Chapter 5 5

Just then, Emily called again. "Guess who asked of you yesterday?"

Claire raised an eyebrow, even though Emily couldn't see her. "Should I be scared?"

"Jason."

Claire groaned dramatically. "Not again."

"Yes again," Emily said, laughing. "He was asking me where you went to for your holiday. He said something like, 'Tell Claire I miss our library wars.' I mean... come on, Claire. The guy is obviously into you."

Claire chuckled, leaning back into her pillow. "He misses getting schooled in debates, not me."

"Oh please," Emily teased. "You can pretend all you want, but the way he stares at you during those tutorials? Girl, it's not your notes he's into."

Claire rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Jason's sweet, but I'm not ready for all that. I have enough on my plate without throwing in relationship drama."

Emily made a mock gasp. "So you admit he likes you?"

"I didn't say that," Claire laughed. "I'm just saying... I'm not in that headspace. And honestly, I think he's more in love with the idea of me than the real me."

"Still," Emily said with a soft tone, "it's nice to be liked."

Claire nodded, her smile fading just a bit. "Yeah... but I've got enough to figure out right now."

After the call ended, Claire dropped her phone onto the bed and sank back against the pillow, letting her eyes drift toward the ceiling.

Jason.

She hadn't thought about him in days - not since she arrived at the mansion. Back on campus, he had always found a reason to be around her. Whether it was a group project, a study session, or just an excuse to borrow her pen, Jason always managed to appear - unassuming, warm, and with that crooked smile that made most girls fumble over their notes.

Claire smiled faintly. Jason had a way of making people feel seen, and that had been nice. Safe.

But she knew deep down she hadn't let herself feel anything beyond that.

"Not now," she murmured aloud. Not with her life floating between two worlds - the bright, chaotic campus she loved, and this vast, hushed mansion where even her footsteps felt too loud.

She sat up and walked toward the window. From her vantage point, she could see the west garden - all trimmed hedges and white roses, with the sun beginning to fall over it like gold lace. The Devereux Mansion looked like something out of a painting, but it was too perfect, too clean... like no one actually lived here.

Claire had barely spoken to Adrian again since the day she stumbled upon him injured. The memory of that brief, tense encounter still echoed in her mind - his sharp voice, the cold way he dismissed her. She hadn't seen him since, but she felt his presence in the house - a subtle energy in the air, like the brush of wind before a storm.

She shook the thought away and moved to her desk. It was old, sturdy, and surprisingly elegant for a room tucked away behind the servant's wing. A small shelf beside it held the few books she'd brought home - mostly textbooks and one worn paperback Emily had forced her to read.

Opening her notebook, Claire stared at a half-finished essay for her Philosophy class. The words swam before her eyes, but her mind wasn't on Kant or ethics. It was on the silence of the mansion. The way the halls stretched endlessly. The way no one really looked at her - not the staff, not the family.

Except maybe Mrs. Devereux, who offered her an occasional polite nod. And Lila, of course - whose presence often filled the room like perfume: sweet, overpowering, and hard to ignore.

Claire had the odd sense of being in a house full of people and yet entirely alone.

She glanced toward the mirror hanging above her dresser. Her reflection stared back - soft curls pulled into a loose bun, tired eyes, and the faintest hint of confusion. She was twenty-two, a university student on break, not some heroine in a gothic novel.

Yet Claire was the kind of beauty that didn't shout-it whispered. Quiet, effortless, and captivating. She possessed a rare elegance that made heads turn in silence, a type of charm that lingered long after she had passed.

Her skin was smooth and caramel-toned, glowing with a natural radiance that didn't need makeup. It complemented the soft blush of her cheeks and the subtle pink of her lips, which curved easily into a gentle smile. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped, a rich hazel flecked with amber, framed by thick lashes that gave her gaze a soft, mysterious pull. You could tell she was thinking even when she didn't speak-her eyes often said more than words ever could.

Her figure was graceful and feminine-an enchanting hourglass shape. She had a slim waist that curved into rounded hips and a soft, delicate bust that gave her silhouette a balance of elegance and allure. She wasn't model-tall, but she had just the right height to carry herself with poise. Her legs were slender and well-shaped, her arms toned from light chores, and her every step carried quiet confidence-even when she wasn't aware of it.

And yet... everything about this place felt like a story waiting to unfold.

She picked up her pen but didn't write. Her fingers drummed against the desk as her thoughts drifted again - this time not to Jason, but to the strange tension in the mansion. The way Adrian looked at nothing. The strange hush that fell whenever the patriarch, Mr. Devereux, entered a room. The way Lila always seemed to appear at the exact moment you were trying to be alone.

Claire took a deep breath and stood. She grabbed a shawl, draped it over her shoulders, and quietly opened her door.

The hallway outside was empty. Only the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the distance and the rustle of leaves outside filled the silence.

She didn't know where she was going exactly. Maybe just to walk. To feel something.

Because for all the beauty of the Devereux Mansion, something about it felt... unfinished. As if it, too, was holding its breath, waiting for something to begin.

And Claire, without knowing why, felt she was part of whatever was coming next.