chapter 10

The morning light spilled unevenly across the dining room, catching on crystal and polished silver, making the space feel simultaneously grand and suffocating. Elias sat at his usual spot, third from the head of the table, fingers wrapped loosely around the edge of his coffee cup. The warmth did little to ground him. His mind was still tangled with the memory of the club, the strange intensity of the guide, and the small, magnetic touches that had left him trembling long after leaving.

He tried to push it aside. Tried to focus on the muted hum of conversation from the staff moving silently through the room. Tried to sip his coffee without trembling. And then, inevitably, Alexander arrived.

The clink of silverware paused for a fraction of a second when the Vale heir entered. Alexander moved with his usual confidence, the careless sway of a man who owned every room he entered. But today, the practiced ease was tempered by something else. A quiet intensity lingered in his gaze, subtle but undeniable, as if he had noticed something new—something he wasn’t ready to admit aloud.

Elias caught that gaze the instant it landed on him. The effect was immediate and destabilizing. His chest tightened, throat dry. There was something in Alexander’s expression an almost imperceptible mixture of curiosity and calculation that felt like it saw through him. Not the mask, not the polite detachment he carried like armor, but *him*.

He forced himself to look down at his plate, pretending to examine the lightly toasted bread in front of him. Every scrape of a knife across porcelain, every measured sip of coffee, sounded amplified in the taut silence.

Alexander sat across from him, unusually quiet. The smirk that normally accompanied his every word, the playful jabs he traded with their mother, were absent. His eyes didn’t flit over the newspaper or glance toward his phone as usual. Instead, they stayed locked on Elias in small, calculated bursts, studying him like a puzzle Alexander had not expected to find.

Elias could feel it in his spine, a tension that crawled from the base of his neck down to his stomach. He wanted to look away, to hide beneath his usual calm detachment, but he couldn’t. The sensation of exposure was disarming, almost physical, as if the gaze itself could strip him down.

“Elias,” Catherine interjected, breaking the fragile silence. Her voice was deliberately cheerful, though the tightness around her eyes betrayed the effort. “Have you seen the guest list for the Winter Gala? It’s coming up next month, and Richard mentioned that both of you should attend.”

Elias froze mid-lift of his fork. His eyes darted briefly to Alexander, who hadn’t moved or reacted outwardly but whose gaze had sharpened in a way that made the air between them feel heavier.

“Charity gala?” Elias asked cautiously, trying to mask the sudden spike of anxiety in his voice. “Of course.”

“Yes,” Richard added, finally glancing up from his newspaper. “It’s important for the family to be seen there. Both of you will attend. Full formal attire, Alexander. Elias, you’ll need to coordinate with Catherine on the seating arrangements.”

Alexander nodded once, brief and controlled. He didn’t comment, didn’t smirk, didn’t acknowledge the tension that had quietly settled over the table like a storm cloud. His hand rested near his glass, fingers flexing imperceptibly, a subtle but telling movement that did not escape Elias’s attention.

The conversation around them continued, Catherine discussing charitable causes, Richard making passing remarks about business acquisitions, but neither Elias nor Alexander spoke more than necessary. Words felt brittle and dangerous, as though any misplaced syllable might unravel the careful boundary neither had verbalized but both acutely felt.

Elias couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking toward Alexander. He noticed small things: the faint crease of concentration between his brows, the way his hand tapped lightly against the table edge, the subtle shift in posture that suggested Alexander’s mind was elsewhere though it was clearly centered on him.

He felt a flush rise to his cheeks, hot and unrelenting. Why did this feel so intense? Why did Alexander’s quiet observation feel like both judgment and recognition at the same time? He had no answers, only the awareness that this breakfast, like so many other interactions in the mansion, carried stakes far beyond what was spoken.

Alexander, for his part, maintained the stillness, but internally, his thoughts were anything but calm. Elias. That presence. The nervous tremor when he laughed quietly at some unspoken joke in his own mind. The way he held the coffee cup like a shield and yet allowed himself small glimpses of vulnerability. Alexander’s pulse quickened in response not from anger, not from frustration, but from an unnameable pull he could neither rationalize nor ignore.

*He’s mine to guide,* Alexander told himself in a whisper only he could hear. *He doesn’t know it yet. I’ll ensure he’s safe. I’ll ensure he’s seen. And I’ll remain… patient.*

Neither stepped closer to breaking the silence. The breakfast concluded with formal politeness. Catherine fussed over the table settings, Richard returned to his reading, and Alexander drained the last of his coffee without meeting Elias’s eyes directly though he didn’t look away entirely.

Elias finished more slowly than necessary, savoring the time in which he could observe Alexander without being noticed in return. The tightness in his chest refused to ease, and though he didn’t understand why, he felt the need to escape.

He pushed back from the table with deliberate slowness, the chair scraping softly against the polished floor. Alexander did not follow. Their eyes met briefly, and the glance lasted a fraction longer than social convention allowed. Neither spoke, but the unspoken tension hummed between them like an electric current.

By the time they had left the dining room, the house felt impossibly large, each step echoing through corridors that had never seemed claustrophobic until now. Elias retreated to his wing, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. The sound was final, deliberate, a separation of spaces, a claim of solitude that felt necessary to contain the storm of sensation Alexander’s presence had stirred in him.

Across the mansion, Alexander lingered a moment in the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, jaw tight. He finally turned toward his own suite, each step deliberate, maintaining the mask for anyone who might observe. Yet inside, his mind remained elsewhere, circling the image of Elias, the tension between them, and the fragile vulnerability he had glimpsed and decided to protect, guide and in some unspoken way, possess.

The house settled into its usual rhythm once both were behind closed doors, but the air between the wings remained taut with the residue of shared presence. Separate worlds, colliding silently, each carrying the knowledge of something unspoken.

Elias sat at the window of his wing, staring at the garden below. Alexander adjusted the cuff of his sleeve in his suite, watching the city beyond the mansion walls. Both felt the pull, the gravity of proximity, yet neither dared approach. The tension lingered, a quiet reminder that the collision of worlds could not be ignored, and that some truths, even unspoken, could not be erased.