Chapter 8

AMY’S POV

I Don’t Want to Step Into His Room Again

I stood in front of Oliver’s bedroom door for a long time—too long, probably—because the corridor had grown colder, as if the castle itself became impatient with my hesitation. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter how tightly I pressed them against my skirt, and my heartbeat felt unsteady, like it couldn’t decide whether to scream or collapse. Every time I inhaled, the air tasted like dust, stone, and quiet threats lingering in the dark corners of the hall.

“I don’t want to go in there,” I whispered to myself, though no one was listening. “Not after what happened. Not after what he did.”

My chest tightened when memories washed over me—his fangs inches from my throat, the hunger in his eyes, the way my blood had dragged half the castle into a frenzy. Even if he had saved me afterward… even if he had carried me home from the forest like I was something breakable… that room still felt like a danger zone, a place where his control had cracked.

I took a shaky step forward anyway.

Gina had told me to clean Oliver’s chamber today. She said it gently, kindly, but with a firmness that meant there was no room for argument. “He trusts you more than he should,” she had whispered. “If you refuse, he will notice.”

I didn’t want him to notice anything.

The door creaked open with the slightest push, revealing a quiet, shadowed space lit only by thin strips of sunlight slicing through heavy crimson curtains. The air inside felt richer, colder, almost metallic, as if soaked with centuries of secrets. I stood at the threshold, swallowing hard before forcing myself inside.

His scent hit me instantly.

Sharp, clean, masculine.

Cold stone.

Old wood.

Something darker beneath it, something I didn’t want to name.

My feet moved slowly, cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the silence. The bed stood near the far wall—massive, elegant, draped with black sheets that looked untouched. The pillows were arranged perfectly. Everything was arranged perfectly. The room felt like a museum of someone who didn’t sleep, didn’t rest, didn’t breathe unless required.

“This is fine,” I whispered softly. “Just clean and leave. Don’t think.”

But I did think.

I thought too much.

The first thing that caught my attention was a table near the window. On it stood a framed photograph—old, black and white, slightly torn around the edges. A woman stood beside Oliver, her hand resting lightly on his arm. I recognized him instantly despite the old-fashioned clothing and the colder expression.

He looked… different.

Unreachable.

Untouchable.

More monster than man.

The woman was beautiful, ethereal, with long dark hair and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. I felt something twist inside my chest.

“Who is she?” I whispered, brushing my fingers gently over the edge of the frame.

A soft voice behind me answered, “Someone from before you were even a thought.”

I nearly screamed.

Gina leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed but her expression gentle. The torchlight behind her cast a faint glow on her brown hair, making her look softer than usual.

“I didn’t hear you,” I said, pressing a hand against my chest to calm my heart.

“That is because you were too deep in your head,” she replied, stepping into the room. “And because this place is dangerous for someone who overthinks.”

I looked back at the photograph. “Was she… important to him?”

Gina paused. “Yes. But not anymore.”

I waited, hoping she would continue, but she stayed silent. She always chose her words carefully, as if she carried truths that could break me if she spoke too plainly.

“You shouldn’t linger on Oliver’s past,” she finally said. “Not when his present is already complicated enough.”

“I’m afraid of him,” I admitted quietly. “And I don’t know how to not be.”

Gina exhaled deeply and looked at me with something like sympathy. “Of course you’re afraid. You should be. But fear does strange things to him, Amy. Since you arrived, he has been… unstable.”

My breath caught. “Unstable how?”

“More emotional than I’ve seen him in a century,” she said softly. “He walks differently. He stares too long. He reacts too fast. He almost lost control several times.”

My gaze dropped to my hands. “Is that my fault?”

“In a way, yes,” Gina answered honestly. “Your presence triggers him. But it’s not because you are a burden.”

“Then what is it?”

She studied me for a long moment before saying, “Because your fear attracts him.”

I froze.

My stomach tightened.

My skin prickled.

“What?” I whispered.

“Fear is intoxicating to his kind,” Gina explained. “But in Oliver, it awakens emotions instead of hunger. And emotions are far more dangerous.”

I shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how deeply silent the room had become. “I don’t want to attract him. I don’t want any of this.”

Gina placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “It doesn’t matter what you want. Something in him is responding to you, and that means your life will not be simple here.”

A chill rippled through me.

I forced myself to focus on cleaning. If I thought too much, I would break apart. I picked up a cloth and dusted the shelves, careful not to disturb anything meaningful. I cleaned the dresser, the old books, the strange relics—silver necklaces, ancient coins, daggers etched with runes.

Each object whispered a story I didn’t want to know.

When I approached his wardrobe, my pulse quickened. The door slid open, revealing rows of immaculate clothing—dark coats, tailored shirts, vests lined with silver buttons, fabrics that looked older than my entire family history. I touched one of the coats, letting the texture slide beneath my fingers.

He felt untouchable.

Unreachable.

A world apart.

And yet… he had carried me last night.

Held me like I mattered.

Looked at me like something inside him was breaking.

I bit my lip, confused, shaken.

“Stop thinking,” I muttered to myself again. “Just clean. Just breathe.”

But the air shifted, cold brushing the back of my neck.

And then I heard his voice.

“Amy.”

I spun around, nearly dropping the folded shirt in my hands.

Oliver stood by the door, his presence filling the room instantly, consuming all the space with effortless dominance. His green eyes locked onto mine, unreadable and sharp. His black coat hung open slightly, revealing the tension in his shoulders.

He stepped inside slowly.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his tone low but not angry—more like he was trying very hard not to sound either furious or afraid.

“G-Gina told me to clean,” I replied, struggling to steady my voice. “I didn’t want to come but… I was told you— I was told you would notice.”

He stared at me for too long. His silence hung heavily between us.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “You’re trembling.”

“No, I’m—”

“Yes, you are,” he said, stepping closer.

I backed up instinctively until my spine hit the wardrobe. His eyes flickered, darkening just slightly—not with hunger, but something else I couldn’t decipher.

“You’re afraid of me again,” he murmured.

“You almost lost control,” I whispered. “I saw you.”

His jaw tightened. “I won’t hurt you.”

I swallowed hard. “You say that, but I— I don’t know what to believe.”

He moved closer, slowly, deliberately, until he stood just a breath away. His cold aura wrapped around me, intoxicating but terrifying, pulling me in even when I wanted to step back.

“You should not be afraid,” he said softly.

“Then stop giving me reasons to be,” I whispered, breath shaking.

His eyes widened for a moment. Not in anger. In surprise.

Then something shifted inside them—something raw, conflicted, almost pained.

“I don’t know how,” he confessed quietly. “Not with you.”

My breath caught.

He leaned closer, but not enough to touch. His voice dropped to a whisper that carved right through me.

“And the worst part,” he said, “is that your fear only pulls me closer.”

My knees weakened.

My pulse roared.

My thoughts scattered.

He stepped back suddenly, as if he had touched fire.

“You shouldn’t be in my room alone,” he said sharply. “Clean when I’m not here. Leave now.”

I gathered my things quickly, stumbling out of the room with my heart pounding uncontrollably.

But before I turned the corner, I heard him say in a low, fractured whisper he thought I couldn’t hear:

“I can’t look at you without losing myself.”

And that frightened me more than any monster lurking in the forest.