Chapter 3
1765 Words
Chapter 3 — The House That Wasn't Mine
Evelyn Rose's POV
The first thing I learned about Julian Cross's house was that it was far too quiet for someone who had just acquired a sixteen-year-old girl.
The second thing I learned was that Julian Cross had apparently never heard of the concept of making a house feel like a home.
I stood in the enormous entrance hall with my small suitcase beside me, staring at the polished marble floor.
Everything was beautiful.
Everything was expensive.
Everything was completely unfamiliar.
A huge staircase curved toward the upper floor. Tall windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, revealing a garden covered in fresh snow. Warm lights glowed from the walls, and a massive chandelier hung above me.
It looked like something from a magazine.
It didn't feel like anywhere I belonged.
I tightened my fingers around the strap of my handbag.
“Your room is upstairs.”
I turned.
Julian stood a few steps behind me, still wearing the black coat he'd worn to the hospital.
He looked exactly as he always had.
Tall.
Composed.
Unreasonably intimidating.
Even when he wasn't trying.
I looked at the enormous house again.
“Do you live here alone?”
“Yes.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Why what?”
“Why do you live alone in a house this big?”
“Because I own it.”
“That wasn't my question.”
A pause.
Then something that almost looked like amusement crossed his face.
“You've been here for less than five minutes and you're already interrogating me.”
“I've had a difficult night.”
“I noticed.”
I looked away.
That was the problem with Julian.
He never said too much.
He didn't need to.
His silence somehow made me want to fill every empty space with words.
A housekeeper approached us.
“Mr. Cross.”
“Maria, this is Evelyn.”
The woman smiled warmly.
“Welcome home, Miss Evelyn.”
Home.
The word made something twist inside my chest.
I looked down.
It wasn't my home.
My home had my mother's perfume in the hallway.
My father's shoes beside the front door.
Family photographs on every wall.
A kitchen where Mom would hum while cooking.
A living room where Dad would fall asleep while pretending he was watching television.
That home was gone.
Forever.
“Evelyn?”
I blinked.
Julian was watching me.
“You're tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don't have to pretend with me.”
My throat tightened.
I hated when he said things like that.
Because whenever he did, I felt like crying.
“I don't want to cry anymore.”
“You don't have to stop.”
I looked at him.
He stepped closer.
“You lost your parents today. Nobody expects you to be fine.”
“But everybody keeps telling me I'm strong.”
“People say that because they don't know what else to say.”
For some reason, that made me laugh.
Just once.
A tiny sound.
Julian's expression softened.
“Come on.”
He picked up my suitcase.
I immediately reached for it.
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
“Then give it back.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You're bossy.”
“So I've been told.”
“By me?”
“Frequently.”
I followed him upstairs.
The hallway was almost as quiet as the entrance.
He stopped beside a door and opened it.
“This is your room.”
I stepped inside.
My mouth fell open.
The room was enormous.
A large bed sat in the middle, covered with soft cream-colored blankets. There was a desk beside the window, a bookshelf, a walk-in closet, and another door that led to a private bathroom.
I walked toward the window.
Snow covered the garden below.
For one second, I could almost imagine Mom standing beside me.
I swallowed.
Then I noticed something on the desk.
A framed photograph.
I picked it up.
It was a picture of my parents.
They were smiling.
My father had one arm around my mother.
My mother was laughing at something outside the frame.
My fingers trembled around the photograph.
“You brought this?”
Julian stood in the doorway.
“Yes.”
“From my house?”
“Yes.”
I pressed the photograph against my chest.
“You knew I'd want it?”
“I knew you wouldn't want to leave it behind.”
My eyes burned.
I quickly turned away.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
He placed my suitcase beside the wardrobe.
“There are clothes inside.”
I looked at him.
“My clothes?”
“I had someone collect them.”
I nodded.
Then I noticed something else.
A small stuffed rabbit sat on the bed.
My stuffed rabbit.
The one I'd had since I was eight.
I walked over and picked it up.
“You brought this too?”
Julian nodded.
I hugged it.
He looked away almost immediately.
Maybe he didn't know what to do when I cried.
Maybe I didn't either.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Uncle Julian?”
