Chapter Three

CHAPTER 3

Alaric's pov

She stood under the awning like a wounded bird…soaked to the skin, shivering, and still too proud to bend. I watched her for a moment before speaking, more curious than concerned. There was something magnetic about Isla Virelle, even when she was clearly miserable.

No, especially when she was miserable.

“Stubbornness becomes you, Miss Virelle,” I said, stepping out of the shadows.

She startled…she actually flinched. I hadn’t meant to startled her, but it was amusing. Few people ever heard me coming. Fewer still dared call me out for it.

“You really need to stop sneaking up on people,” she snapped, defensive.

“If I wanted to sneak,” I murmured, “you wouldn’t hear me at all.”

She glared at me, and I could see the calculation behind her eyes, the bristle of her independence clashing with her reality. All wet, cold and alone. No way out but through me.

She refused me, of course. At first, three times, in fact. Some part of her needed to perform her refusal to protect her pride. I let her. I waited. Eventually, practicality won. It always did.

She agreed to the ride, but she made it clear I was the last person she wanted to be near.

And yet here we were.

She folded her arms tight against her body, probably aware of how the silk clung to her now. Her jaw was tense, and she tightened her lips. I let her be. She needed the silence more than the warmth of the car.

But watching her, I couldn’t help but think: 'Devon, you bloody idiot.'

She was gorgeous, yes, but it wasn’t just her face or that impossible figure. Isla Virelle moved like a flame. She was tall and deliberate, always flickering, always just out of reach. She had the kind of presence that could gut a man without raising her voice.

And Devon left her.

It didn’t make sense, not on the surface. But then, my stepson was never much for surfaces. He played the long game, even when it meant sacrificing things most men would never give up.

Still. He must’ve had a reason.

But as I glanced at her again, rainwater trickling down the side of her cheek like silver, I couldn’t help but think… it better have been a damned good one.

She wasn’t speaking. Just staring out the window, like the trees offended her.

I broke the silence. “Still unimpressed?”

She turned to me, her expression a precise blade. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t exactly look thrilled when I offered you a ride.”

“I didn’t expect to see you again tonight,” she said simply.

“That’s a polite way of saying you hoped not to.”

“I didn’t come here for more conversation.”

“No,” I said, watching her carefully. “You came here to hurt him.”

Her head snapped toward me, eyes sharp.

“Devon,” I clarified.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, but her tone was brittle.

“You’re not very subtle,” I said, almost admiringly. “Though I suppose he deserves it.”

She didn’t respond, but I caught the flicker in her eye. Triumph. Rage. Pain. It was all still there, buried beneath layers of restraint.

She didn’t realize how much she revealed in silence.

As we drove, I found myself grinning once or twice despite her best efforts. She scowled. Tossed sharp remarks like knives. But her fire didn’t repulse me. It entertained me. She was smarter than she let on and more careful than Devon had ever described.

When I veered off the main road, she noticed.

“Where are we going?” she asked, tension snapping back into her spine.

“My house,” I replied. “The storm's too strong for the full trip to the city. Safer this way.”

“You could’ve told me before you started driving in the opposite direction.”

I gave a small shrug. “You weren’t listening.”

She huffed, fuming silently as the trees thickened around us. But she didn’t demand I stop. That was telling.

I stole another glance at her as we turned up the long, winding road that led to the mansion. Her face was flushed with cold, strands of damp hair sticking to her neck. Even in this state…half-ruined by rain and fury…she was utterly captivating.

Not pretty as I would have loved to describe, but dangerous.

The kind of woman who’d ruin you with a kiss and apologize with a blade. My kind of woman.

The gates opened at our approach. And I was glad it did. I wouldn't spare the gate man on duty tonight if he had wasted any more time by keeping us out here.

She made a quiet sound as I drove into the compound. Whether it was a sound of awe or suspicion, I couldn’t tell.

We parked beneath the covered awning, and I stepped out first, offering my hand. She ignored it, and stepped out stiffly.

Inside, the house was silent but warm. Candlelight flickered along the hall. Oil paintings of dead men and forgotten wars stared down at us.

“Your house looks like it could host a murder mystery,” she muttered.

I didn’t deny it.

We were barely inside when Bram appeared at the top of the stairs. The old man never slept. He was more shadow than servant now.

“Trouble on the roads, sir?” he asked, eyeing Isla discreetly.

“Rain,” I said simply. “She’ll need a room.”

He nodded. “The South Wing is ready. Shall I prepare a change of clothes?”

“Yes. Something warm.”

Isla glanced between us like she was considering escape routes.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “There are no locked doors here.”

She raised a brow. “Strange thing to specify.”

Bram gestured toward the hallway. “This way, Miss Virelle.”

She hesitated, then followed him without a word. I watched as she left. Her back was straight as she walked and her pace was slow. But I noticed that her eyes scanned everything from the walls to the corners, including the way the windows were positioned.

She’s looking for weakness, I could tell, she hasn't been here very often. In fact, this was the second time she was visiting since she'd started dating Devon.

It struck me again that this wasn’t just a woman scorned.

This was a woman planning something.

And yet, as I watched her disappear down the corridor, the hem of her ruined dress trailing behind her like blood, I felt the corner of my mouth pull into a smile.

It would be a delight to let her plot because whatever fire she brought into my house tonight... she’d find I was no stranger to flame.