Chapter 2 Eyes That Shouldn't Look That Way

The house was quiet the next morning, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that stretched over sharp edges - tense, waiting to snap. Veronica stepped into the kitchen barefoot, hair still damp from her shower, expecting no one to be there.

But he was.

Aiden.

Leaning against the marble island, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. His hoodie was gone, replaced by a fitted black T-shirt that clung to his frame a little too perfectly. The sleeves hugged his biceps like the fabric was made to worship him.

He didn't look up at first.

Then, as if sensing her presence, his eyes lifted - dark and unreadable.

"Morning, Ghost Girl."

She blinked, pausing mid-step. "What?"

He smiled. "You always move like you're trying not to exist."

Her pulse stumbled. "I didn't know anyone was in here."

"Clearly." He nodded toward the kettle. "Coffee?"

She nodded cautiously. "Thanks."

He moved around the kitchen like he owned it - like he'd always belonged here. Veronica, on the other hand, still avoided stepping too loud on the tiles, as if any noise might wake the monster that slept in her mother's skin.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "Not really."

"Same." He handed her a mug. Their fingers brushed - just slightly. But it was enough to leave heat behind.

She sipped. The bitterness settled on her tongue, but it grounded her.

"I heard Charlotte ripping into the gardener this morning," Aiden said casually. "She's fun."

Veronica gave a quiet laugh - short, almost startled. "That's her version of affection."

"Hmm. That explains a lot."

He said it without malice. Just observation. Like he was studying her.

"You always like watching people this closely?" she asked.

Aiden's smile curved lazily. "Only when they try so hard not to be seen."

Veronica looked away, pretending to fix the hem of her T-shirt. But she felt it again - that quiet pull, invisible but undeniable. He wasn't just charming. He was dangerous in the way shadows are when you forget to fear the dark.

And somehow, she wanted to step right into it.

Later that day, Charlotte insisted on a family lunch outing. "We need to appear united," she said with her usual icy smile. "Aiden's return is news in social circles."

Veronica sat silently in the back seat of the luxury car as Raymond drove and Charlotte barked about reputation and table manners. Aiden sat beside her, one arm draped across the seat behind her. His fingers brushed the back of her neck once - so quickly it could've been accidental.

But it wasn't.

She stiffened.

He leaned closer, his voice low and warm near her ear. "Relax. You're allowed to exist."

"Not in her world," Veronica whispered, glancing toward the front seat. Charlotte was too busy criticizing a senator's daughter on the news to notice.

Aiden didn't pull away. He didn't say anything. But his proximity was deliberate. Controlled. It was a silent rebellion neither of them had spoken aloud, and yet it echoed like thunder between them.

The restaurant was expensive - all white linen and polished silver. Charlotte smiled too much, Raymond drank too fast, and Veronica sat in silence, chewing on bland lettuce and half-formed thoughts.

"So, Veronica," Raymond said suddenly, likely trying to include her, "how's school?"

Charlotte stiffened.

Veronica swallowed. "It's fine."

"Top of your class?" Aiden asked, eyes glittering.

She met his gaze. "Yes."

"She spends too much time reading," Charlotte interjected. "Always has. It's unhealthy. Makes her think too much."

"She thinks just enough," Aiden said quietly.

Veronica's heart skipped.

Charlotte's head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"

"I'm just saying," he said, voice smooth. "A little intelligence never hurt anyone. Unless you're afraid of what it might uncover."

The table fell silent. Raymond chuckled nervously. "Let's not make this a debate."

But the damage was done.

Veronica looked down at her lap. Her hands were trembling.

No one had ever stood up for her before. Not like that.

That night, she couldn't sleep. Again.

The moonlight spilled through the tiny window in her room. Her books sat untouched on the desk. She paced the narrow space like a caged animal, her mind loud with things she couldn't say aloud.

There was a knock at the door.

Her chest seized.

She opened it slowly.

Aiden.

He stood in the hallway, shirtless, wearing only sweatpants, his hair a mess of curls and chaos. There was something unspoken in his eyes - wild, raw, almost feral.

"You okay?" he asked.

She stared at him. "You shouldn't be here."

He leaned against the doorframe. "And yet, here I am."

Veronica swallowed. "If she sees-"

"She won't."

Silence stretched.

"What do you want, Aiden?" she asked finally.

His eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second before finding her gaze again.

"Everything," he said.

Her breath hitched.

He stepped back. "Goodnight, Veronica."

She didn't sleep at all.

The next day, she noticed something strange.

A small box in the mailbox. No return address. Tied with a black ribbon. Her name written in elegant handwriting she didn't recognize.

She opened it inside her room.

Inside was a necklace - antique, silver, with a tiny ruby teardrop pendant. It looked expensive. Old. Delicate.

There was a note.

"For the girl who isn't invisible. Don't let them make you small."

No name. No clue.

Her heart pounded.

It had to be Aiden. Who else would...?

But why the secrecy?

And then, for the first time, a thought entered her mind like a crack in a perfect mirror:

What if it wasn't him?

That evening, during dinner, she wore the necklace.

Charlotte's fork paused mid-air when she saw it.

"Where did you get that?" she asked sharply.

Veronica held her gaze. "It was a gift."

"From who?"

Veronica lied without flinching. "A teacher. Said I reminded her of someone she once knew."

Charlotte stared at her for a beat too long.

Then she stood abruptly, her chair scraping back. "Excuse me," she muttered, leaving the room.

Aiden's eyes followed her, then shifted back to Veronica.

"You lied," he said under his breath.

"You watched me?"

"I always watch you."

She didn't know whether to be scared or excited.

"Who sent it?" she asked.

"I didn't," he said.

"But you knew about it."

His silence was answer enough.

That night, she opened her door before he could knock.

He didn't hesitate this time.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was punishment. It was surrender. It was hunger, years in the making.

She didn't pull away.

She clutched his shirt, pulled him closer, let herself fall into the fire.

He tasted like darkness and promises he had no right to make. His hands were everywhere - her waist, her back, her hair. And when he whispered her name like a sin he wanted to keep repeating, she knew she was already lost.

She was his.

And he was hers.

But neither of them had any idea what it would cost.

Later, when he was gone and the moon watched her like a witness, she ran her fingers over the ruby pendant.

A thought, uninvited and cold, slithered through her mind:

What if this necklace wasn't a gift... but a warning?