The Landlords Secret Desire

Ghosts of the Past

The morning mist clung stubbornly to the grounds of Tompson Manor, giving the estate an ethereal quality. Clara sat on her porch, sketchpad in hand, but her focus was far from the crisp lines of her illustration. She kept glancing toward the manor, as if waiting for something—or someone.

She had barely touched her coffee when the sound of an approaching car broke the stillness. Clara looked up to see a sleek black vehicle glide down the gravel driveway toward the main house. From her vantage point, she could just make out a woman stepping out, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a glossy curtain.

Clara’s curiosity sparked, but she shrugged it off and returned to her sketch. That is, until Trouble squawked and flapped dramatically from the garden path. Clara frowned, standing to investigate.

By the time she reached the path leading to the manor, the mysterious woman was at the front door, her stiletto heels clicking against the stone. Nicholas emerged moments later, his expression unreadable. The woman’s laugh rang out—a sound too polished, too familiar.

Clara froze. Something about the scene set her on edge. She turned to retreat, but a gust of wind sent a loose sketch fluttering from her hand toward the manor. She chased after it, only for the paper to land squarely at Nicholas’s feet.

He picked it up and looked at her, surprise flickering across his face. “Clara?”

The woman turned, her sharp gaze landing on Clara like a hawk eyeing its prey. “Who’s this?” she asked, her tone dripping with curiosity and a hint of disdain.

Clara stepped forward, forcing a polite smile. “Clara Windemere,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m renting the cottage.”

The woman barely glanced at Clara’s hand. Instead, she turned to Nicholas with a smirk. “A tenant? How quaint.”

Nicholas’s jaw tightened. “Clara, this is Victoria.” He hesitated. “An old friend.”

Victoria’s laugh was icy. “Old friend? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Clara’s stomach twisted. The tension between them was palpable, and Victoria’s pointed gaze made her feel like an intruder in her own life.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Clara said, her voice steady despite the discomfort prickling at her skin.

“Likewise,” Victoria replied, though her tone suggested the opposite. “So, Nicholas, how long has she been staying here?”

“A couple of weeks,” Nicholas answered, his eyes shifting to Clara. “She’s an artist.”

Victoria arched an eyebrow. “How charming. I didn’t know you were running an artist’s retreat now.”

“Victoria,” Nicholas said warningly.

Clara’s cheeks burned. She opened her mouth to excuse herself, but Victoria spoke again.

“Relax, darling,” Victoria said, placing a hand on Nicholas’s arm. “I’m just curious. After all, it’s been so long since I’ve visited. Things seem… different.”

“Some things are,” Nicholas replied, his tone clipped. “But not everything needs to be discussed right now.”

Clara took the opportunity to step back. “I should get going,” she said quickly. “Thanks for… retrieving my sketch.”

“Of course,” Nicholas said, his voice softer. “I’ll see you later.”

Clara nodded and hurried back toward the cottage, her heart racing. Behind her, she heard Victoria’s voice, low and insistent, though she couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t need to. The tension was enough to confirm what she feared: there was history there, and it wasn’t the kind that stayed neatly tucked away.

Back at her cottage, Clara tried to shake the encounter from her mind, but it clung to her like the mist outside. She picked up her sketchpad, only to set it down again moments later. Her usually steady hands felt unsteady, her focus fractured.

When a knock sounded at the door, she jumped. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she opened it to find Nicholas standing there, his expression unreadable.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.

“Not at all,” Clara replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Nicholas entered, his presence filling the small space. For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes scanning her scattered sketches on the table.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said finally. “Victoria can be… difficult.”

Clara forced a smile. “She’s very… confident.”

Nicholas’s lips quirked. “That’s one way to put it.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She and I have… history. Complicated history.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Clara said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

“But it is,” Nicholas said, meeting her gaze. “Victoria isn’t just an ex. She’s… she’s someone who knows how to stir up trouble. And I’d hate for her to disrupt your time here.”

Clara studied him, unsure how to respond. There was a vulnerability in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, a crack in the polished armor he always wore.

“I can handle a little drama,” she said lightly, though her stomach twisted at the thought. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Nicholas’s expression softened. “You’re stronger than you look, Clara Bennett.”

She smiled, though her heart felt heavy. As Nicholas turned to leave, Clara couldn’t help but wonder what kind of chaos Victoria might bring—and whether she was prepared for it.