The mansion was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that made you hear your own heartbeat. My curiosity had been building for weeks, ever since I’d noticed the single locked door at the far end of the west wing.
When I finally found it unlocked, I didn’t hesitate. I stepped inside.
"Enjoying yourself, Mrs. Aria?" His voice ca from behind , deep and sharp.
I froze. "I— I didn’t know this room was—"
"Private?" He stepped closer, shutting the door behind him. "That was the point."
"It was unlocked," I said, turning toward him, trying to hide the fact that my fingers had been tracing the dustless fra of a black-and-white photograph.
He glanced at it, jaw tightening. "Put that down."
I hesitated. "She’s beautiful... Was she—"
"My mother." His tone softened unexpectedly.
I set the photo back on the shelf. "You look like her. The eyes."
"Most people say I have my father’s," he replied, moving past toward the small wooden desk in the corner.
I followed him with my gaze, noticing the stack of worn letters tied with red ribbon. "Are those...?"
"Letters she wrote to while I was away at boarding school," he said without looking at . "Before she died."
I swallowed. "Why keep them here? Hidden?"
"Because I don’t like people seeing my weaknesses."
"That’s not weakness," I murmured.
He finally looked at , sothing flickering in his eyes. "In my world, it is."
We stood there in the quiet, the air heavier than before.
"You were close to her," I said.
"She was the only person who loved without expecting sothing in return." He smiled faintly, almost bitterly. "Until she was gone."
I stepped closer, my voice low. "Maybe you’re wrong about that."
His brow lifted. "About what?"
"That no one could love you like that again."
He took a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over , lingering. "Careful, sweetheart. That sounds like dangerous talk."
"Dangerous for who?"
"For you." His voice dropped, almost a growl.
I didn’t move. "You think I’m afraid of you."
"I think you should be."
We were too close now, the edge between us razor-thin.
"Then why did you let see this room?" I asked.
"Because you were already in it." His lips curved slightly. "And maybe... I wanted you to see it."
I glanced at the photograph again, then at the letters, feeling the walls I’d imagined around him shift just a little. "You’re not what you pretend to be all the ti, are you?"
"And what do I pretend to be?"
"A man without a heart."
He chuckled under his breath. "You talk like you’ve seen through ."
"Maybe I have."
The space between us was electric now, every word pulling closer until I could feel his breath.
"Go on, Mrs. Aria," he said quietly. "What do you see?"
"A man who’s more dangerous when he cares than when he doesn’t."
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then his hand brushed mine — deliberate, slow.
"You have no idea how right you are," he whispered.
I didn’t pull away. And he didn’t step back.
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