

After leaving for university, she had found every excuse possible to stay away.

Her mother never complained.

She never asked Ayla to come home.

Maybe she understood why.

Maybe she was afraid of that house too.

Ayla pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Three weeks had passed since her mother’s funeral.

Three weeks since she had heard her mother’s voice.

Three weeks since she had received the keys to the house she had spent half her life trying to forget.

The lawyer had called it an inheritance.

Ayla called it a problem.

She didn’t want the house.

She didn’t want the memories.

She definitely didn’t want to know why her mother had left it to her.

But there was something she couldn’t stop thinking about.

The letter.

It had arrived two days after the funeral.

No sender.

No explanation.

Just her name on the envelope.

Inside was a single sentence written in her mother’s handwriting.

Go to Blackwood Manor before you sell it.

That was all.

Ayla had read it at least twenty times.

She still didn’t understand why.

Her mother had spent years telling her never to go back.

Now she was telling her to return.

Ayla turned toward the window.

Lightning flashed outside.

For one brief second, the entire room became white.

She saw a figure standing near the curtains.

Ayla screamed.

She jumped out of bed and switched on the lamp.

Nothing.

There was no one there.

She stared at the curtains.

They were moving slightly.

The window was closed.

Ayla’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Get a grip.”

She rubbed her face.

“You need sleep.”

She walked to the window and pulled the curtains open.

The street below was empty.

Rainwater ran down the glass.

No cars.

No people.

Nothing.

She was about to close the curtains when she noticed something lying on the floor.

An envelope.

Ayla frowned.

She hadn’t seen it when she entered the room.

She stepped back.

For a moment, she simply stared at it.

Then she bent down.

Her name was written across the front.

AYLA.

Her stomach tightened.

She picked it up.

The paper was old.

Yellow around the edges.

There was no stamp.

No address.

Only her name.

Ayla looked toward the door.

It was locked.

She checked it twice.

Then she opened the envelope.

A photograph slid into her hand.

She looked at it.

And stopped breathing.

It was her mother.

Young.

Much younger than Ayla had ever known her.

She was standing in front of Blackwood Manor.

Ayla recognized the house immediately.

The tall windows.

The stone steps.

The twisted trees surrounding it.

But her mother wasn’t alone.

A boy stood beside her.

He looked about nineteen.

Dark hair.

Black coat.

His expression was strangely serious.

Ayla turned the photograph over.

There was a date written on the back.

October 14, 2001.

Below the date were three words.

HE IS WAITING.

Ayla stared at them.

Her fingers began to shake.

Then she looked at the boy again.

Something about his face felt familiar.

Not familiar in the normal way.

It was the kind of familiarity that made the back of her neck go cold.

She picked up her phone.

Her fingers moved quickly.

She searched the name of Blackwood Manor.

Then the date.

Then the photograph.

Nothing useful appeared.

Ayla searched again.

This time she added her mother’s name.

Still nothing.

She was about to give up when she noticed something written very faintly beneath the date.

A name.

She zoomed in.

Rayyan Hale.

Ayla stared at the screen.

Her heart started beating faster.

She knew that name.

She didn’t know how.

She searched it.

The first result made her blood run cold.

RAYYAN HALE — DIED OCTOBER 14, 2001.

Ayla stopped breathing.

She looked at the photograph again.

The young man was smiling faintly now.

Or maybe she was imagining it.

Her phone suddenly rang.

Ayla almost dropped it.

The caller ID showed one name.

MOM.

She couldn’t move.

Her mother’s number had been disconnected after the funeral.

There was no way it could be calling.

The phone kept ringing.

Ayla stared at it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then she answered.

She didn’t say anything.

Neither did the person on the other end.

Only breathing.

Slow.

Heavy breathing.

Ayla’s lips parted.

“Mama?”

The breathing stopped.

For several seconds, there was complete silence.

Then a man’s voice whispered—

“Ayla...”

Her blood ran cold.

The call ended.

At that exact moment, something hit the window.

Ayla jumped.

She turned around.

Nothing.

Then she heard it.

Thump.

She looked at the photograph.

Thump.

Her eyes slowly moved toward the bedroom door.

Thump.

The sound wasn’t coming from outside.

