My jaw clenched, but I still didn’t give in. He pushed off the wall.
“Why did you come here, poison?” He cocked his head. “Cold walls full of hollow… What does a girl like you want here?”
A girl like me? I huffed. “I was invited,” I bit out, and his lips twitched.
“She speaks,” he ignored my question with forced delight, and I grimaced. “Still, why come?”
I breathed hard like he had sucked away all the oxygen with his presence. “It’s none of your business is it?” I replied, my voice flat.
He took a step in my direction, his movements strained as if he was forced to do so. I held my ground, my boots rooted into the rug.
“Sad, little orphan, aren’t you?”
My stomach twisted, a cold hand digging its nails into my lungs. His words left venom behind, seeping into my skin.
“Are you here to discover mummy’s secret life?” His gaze flicked to the door behind me. “Don’t you?—”
My hand moved before I had the chance to think, and my palm collided with his cheek. My eyes widened as the sound resonated across the walls. The air froze. Preston lifted his hand to his cheek, pink blooming like a flower beneath his fingers. I could see the storm clouds brewing behind his fathomless green gaze as I stretched my fingers at my sides, the tips still tingling from the impact. But I didn’t allow any sign of regret to show.
He was clearly testing me, trying to see where my limits lay, and he had found them. A cold, crooked smile curled on his lips. The kind that meant something was about to burn, and yet he was somehow still unapologetically handsome.
“Brave.” The blood chilled in my veins from his tone. He leaned closer, without blinking but I still didn’t move. “Youshould’ve never come here,” he whispered, then just like before, he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway.
I was left standing in front of my mum’s old room, unable to breathe. Moments passed, dragging into minutes, but I still hadn’t dared to move, not yet. Slapping him had been reckless, maybe even foolish. If he told Lilian, I might be on the next train back to London. Back to the smell of stale beer and night shifts. I took a shallow breath. I shouldn’t have unpacked.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELODIE
Lilian’s office was on the third floor. A maid who passed me in the hall after Preston had left was kind enough to guide me up. Dust drifted through the air like forgotten snowflakes, stirring faintly as we moved. She stopped before a door so dark it looked as though it had been carved from night itself. Vines twisted across its surface, etched into the wood like they’d grown there of their own will, curling toward a doorknob shaped like a blackthorn rose.
I stared at it for a long moment; it drew my eye like it wanted to speak but had long forgotten how. The woman left without saying a word, and I knocked.
The door creaked open with a long sigh, and I found Lilian sitting at a massive desk, her silhouette framed by the lonely window yawning behind her. A cup of steaming Earl Grey waited for me by the time I sat down, the scent of bergamot and tea leaves softening the cloying sweetness of her perfume. Peony and something sharper beneath it.
“I’m glad you accepted my invitation,” she said, her smile spreading like honey over cold butter. “I always hoped wewould have our chance to…reconnect.” Her long nails trailed the surface of the desk in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.
Her office was smaller than I expected, but still larger than any room I’d ever called mine. Bookshelves lined the walls, rising toward the ceiling like trees in a forgotten grove, their spines bowed with the weight of knowledge and dust.
“I–yes, I’m glad too,” I answered, though I wasn’t yet sure it was true.
I still hadn’t asked her about my mum. About the reason she left. But as I looked at her composed expression, I realised it wouldn’t be right to hear only one side of the story. However, there wasn’t much I could do to change that. My mum was gone.
I shifted on the chair, and the wood creaked faintly beneath me.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I added. “It was generous of you to offer the—” I bit my tongue. The money? I wiped my hands on my trousers.
Lilian inclined her head with graceful detachment and leaned forward “What will you do with the inheritance?” she asked, her tone eager. “What are your dreams, Elodie?”
The small hairs rose on my arms from the way my name resonated off her tongue. Like a low hum of another word.
Dreams. Not plans. Dreams.
I hesitated. When I let myself dream, truly dream, I saw dimly lit libraries and books with spines worn soft by centuries of hands. I saw quiet rooms where I could think, learn, and vanish into pages. But people like me didn’t chase dreams. We crafted plans. Ones that involved saving, surviving, and someday—escaping.
“I’d like to go to university,” I said finally. The words came out steadier than I expected. “To continue my studies.”
Lilian nodded once in acknowledgement.
