Chapter 4 Small cracks

Two years in, Elena had learned to move through the mansion like a shadow-unseen, unheard, untouched.

But sometimes, just sometimes, the ice around Adrian's heart would crack.

It was never much. A glance held too long, a soft word caught on a breeze. Small things she clung to like fragile lifelines.

One rainy afternoon, Elena sat in the vast library, nose buried in a book about Impressionist painters. The world outside was a blur of gray and drizzle.

Adrian appeared in the doorway, rain dripping from his coat, eyes tired but sharper than usual.

"Why are you always hiding?" His voice was low, almost hesitant.

Elena looked up, startled. "I'm not hiding."

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them by a fraction, yet still so far.

"I don't know how to reach you," he said, voice rough. "You act like you're afraid of me."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I am."

He paused, then knelt beside her chair something he had never done before.

"I don't want you afraid," he whispered.

Her heart skipped.

"But I don't know how to fix this," he admitted, eyes searching hers.

For the first time, she saw vulnerability where there had only been cold before.

She reached out, resting her hand over his.

"That's a start," she said softly.

For a fleeting moment, warmth blossomed between them.

Then the storm outside shook the windows, and the moment shattered.

Adrian stood abruptly.

"I have a meeting," he said, voice distant again.

Elena watched him go, feeling the small crack close as quickly as it had opened.

Yet somewhere deep inside, a stubborn hope ignited.

Maybe, just maybe, the ice could melt.