“Yes?”
“Do I have to stay here?”
He didn't hesitate.
“No.”
I looked up.
“You can leave whenever you want.”
That surprised me.
“But where would I go?”
“Anywhere you choose.”
I looked at the photograph in my hands.
“I don't know anywhere.”
His expression changed.
“Then stay until you do.”
My eyes filled again.
He walked toward the door.
“Get some sleep.”
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“Are you going to your office tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Do you work every day?”
“Almost.”
“Then who will be here?”
“Maria and the staff.”
I frowned.
“What about you?”
“I'll come home.”
“When?”
“Whenever I'm finished.”
I didn't like that answer.
I wanted him to say he'd stay.
But I knew he had a company.
A life.
Responsibilities.
I looked down.
“Okay.”
He started to leave.
“Goodnight, Evelyn.”
“Goodnight.”
The door closed.
I stared at it.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then I got up and opened it.
Julian was still in the hallway.
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you standing there?”
I hesitated.
“Can you stay until I fall asleep?”
His expression softened.
“Of course.”
I climbed into bed.
Julian pulled the chair beside the window closer to me and sat down.
He didn't talk.
He simply stayed.
I watched him from beneath the blanket.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at it.
Then silenced it.
It buzzed again.
He ignored it.
“You can answer.”
“No.”
“Is it important?”
“Yes.”
“Then answer it.”
“You're more important.”
I went completely still.
Julian seemed to realize what he'd said.
He looked toward the window.
“Sleep.”
A smile tugged at my lips.
For the first time that day, I felt warm.
I closed my eyes.
The room was unfamiliar.
The house was unfamiliar.
My life was unfamiliar.
But Julian was there.
And somehow, that made everything a little less frightening.
I woke several hours later.
The room was dark.
For one terrible moment, I forgot where I was.
I sat up quickly.
“Mom?”
Silence.
My heart dropped.
Then I remembered.
The accident.
The hospital.
The funeral that hadn't happened yet.
The house.
Julian.
My eyes filled with tears.
I looked toward the chair.
Empty.
Panic rushed through me.
“Uncle Julian?”
Nothing.
I climbed out of bed.
My bare feet touched the cold floor.
I opened the door.
The hallway was dark.
“Uncle Julian?”
A light was visible downstairs.
I hurried down the stairs.
He was standing in the living room, speaking quietly on the phone.
He turned when he heard my footsteps.
His expression immediately changed.
“Evelyn?”
I stopped.
“I couldn't find you.”
He ended the call.
“I was downstairs.”
“I thought you left.”
“I told you I wouldn't.”
I looked at him.
He seemed genuinely confused by my fear.
“I woke up and you weren't there.”
He walked toward me.
“You don't have to be afraid every time you wake up.”
“I can't help it.”
He stopped in front of me.
“You don't have to.”
I stared at him.
Then, very quietly, I asked, “Will you really stay?”
His eyes held mine.
“Yes.”
“Even when I'm older?”
“Yes.”
“Even when I'm difficult?”
“You're already difficult.”
I frowned.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
I punched his arm lightly.
He actually smiled.
It was small.
Barely there.
But I saw it.
And somehow, seeing that smile made the enormous house feel less empty.
I wiped my eyes.
“I'm hungry.”
He glanced at the clock.
It was nearly midnight.
“You're hungry?”
“Yes.”
“You just survived the worst day of your life and your biggest concern is food?”
I nodded seriously.
“I haven't eaten properly.”
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he picked up his phone.
“Maria?”
I smiled.
“Can we have pancakes?”
He looked at me.
“At midnight?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then he sighed.
“Pancakes.”
My smile widened.
As Julian walked toward the kitchen, I followed him.
For the first time since the accident, I wasn't walking alone.
I didn't know how long I would stay in his house.
I didn't know what would happen to my future.
I didn't know how I was supposed to live without my parents.
But that night, sitting at a kitchen island at midnight while Julian Cross arranged for someone to make pancakes because I was hungry, I made another little promise to myself.
I would try.
I would heal.
And I would never forget the man who stayed when everyone else walked away.
At sixteen, I thought that was all my heart wanted.
I had no idea how much more complicated that promise would become.
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