Chapter 3 📖: The Man Upstairs

Cassian Rowe didn't speak to me for three days.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a nod in passing.

But I could feel him.

The creak of the floor above my room at 2:17 AM. The flicker of a shadow behind a curtain. The smell of smoke when there was no fire. Like the house itself exhaled his presence when it thought I wasn't looking.

He watched from above, a man carved from distance.

And every time I caught the echo of him, something inside me braced. Like I was waiting for the punishment I'd already sentenced myself to.

Theo, on the other hand, began to unfold in inches.

He still didn't speak, but he began leaving his tiger by my door in the mornings. He'd slide it across the floor, then retreat like it never happened.

On the third day, he drew me.

Me-with black crayon hair and a bright yellow dress, the only color on the page. He didn't sign it. Didn't hand it to me. Just left it on my pillow like a silent note.

That night, I made the mistake of going to the east wing.

It was past midnight. I thought I heard music. A soft piano. Familiar. Broken.

I followed the sound until it stopped abruptly.

A door creaked open.

And he stood there.

Cassian. Shirtless. Barefoot. A glass of something dark in his hand.

"You don't belong in this part of the house," he said.

And for the first time, his eyes looked at me like I wasn't invisible.