Chapter Ten

His voice was low when he spoke next. “You’re not what I expected.”

I looked at him. Really looked.

“You’re not what I expected either,” I said quietly.

He held my gaze.

Something unspoken simmered there. Unraveled. I could feel it like static beneath my skin. Something thick, electric.

I looked away first.

“You didn’t tell me you had a daughter.”

His expression didn’t change, but the air around us cooled a degree.

“I figured you’d meet her eventually,” he said.

“I did. She’s sharp. And your wife—.”

“Daphne isn’t her mother,” he cut in, voice calm but deliberate. “Not legally. But she’s present. Plays the part when it’s required.” A pause. “And Avery… Avery’s smart. She sees through people faster than most adults.”

I nodded slowly, reading between the spaces he left unspoken.

“Daphne didn’t like me,” I said, folding my arms across my chest like I needed the barrier.

“She doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t orbit her,” he replied, taking a sip from his glass. “You didn’t bow.”

“I’m not very good at bowing.”

His mouth curved. Just slightly. “No. You’re not.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that stretches, thick with the things you almost say.

The wind picked up, brushing against my skin, tugging at the hem of my nightdress. I didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Do you love her?” I asked quietly, unsure where the question even came from.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then, “love isn’t the currency we deal in.”

And suddenly the image of this estate made more sense. It was a house full of roles. Of expectations. Of masks worn so tightly, they forgot the faces beneath them.

I looked at him, really looked. The tiredness behind his sharp eyes. 

I looked away again, grounding myself in the weight of the night.

Then I felt him. His body near mine—I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the tension in the air between us. My thighs pressed together instinctively. He hadn’t touched me, and still, my skin burned.

His hand reached out—so slow it nearly undid me—and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. His knuckles ghosted across my jaw, and my eyes fluttered before I caught myself.

I looked up at him, my mouth slightly parted. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just… watched me. Like he was memorizing the shape of my breath.

Then he leaned down.

His lips didn’t touch mine—but they hovered, barely an inch away. Our breaths tangled. The tension was a wire strung tight between our mouths.

If I moved even a little, we would’ve crossed a line we couldn’t come back from.

My chest rose with each inhale. My nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton of my nightdress. I saw the moment he noticed, the flicker in his eyes. His tongue slid slowly across his bottom lip, and I felt the pull in every nerve ending I had.

Still… I didn’t move. Not closer.

He whispered, “You’re shaking.”

I was. But not from fear.

“Is that why you brought me here?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “To see if I’d break?”

“No,” he said, just as low. “To see if you wouldn’t.”

His hand drifted lower, resting lightly on the bench beside my thigh. Not touching. But I felt it anyway. A promise—or a warning.

My heart was in my throat. Every part of me screamed to lean in, to let it happen.

Instead, I pulled back. Not far. Just enough for the air to cool.

“I’m not here for that,” I said, my voice tight, raw.

His gaze held mine. “No. Not yet.”

I stood, slowly. My nightdress shifted as I did, brushing the line of his arm. His hand twitched—like he almost reached for me.

“I should sleep,” I said, not looking back.

“You won’t,” he murmured behind me.

He was right.

But I walked away anyway. And the burn of him followed me all the way to bed.

Morning came quietly. I woke slowly, like my body didn’t trust the day yet. The night still lingered—his fingers on my jaw, the breath between us. Nothing had happened, not really. But my chest knew better.

I dressed slower. My skin didn’t feel like mine.

With no plan, I left the east wing. The house was still, like it, too, hadn’t quite woken. I moved through the halls until I reached a sunlit corridor—glass walls on one side, gardens beyond.

A door stood ajar. I paused.

Inside—Avery. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, a book in her lap, a half-eaten apple beside her. Humming, soft and off-key, the way kids do when no one’s listening.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching quietly.

“You know the library’s got chairs,” I said lightly.

She looked up. Didn’t smile or flinch. 

“They make noise when I move,” she said, turning a page. “This carpet doesn’t.”

I nodded like that made perfect sense. And somehow, it did.

“Did you have breakfast?” 

She shrugged. “Don’t like eggs. The housekeeper always makes eggs.”

I stepped in slowly, crouched near her.

“You know, I used to sit on the floor to read too. It felt like the pages belonged to me that way. Like they weren’t waiting to be picked up and put down again.”

She tilted her head. Studied me. “You talk weird.”

I grinned. “I get that a lot.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment—comfortable this time.

Then I asked, “So what would you eat, if you could have anything?”

She blinked, like no one had asked her that in a long time. Then muttered, “Waffles. With chocolate chips. And maybe bananas. But not the slimy kind.”

I gave a solemn nod. “Absolutely. Only firm bananas. Anything less is a disgrace.”

That earned the slightest hint of a smile.

I stood slowly, brushing my hands against my thighs. “Come on, let’s make a plan to fix this egg crisis.”

“You’re not allowed in the kitchen,” she said, like it was the law.

I leaned in, stage-whispered, “Lucky for you, I’m great at pretending I belong.”

She narrowed her eyes, closed her book, and stood—calm and composed. Then she followed me into the hallway. Just like that.

Like I’d passed a test I didn’t know I was taking.

As we walked, her voice came, quiet but steady.

“Daphne never asks me what I want.”

I looked down at her. “Well, I’m not Daphne.”

A pause. Then a soft nod. “No. You’re not.”

The kitchen was warm—almost comforting.

Avery sat on the counter, legs swinging, eyes locked on the batter I poured into the waffle iron. Chocolate chips sizzled as they sank. She watched like it was magic.

“You’re better than the housekeeper,” she said, cheeks glowing.

I laughed. “Let’s not start a mutiny.”

She smiled—a real one. It tugged at something deep in me.

When the first waffle was ready, I cut it, handed her a fork.

She took a bite, eyes closing.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “This is so good.”

I grinned, popping a small piece into my mouth. She was right—it wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.

She was reaching for another piece when a voice—sharp, cold, venom-laced—sliced through the room.

“What is this?”

I turned.

Daphne’s heels struck the tile like gunshots. Lipstick flawless. Fury sharper.

Avery froze, fork mid-air.

“I asked you a question,” Daphne snapped, storming in.

“We were just—she didn’t like the eggs—” I started, instinctively stepping in front of Avery.

The plate shattered before I could finish—swept clean off the counter, food and ceramic exploding across the floor.

Then her hand. Open. Swift.

The slap cracked through the room.

I stumbled, hand to my cheek, breath locked in my chest.

“You think you can feed my daughter?” she hissed. “Trying to poison her? Or kill her, like you did someone else?”

Avery screamed.

“No! Stop it! She didn’t do anything!”

She clung to Daphne’s arm, sobbing, but Daphne didn’t flinch.

“She’s a stranger. A nobody,” she snarled. “Isaac should’ve known better than to bring this mess into my house!”

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The sting on my face was nothing compared to the shame.

Then—

“Daphne.”

Isaac’s voice sliced through the chaos. He stood at the doorway, unreadable, fury held tight behind his calm.

Daphne hesitated, eyes locked with Isaac’s.

Avery ran to him. He dropped to one knee with a wince, arms wrapping her close.

“You shouldn’t show such violence in front of my child, Daphne.”

Daphne murmured, head down.

His eyes found mine. Cold. Controlled.

“Gabriella, I never assigned you to my kitchen. You should know your place.”

He looked past me, voice softening only for Avery.

“Come on, baby.”

He stood, took her hand.

“Meet me in my office,” he said quietly, without looking back.

Then he walked out with Avery, leaving the silence behind him like a closing door.

I stood there, still as stone, the weight of it all pressing in.