Chapter 3 3

The door was slightly ajar. Through the narrow crack, she saw Adrian, crouched over shattered glass. A decanter lay ruined near the cabinet. His hand bled, crimson threading down his wrist.

She startled as he looked up-and locked eyes with her.

Neither moved for a moment.

He knelt among shards of glass and a toppled decanter, his dark hair tousled in a way that looked effortless yet somehow deliberate. Claire's heart kicked-not because of anything romantic, but because the sight was so startlingly human. The poised, untouchable Adrian, undone by a careless accident.

Their eyes met before either could speak.

He stood abruptly, pressing a handkerchief to his wrist, trying to stem the bleeding, but the deep red spread quickly.

"Are you hurt badly?" Her voice came out softer than intended.

He frowned, glancing down. "It's nothing." His tone was clipped, but not unkind.

"You should get it cleaned." Her gaze lingered on the blood seeping through the cloth.

He hesitated, then said, "Not your concern."

Claire swallowed the urge to argue. Instead, she stepped back and quietly closed the door behind her.

Downstairs, Angela's kitchen was filled with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted chicken. But her mother's face was tight, her eyes sharp when Claire recounted the accident.

"You have to be careful. This place has rules, Claire. And crossing lines-even unknowingly-can have consequences."

"Why does it feel like I'm always walking on a wire here?"

Angela sighed, folding her hands. "Because you are."

Claire bit her lip, the weight of her mother's warning sinking in.

That night, Claire lay awake, the image of Adrian's cut hand etched in her mind. Not because she felt affection, but because it was the first crack she'd seen in the perfect armor of the Devereux family.

She wondered how many other fractures were hidden beneath their polished surfaces.

The garden behind Devereux Mansion was like a hidden realm-a place where everything seemed a little too still, too quiet, as though it had forgotten the noise of the world. Claire often found herself drawn here in the early evenings, when the sun hovered low and painted gold across the hedges and marble statues. It was one of the few spaces that felt hers-even if nothing in this house truly was.

She sat by the fountain, arms loosely hugging her knees, eyes following the slow swirl of water beneath the stone cherubs. The breeze stirred the trees gently, like whispered secrets rustling through leaves.

It had been a week since Claire came to live at Devereux Mansion while on school break. Her mother, Angela thought it was cheaper-and safer-for Claire to stay here during the holiday. But sometimes, the mansion felt like too much-too many grand hallways, too many silences that weren't empty, just watching.

She barely heard the footsteps at first.

"Why do I always find you out here?" came Lila's voice, warm but edged with curiosity.

Claire turned her head slightly. Lila looked like she always did: composed, soft-spoken, and polished in a way that didn't look forced, just... practiced. Today she wore a pale green dress that swayed around her ankles, her hair pinned back with a delicate gold clip.

"It's peaceful," Claire replied simply.

Lila smiled as she walked over, her arms folded loosely in front of her. "Peaceful," she repeated, settling herself gracefully on the stone ledge beside Claire. "That's one way to put it. Too quiet for me, sometimes."

Claire didn't respond right away. Lila wasn't one of the mansion's staff. She lived here intermittently-an old family friend, her mother had said-but she wasn't family either. Just... always around. Present, like expensive furniture. Untouchable.

Lila leaned back slightly and let out a soft sigh. "You're not really the talkative type, are you?"

Claire gave a light shrug. "Only when there's something worth saying."

Lila smiled again, this time with a flicker of amusement. "Fair enough."

There was a pause. The kind that might have turned awkward if Claire had filled it. But she didn't. She just let it stretch.

"I've known this family for almost a decade," Lila said eventually, her voice shifting-more thoughtful now, less airy. "I was practically raised here during the holidays. My parents traveled a lot. The Devereuxs took me in when I was just thirteen. That was the first summer I met Adrian."

Claire's eyes moved slightly, just enough to show she was listening.

"I remember thinking he was... different. Quiet. Distant. Even as a teenager, he acted like the world was on his shoulders." She smiled to herself. "He used to sit in the library for hours, writing or reading. Never really spoke to anyone unless he had to."

Claire murmured, "Still like that."

Lila glanced at her, a little surprised. "You've noticed?"

"Hard not to," Claire said softly. "He doesn't really... blend in."

Lila nodded. "Exactly. But I understand him. Always have." Her voice held something between pride and longing. "He's the kind of person who shuts people out because he's afraid of being seen too clearly."

Claire didn't answer that.

"I used to think it would happen naturally," Lila continued. "That one day he'd wake up and realize I've always been the constant. His mother always liked me around. His father respects me. I'm familiar. Safe. Not some stranger with expectations."

Claire looked down at her hands. "So you think it's just a matter of time?"

Lila turned slightly toward her. "Don't you?"

Claire hesitated. "I don't really know him."

"But you've seen enough," Lila replied. "He barely tolerates anyone except his parents and maybe Mr. Alton, his manager. I know when to leave him alone. When not to ask questions. Most people get frustrated with his silence. I've learned to read the quiet."

Claire looked at her again. "That must've taken time."

Lila nodded. "Years. But it's worth it. I've waited this long, and I'll keep waiting. Adrian needs someone who won't run the first time he pulls away. Who won't demand explanations for the way he is."

Claire shifted slightly but didn't speak.