Chapter 8

The weekend arrived, bringing a violent, unseasonal rainstorm to Long Island. The sky was the color of bruised iron, and thunder rattled the windowpanes of the main house.

Seeking an escape from the noise of the staff cleaning the hallways, Annabelle wandered deep into the estate grounds until she found the massive glass conservatory.

Inside, the air was thick, warm, and smelled intensely of wet earth and blooming orchids. The heavy rain pounded against the glass dome roof, creating a loud, rhythmic white noise that instantly relaxed her.

She found a vintage wicker chaise lounge hidden behind a row of giant ferns. She curled up on the cushions, opening a thick art book. The warmth and the sound of the rain were hypnotic. Within minutes, her eyelids drooped, and she fell into a deep sleep.

She didn't know how much time had passed when a sound pierced through her dreams.

It was a slow, heavy footstep on the stone path.

Annabelle shifted in her sleep, a sudden, inexplicable chill running down her spine. Her brow furrowed. She slowly opened her heavy eyelids.

Her vision was blurry for a second. When it cleared, the breath was violently sucked from her lungs.

Less than ten feet away stood a man. He was incredibly tall, with broad shoulders that seemed to block out the light. He was dressed in a stark black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.

He was standing with his back to her, looking at a rare blue orchid.

In his right hand, he held a vintage silver Zippo lighter. His long, elegant fingers flipped the metal lid open and shut.

Clink. Clack. Clink. Clack.

The metallic sound was sharp and menacing, cutting through the noise of the rain.

As if sensing her sudden spike in heart rate, the man stopped moving. The lighter snapped shut. He slowly turned his head, looking over his shoulder. The movement was agonizingly deliberate, like a predator locking onto a sudden disturbance in its territory.

Annabelle's heart stopped.

His face was a masterpiece of sharp angles and deep shadows, devastatingly handsome. But his eyes-they were the color of a frozen ocean. They held absolutely no warmth, no mercy. It was the gaze of an apex predator looking at a rabbit.

The sheer, suffocating pressure of his aura pinned Annabelle to the wicker chair. Her stomach cramped with pure terror.

She scrambled to sit up. The heavy art book slid off her lap and slammed onto the stone floor with a loud bang. She flinched, but the man didn't even blink.

"I-I'm sorry," Annabelle stammered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just reading, and I fell asleep."

The man fully turned to face her. He looked down at her, his icy eyes slowly dragging over her panicked face, her messy hair, her trembling hands. His gaze felt physical, a cold weight pressing against her skin, dissecting her every micro-expression. He didn't say a single word. The silence stretched, thick and terrifying.

Annabelle's palms began to sweat. She gripped the edge of the wicker chair, her knuckles turning bone-white. She felt like she was suffocating. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her muscles were entirely locked under his paralyzing stare.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man gave a single, microscopic nod.

He let out a low, vibrating hum-a sound so deep it vibrated in Annabelle's chest. Then, he slipped the Zippo lighter into his pocket, turned around, and walked away. His long strides carried him deeper into the jungle of the conservatory until he disappeared.

Annabelle collapsed back against the cushions. She dragged in a ragged breath, realizing she had been holding it the entire time. A layer of cold sweat coated her forehead.

She didn't care about the book. She jumped up from the chair and practically ran out of the conservatory.

She sprinted through the rain, bursting through the back doors of the main house. She nearly collided with the butler, who was carrying a silver tea tray.

"Miss Anna?" he asked, startled.

"Sorry!" she gasped, running past him.

She dashed up the stairs, ran into her room, and slammed the door shut. She locked it with a loud click. She backed away from the door, pressing her hands against her racing heart.

Whoever that man was, he was terrifying. She prayed to God she would never cross paths with him again.