It wasn’t coming from the wall.

It was coming from somewhere inside the room.

Ayla backed away.

Her hand covered her mouth.

Then someone whispered her name from behind her.

“Ayla...”

She turned.

And the bedroom light went out.

CHAPTER 1; PART 2;

THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH .The room went completely dark

Ayla couldn’t see anything.

For a few seconds, she stood frozen beside the bed, listening to her own breathing.

Then she heard a sound near the door.

A slow creak.

Someone was opening it.

Ayla reached for her phone, but it slipped from her trembling fingers and hit the floor.

The screen lit up for a second.

Just enough for her to see the doorway.

There was someone standing there.

Ayla stopped breathing.

The figure didn’t move.

He was tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark clothes.

His face was hidden by the darkness.

“Who’s there?”

Her voice came out weaker than she expected.

The man stepped into the room.

Ayla immediately backed away.

“Don’t come closer.”

He stopped.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then lightning flashed through the window.

The man’s face appeared clearly for half a second.

Ayla’s heart dropped.

It was him.

The man from the photograph.

The same dark hair.

The same eyes.

The same face.

She stared at him as if her mind had stopped working.

“Rayyan...”

The man looked at her.

Something changed in his expression when he heard his name.

He looked almost angry.

“Where did you hear that name?”

Ayla couldn’t answer.

She pointed toward the photograph lying on the floor.

His eyes followed her hand.

The moment he saw it, his face changed.

He walked toward the photograph.

Ayla stepped back.

“Stay away from me.”

He stopped.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you.”

“Then why are you here?”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“I came because you shouldn’t have opened that envelope.”

Ayla frowned.

“How do you know about the envelope?”

He didn’t answer.

“Who sent it?”

Still nothing.

Ayla’s fear slowly turned into anger.

“You walk into my room in the middle of the night, you know about a letter my dead mother left me, and somehow you know my name.”

She took another step back.

“Now you’re telling me I shouldn’t have opened something that was addressed to me?”

Rayyan looked at her.

“You’re asking the wrong questions.”

“Then tell me the right ones.”

His jaw tightened.

“Why did your mother send you back here?”

Ayla stared at him.

“I don’t know.”

“You should.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.”

For the first time, something softer appeared in his eyes.

He looked tired.

Almost sad.

Then his gaze dropped to her hand.

Ayla followed it.

She was still holding the photograph.

Rayyan walked closer.

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Ayla.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He stopped in front of her.

They were close enough now that Ayla could see the tiny scar near his eyebrow.

She had never noticed it in the photograph.

His eyes met hers.

“I’ve known your name for a very long time.”

Ayla’s heart skipped.

“How long?”

Rayyan didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked at the clock.

3:19 AM.

His expression suddenly became serious.

“You need to leave.”

“What?”

“Right now.”

Ayla almost laughed.

“You come into my room at three in the morning and tell me to leave my own hotel room?”

“Not the hotel.”

He looked toward the hallway.

“The house.”

Ayla’s face went pale.

“What house?”

Rayyan looked back at her.

“Blackwood Manor.”

The name made her stomach twist.

“You know about the house.”

“I know more than you think.”

“Then tell me what happened there.”

Rayyan stayed silent.

Ayla’s frustration grew.

“Was my mother there when you died?”

His eyes immediately hardened.

Ayla noticed.

“You did die, didn’t you?”

Rayyan looked away.

“Yes.”

The word was so quiet that Ayla almost didn’t hear it.

Her chest tightened.

“Then how are you standing here?”

He looked at her again.

“I don’t know.”

Ayla stared at him.

She expected fear.

She expected him to smile or tell her it was some kind of joke.

He did neither.

He looked completely serious.

And somehow, that frightened her more.

A sound came from the hallway.

Thump.

Rayyan’s expression changed instantly.

“Don’t move.”

Ayla froze.

“What was that?”

He raised one finger to his lips.

Another heartbeat sounded.

Thump.

This time it was louder.

Ayla felt it in her chest.

She looked toward the doorway.

The hallway was empty.

Then something moved at the far end.

A shadow.

It crossed the wall and disappeared.

Ayla grabbed Rayyan’s arm without thinking.

