Chapter Two

The morning after the storm, the island was washed clean. The sea had calmed, but the air still carried that heavy stillness that comes after chaos. Tiana stood by her window, watching the sunlight break through low clouds. The cliffs glistened like wet stone; the waves below white with foam.

She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard thunder and saw the flash of Ross’s eyes in the dark – grey and mysterious, like the sea itself.

By the time she dressed and made her way downstairs, Alma was already busy in the kitchen, humming to herself.

“Morning,” Tiana greeted softly.

Alma grunted without looking up from the dough she was kneading. “Morning, dear. You’re up early. You’ll want to check the garden paths before the mud dries. They get slippery after the rains.”

“The garden?”

“Mark will show you.” Alma wiped her hands on her apron. “He’s out by the east terrace. Don’t mind his tongue – he’s got one sharp as pruning shears.”

Tiana smiled faintly and stepped outside. The air was crisp, tinged with salt. Beyond the main building, the estate stretched in terraces – stone steps, rose bushes bent from the storm, tall hedges swaying gently in the breeze.

She spotted a man crouched beside a fallen trellis, broad-shouldered, wearing a faded plaid shirt rolled to the elbows. His hands were rough, tanned from years in the sun, and his hair was streaked with early grey.

“Excuse me,” she called.

He turned his head slightly. “You must be the new maid.” His voice was low, gravelly, not unkind but edged with caution.

“Yes, sir. Tiana Greene.”

“Mark Burton.” He straightened, brushing dirt from his hands. “You picked a fine place to start fresh, though most folks don’t last here long enough to call it that.”

She tried to read his expression. “Why so?”

He smirked faintly, but there was no humour in it. “You’ll find out. But since you asked, Mr. Lycan isn’t an easy man to work for.”

“I noticed.”

Mark chuckled once, dryly. “That was the polite version, then. You’ve only seen the surface.” He bent to right a cracked pot; his movements steady, deliberate. “He’s had half a dozen staff come through this year alone. None stayed past three weeks.”

Tiana frowned. “Why?”

“Depends who you ask.” He leaned on his spade, eyes narrowing against the morning light. “Some say it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s measuring how much you’re worth before he decides if you should be here at all. Some say it’s the hours. Or the silence. Or maybe just… him.”

“Did he ever hurt anyone?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Mark’s gaze flicked to her sharply. “No. Not the way you’re thinking. He’s not violent. Just… cold. Cruel in ways you can’t name until you’ve been around long enough to feel it.”

The wind caught at her hair, sending strands across her face. “Then why do you stay?”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Because someone has to keep this place alive. And because he wasn’t always like that,” he said it softly, like a confession meant for no one.

Tiana crouched beside him, helping gather scattered flower pots. “You knew him before?”

“Years back,” he said. “When the house was still full. When she was still alive.”

Her eyebrows puckered. “She?”

He paused, meeting her gaze for the first time. “You didn’t hear? His fiancée. Died on the island three years ago. Storm caught her out near the cliffs. Nobody saw what happened, just the aftermath.”

A chill ran down Tiana’s spine. The sea roared distantly below them, as if to punctuate his words.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Mark muttered, standing again. “But you seem decent. So I’ll say this much – if he starts to notice you, don’t mistake it for kindness. He’s a man who’s learned to break things before they can leave him.”

Tiana blinked, startled by the warning’s sharpness.

He tilted his head slightly, softening. “Still, I reckon you’re stronger than you look. Just… keep your distance.”

*

By midday, the sun was out fully, bright but pale. Tiana worked along the marble corridors, polishing the silver railings and wiping dust from windowpanes that looked down over the cliffs. From time to time, she glimpsed Mark outside, moving through the gardens like part of the landscape – silent, steady, enduring.

Ross Lycan appeared only once.

She was arranging books in the study when she felt it – that same quiet weight in the air. She turned and saw him in the doorway, hands in his pockets, gaze unnervingly haunting.

“I trust you’re settling in,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. The staff turnover here has been… excessive. I hope you’ll last longer.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He studied her for a moment more, then nodded. “That will do.”

When he turned to leave, she found herself blurting, “Mr. Lycan?”

He stopped but didn’t look back.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking. Why do people leave?”

A pause stretched long enough that she thought he wouldn’t answer. If another second had passed, Tiana would’ve dropped the topic, but Ross’s broad shoulders fell.

“They come all the way here expecting peace,” he said quietly. “And this island doesn’t give it.”

He walked away, his reflection fading along the glass wall until only the sea remained.

*

That evening, as the sun dipped low and the wind began to rise again, Tiana stepped outside for air. Mark was still in the garden, trimming the damaged rose bushes.

“You’re still working?” she asked.

“Always something to fix after a storm.”

She hesitated, then said, “I met him today. Mr. Lycan.”

Mark’s shears clicked once, twice. “And?”

“I don’t know.” She looked toward the mansion, where the windows glowed faintly with lamplight. “He’s not what I expected.”

“Then expect less.”

“Maybe he’s just lonely.”

Mark gave her a look that carried both pity and caution. “You’re not the first to think that.”

She folded her arms, chilled by the evening air. “Did they… care about him?”

“Some did,” he said quietly. “And some thought he might care back. But the thing about Mr. Lycan is that he knows how to make people feel seen right before he shuts the door on them.”

Tiana fell silent, unsure what to say.

Mark wiped his hands on a rag and started toward the tool shed. Before he disappeared inside, he turned back once more.

“You seem like a good girl,” he said. “Just don’t make the mistake others did – thinking you can thaw him. Ross Lycan doesn’t warm up.” He hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the mansion’s tall windows. “He burns.”

Tiana watched him go, the garden swallowed in twilight. The waves crashed below, endless and restless.

*

Somewhere inside the mansion, she saw a light flicker in the upper window – his study. For a moment, she imagined him there, staring out into the dark, thinking of things he would never say aloud.

She told herself not to care. Not to wonder. But as the wind carried the scent of rain again, she knew it was already too late.

Lycan Isle had a way of pulling people in – slowly, silently – until they forgot what life had felt like before they came.