Blake's bed room

Cindy's POV 

I froze when Blake closed the bedroom door behind him. The sound of the click made my heart jump hard against my chest. He stood there wearing only a white towel around his waist.

Water drops still ran down his strong chest and arms and landed on the wooden floor. I could not move or speak at first. My face felt hot, like it was on fire.

"I am sorry," I said quickly, my voice shaking. "I got lost while exploring the mansion. The halls are so big and confusing. I did not know this was your room. I will leave right now."

Blake did not answer right away. He simply watched me with those dark eyes. The silence in the room felt heavy and hard to breathe in. I became painfully aware that I was standing inside his private space. This was his bedroom.

His big bed was right there behind him, still made and neat. His clothes hung on a chair by the window. His smell filled the air, clean and strong, like soap mixed with something warm. I felt small and out of place, like I did not belong anywhere in this house.

Blake started walking toward me slowly. Each step he took made my heart beat faster and harder. I took a step backward until my back touched the door.

There was nowhere else to go. He stopped very close to me, close enough that I could see small water drops still sitting on his shoulders and neck.

"Why are you always appearing wherever I am?" he asked in a low voice.

"It was an accident," I said again, trying to sound calm even though my hands were trembling at my sides.

"I promise. I was just walking around and I opened the wrong door. I did not mean to bother you."

He did not believe me. His eyes narrowed, studying my face like he was searching for a lie hiding somewhere in it.

"Accident? I think you are playing games, Cindy. First the library, now my bedroom. What do you really want from this family?"

We started to argue, our voices rising over each other. My voice shook but I forced myself to keep speaking.

"You are treating me unfairly just because my mother married your father. I did nothing wrong to you. I did not ask for any of this. I did not ask to move into this house or to be looked at like I am a thief."

Blake's face turned hard and cold.

"You know nothing about what my family has been through," he said, his voice sharp enough to cut. "You and your mother came into this house and think everything is fine now. You smile at breakfast like nothing happened before you arrived."

While we argued, Blake noticed something change in me. My hands were shaking harder now, and I think he could see that I was truly scared, not just putting on an act. For a brief second, something in his face softened. He looked at me differently, like he finally understood I was not playing any kind of game.

I looked away from him and my eyes landed on a framed photo sitting on his table. It showed a young Blake, maybe seven or eight years old, smiling next to a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.

"I am sorry for your loss," I said quietly, my voice soft and careful.

Blake's walls went right back up, faster than they had come down. His eyes turned cold and hard again in an instant.

"Never mention my mother again," he ordered, his voice low and firm. "You have no right to talk about her. You did not know her."

Just then, a knock came at the bedroom door. "Mr. Blake, sir? Your father is looking for you. There is an urgent business call waiting downstairs."

Blake opened the door a little to answer. The servant's eyes went wide with shock the moment he saw me standing inside the room behind Blake. I felt my face burn with shame all over again.

The servant tried to hide his surprise, straightening his face quickly, but I could tell what he was thinking. Rumors would spread through the whole mansion by morning. Everyone would talk about how they found me alone in Blake's bedroom, and no one would believe it was an accident.

I slipped past them both and hurried back to my own room down the long hallway. My legs felt weak the entire way, like they might give out under me.

At dinner that evening, I noticed servants whispering to each other near the kitchen doorway after they had seen us together earlier. They gave me quick looks whenever they thought I was not watching.

Mum noticed I was unusually quiet through the whole meal. She touched my hand gently under the table.

"Are you okay, Cindy? You look worried about something."

"I am fine, Mum," I said, forcing a small smile onto my face. But I was not fine.

My mind kept going back to Blake standing there in the towel, his angry words, and that one soft second in his eyes before he shut me out again.

Victor noticed Blake glancing at me more than once during dinner. Blake would look my way, then catch himself and turn his eyes back to his plate fast, like he had been caught doing something wrong.

The atmosphere at the table grew more and more awkward as the minutes passed. No one spoke much after that. The only sound was the clinking of forks against plates.

Victor tried to start small talk about the weather and the garden, but it did not help lighten the mood at all. Blake finished eating quickly and left the table without saying goodnight to anyone.

After everyone went to bed, I lay in my large, unfamiliar room thinking about everything that had happened that day. The mansion had gone quiet, but my thoughts would not stop racing.

Blake's POV

I stood alone on my balcony holding a drink in my hand. The cool night air touched my skin but it did nothing to calm the storm inside me. I kept replaying the bedroom scene over and over in my head. Cindy standing there looking so innocent and scared.

Her wide eyes staring up at me. The way her voice turned soft when she said she was sorry about my mother. The way she pressed herself back against the door like she was trying to disappear into it.

I grew angry with myself for even thinking about her this way. Why did I notice how innocent and pretty she looked standing there? She is forbidden to me.

She is my father's stepdaughter now. I must stay away from her no matter what. I should hate her and her mother for walking into this house and changing everything.

Yet I could not stop thinking about her, no matter how hard I tried to push the thoughts away.

I left the balcony and walked down the quiet hallway toward the stairs. As I passed my father's study, I heard low voices coming from behind the door. I stopped walking and listened carefully, holding my breath.

"Cindy must never know the truth," my father said again, his voice tight with worry.

Elena sighed heavily. "I have hidden it for twenty years, Victor. We cannot let it come out now, not after everything we've built."

My grip tightened around the glass in my hand without me even noticing, until it cracked and shattered against the floor. Small pieces scattered across the tiles. A few drops of blood appeared on my palm, but I did not feel any pain at all.

What were they hiding, and why did it have anything to do with Cindy?