He looked down at her hand.

She quickly pulled it away.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t say anything.

For some reason, his silence made her more nervous.

Another sound came from the hallway.

A woman’s voice.

“Ayla...”

Her face went white.

“Mama?”

Rayyan grabbed her wrist.

“No.”

His voice was firm.

“Don’t answer.”

“But that’s my mother.”

“Your mother is dead.”

Ayla looked at him.

Tears filled her eyes.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

The certainty in his voice hurt more than the words.

Ayla pulled her hand away.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

Rayyan’s expression softened.

“I know.”

His voice became quieter.

“I’m sorry.”

Ayla looked away.

She hated that his apology sounded genuine.

She hated even more that some part of her wanted to believe him.

The woman’s voice came again.

This time from directly outside the door.

“Ayla...”

Rayyan stepped between her and the door.

“Don’t look at it.”

“Why?”

“Because if you see it, it will know you’re ready.”

Ayla swallowed.

“Ready for what?”

He didn’t answer.

The door slowly opened.

A cold wind entered the room.

The curtains moved violently.

Ayla looked at the doorway despite Rayyan’s warning.

There was no one there.

Only darkness.

Then something appeared on the wooden floor.

A wet footprint.

Then another.

And another.

Someone was walking toward them.

But nobody was there.

Ayla covered her mouth.

Rayyan moved closer to her.

“Stay behind me.”

She whispered, “What is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said you knew everything.”

“I said I knew more than you.”

The footsteps stopped.

Right in front of them.

The room went silent.

Then the photograph in Ayla’s hand suddenly became warm.

She looked down.

A thin red line had appeared across Rayyan’s face in the picture.

It looked like blood.

Ayla dropped it.

Rayyan immediately picked it up.

His face went pale.

“What?”

Ayla stared at him.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer.

He turned the photograph over.

The words on the back were gone.

In their place, something new had appeared.

A single sentence.

SHE REMEMBERS YOU.

Rayyan’s fingers tightened around the photograph.

Ayla whispered, “Who?”

He looked at her.

“The woman who killed me.”

Ayla couldn’t speak.

Rayyan folded the photograph and put it inside his coat.

“You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“And if I don’t?”

He looked toward the empty doorway.

“Then by morning, you won’t be the only person in this room.”

Ayla stared at him.

Despite everything, despite the fear twisting inside her chest, she found herself asking the one question she hadn’t wanted to ask.

“Rayyan...”

He stopped.

“Did you know my mother?”

His eyes met hers.

“Yes.”

Ayla’s heart sank.

“How?”

He looked away.

“She was the reason I died.”

The words hung between them.

Ayla felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath her.

“My mother killed you?”

Rayyan didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked toward the door.

Then he stopped and looked back at her.

“Tomorrow morning, go to Blackwood Manor.”

Ayla stared at him.

“You just told me to stay away from it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

His expression was unreadable.

“Because now it knows you’re coming.”

He stepped into the hallway.

Ayla followed him.

“Wait.”

He turned.

“What?”

She hesitated.

“Will I see you again?”

For the first time, Rayyan almost smiled.

It wasn’t a happy smile.

It was the kind of smile someone gave when they already knew the answer.

“You’ve been seeing me for years.”

Ayla frowned.

“What does that mean?”

But he was already walking away.

She ran after him.

“Rayyan!”

The hallway was empty.

He was gone.

Ayla stood there alone.

She looked down at the floor.

The wet footprints were still there.

They stopped exactly where Rayyan had been standing.

She slowly looked toward the staircase.

Then she heard something behind her.

A heartbeat.

Thump.

She turned.

Nothing.

Her phone vibrated on the floor.

Ayla picked it up.

There was a new message.

No number.

No name.

Only four words.

WELCOME HOME, AYLA HALE.

Her face went cold.

She read the message again.

Ayla Hale.

That wasn’t her name.

Her father’s surname was different.

Her mother’s surname was different.

She had never been a Hale.

Another message appeared.

YOU WERE NEVER HER DAUGHTER.

Ayla’s hands began to shake.

Then the final message appeared.

YOU WERE HIS.

The phone screen went black.

And somewhere inside the dark house, a man began to laugh

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