Page 50
He never approached her in the light.
Never stood before her fully.
Instead he lingered just beyond reach. In hidden rooms. Behind mirrors. Beneath the shape of the life everyone else was allowed to live.
Watching.
Wanting.
Controlling what little he could touch.
A shiver moved over my skin. The page blurred for a second before sharpening again. The house around me suddenly felt different. Not cold like it’d felt before.
Hidden.
The rules of the house now carried a different meaning.
The east wing.
The silence.
The control.
Not a cage for me. Protection for him.
My fingers tightened on the edge of the page as another thought surfaced—slow and dangerous.
Had Alaric given me this because he saw himself as the monster beneath the opera house…
Or because he saw me as the woman a little close to him.
I didn’t know if this was an ache.
Or a warning.
My gaze drifted—the monster and Alaric merged. Scarred. Broken. Aching.
A sharp knock on my door wrenched me from the thought.
“Just me, dear.” Mrs. Reid poked her head inside.
Heat rose in my cheeks. I closed the book a little too hard. The slap drawing her focus as she moved toward my bathroom, her arms laden with fresh towels. She glanced at the stack of books on the floor. Her gaze moved away before I could catch her reaction. Her steps echoed from the bathroom before she returned.
I motioned to the books. “Did he buy them often?”
Mrs Reid stilled.
Too long.
Then quietly. “Once,” she hesitated. “For them.”
Her gaze shifted to the curtains. “Looks like another cold day out there. They’ll grow shorter here, and quieter.” She gave a sad smile. Glanced at the books once more. “Well, I’d better keep going.”
She left then, disappearing through the door to leave me alone once more. That ache grew in the absence. Not for her. For the things she never said.
I stared at the pile of books in front of me, then flicked through the pages in my hand, returning to the inscription. The words not as neat and as perfect. Written for me.
I was starting to understand now.
