Page 56 of Lured By Shadows

Nope.

I absolutely was not giving him the satisfaction of looking at him now.

Finally, I managed to adjust, pulling my hand off his thigh and placing it back in my lap. My eyes drifted down to where his long fingers rested on my hip, his touch slow and purposeful as he traced a soothing path from my stomach to my upper thigh.

The freaking pervert.

“Nice to see you again, Soroush,” Eunice said, her voice warm but measured as she rested a hand over her son’s. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

Soroush returned her smile calmly. He was the only one at the table who looked almost normal with tanned skin, gentle brown eyes, and messy golden-brown hair untouched by the same rigid perfection the rest of the family carried. Even so, there was something difficult to place about him. Not sharp like the Scarbroughs or playful like Rupert. Just… quiet in a way that pulled attention anyway.

Something about the entire family dynamic kept nagging at me. Even their softer moments felt strangely polished, as though there were always another layer hidden beneath the surface. I couldn’t tell if it was simply the influence of old money shaping everyone into curated versions of themselves or if something deeper sat underneath it all.

I looked back down at the empty plate in front of me just as another door creaked open, followed by the soft, perfectly timed sound of clean shoes crossing tile. A small group of uniformed staff entered, each carrying a silver tray topped with a domed lid. They moved around the table in silence, placing the trays before us before lifting the covers in unison.

Steam rose at once, warm and fragrant, and within seconds my plate was no longer bare but filled with what had to be the most impressive dinner I’d ever seen.

An elegant Italian dish sat before me, the sort you usually only come across online. Filtered, staged, almost unreal. The scent wrapped around me instantly: roasted garlic, sweet tomato, sharp cheese, and fresh basil, rich enough to make my mouth water on the spot. My stomach let out a low, uncontrollable growl, and I froze, hoping no one had noticed.

Betrayed publicly by my own organs. Thankfully, no one commented.

My gaze drifted to the others at the table, curiosity creeping in despite myself. That’s when I noticed something that made my brows pull together. The Scarbroughs barely had anything on their plates at all. Just small portions, nothing close to what I’d been served. Thin slices of vegetables, tiny portions of protein, and careful drizzles of sauce that looked more decorative than filling. I couldn’t help wondering how they even functioned on meals like that. With all their money, it wasn’t as though they had to deprive themselves. Maybe they lived off supplements or replacements, or maybe they just weren’t hungry. Still, something about it lingered in my mind.

Eunice must’ve noticed my quiet staring because she spoke up, her posture flawless and her voice soft but clear enough to carry.

“We do hope you make yourself comfortable here, Ira. Please don’t worry about anything. Eat as much as you’d like.”

She sounded warm, even welcoming, but there was distance underneath it too, reassurance meant to keep me from asking too many questions. I nodded politely, unsure how to respond. Julius, who had been mostly silent since the introductions, surprised me by adding his own comment.

“Seconds are encouraged,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he gave me a quick wink. “Even thirds, if you’re feeling brave.”

Finally. Someone here understood me emotionally.

Without meaning to, I looked up toward Culver. My eyes almost searched for permission even though I’d already promised myself I wouldn’t look at him. Especially not with the way he had me boxed in beside him in this uncomfortable-comfortable position. He gave a small nod, though, as though he’d been waiting for me to glance his way. It was ridiculous that I even felt the need to check with him, but his gaze made it seem as though I needed confirmation before doing anything at all.

“Okay,” I murmured, shifting in my seat to reclaim a little space as I picked up my utensils. “Thanks for the meal.”

The flavors hit all at once. Rich and balanced, the sauce was tangy and smooth, and the pasta perfectly cooked. It felt indulgent in a way I wasn’t used to, as though something simple had been elevated into an impossibility. I closed my eyes briefly, letting it settle despite myself. It was so good it almost hurt. I didn’t make a sound, even though my body wanted to react, wanted to give anything away. I bit my lip instead and swallowed it down with the taste, forcing myself to stay composed.

Most nights, dinner with my ma meant a quick meal or nothing at all, and on the rare occasions she cooked, I usually forced down a few bites out of obligation. This was different in every obvious way.

His voice came low and close, brushing my ear while everyone else stayed absorbed in their own conversations.

“I am not entirely sure what is going through your mind,” Culver murmured, his breath skimming the side of my neck, “but I should make this clear. I do intend to be your friend.”

The word landed wrong. Not cruel exactly, but humiliating all the same.

“Friend” wasn’t a boundary. It was a dismissal wrapped in politeness.

I swallowed my food too quickly, nearly choking as heat slid down my throat and panic climbed through my chest. I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady while pushing away from him as much as I could. “What if I don’t wanna be your friend?”

Even saying it made something twist painfully inside me. I hated how exposed it sounded. I wasn’t here to be handled gently, humored, or kept at arm’s length with polite smiles and measured concern. I wasn’t some fragile obligation he’d been assigned. The thought alone made my stomach turn.

He blinked, genuinely caught off guard, his brows drawing together in confusion that looked almost real.

“Bear with me,” he said slowly. “Am I misunderstanding something?”

I looked back down at my plate, dabbing carefully at the corners of my mouth with my napkin as if that might somehow smooth over the mess building inside me.