Behind the door

Bound in secret

Chapter 12 – Bound in Secrets

The house was thick with silence, broken only by the frantic beat of Elena’s heart. She pressed the book tight against her chest, the echo of that whisper still vibrating through her bones.

The front door creaked open. Heavy steps moved through the hall.

“Elena?” Adrian’s voice. Firm, searching.

She swallowed, bracing herself. He entered the study and froze when he saw the book in her arms. His gaze sharpened instantly, storm-gray eyes narrowing with a mix of recognition and dread.

“You found it,” he said, his tone low, unreadable.

Elena lifted her chin, masking her fear with defiance. “She left it for me. Did you know?”

Adrian stepped closer, his movements deliberate, controlled, like a predator circling. “I knew she wrote things down. I didn’t know she’d… give you this.” His eyes flicked to the rose embossed on the cover, and his jaw clenched. “It’s dangerous.”

Her grip tightened. “Dangerous? It’s ink on paper. Unless you’re afraid of what it says.”

His silence was answer enough.

Elena opened the book to the page about the roses and shoved it toward him. “She wrote about you. She said you were bound to her. Bound to me. What does that mean, Adrian? What are you hiding from me?”

For the first time since she’d met him, Adrian’s composure faltered. His eyes darkened, and something raw flickered across his face—guilt, maybe grief.

“It means,” he said slowly, voice rough, “that your grandmother was right. About me. About this house. About everything you’re too brave—or too stubborn—to fear.”

Her breath caught. The nearness of him was intoxicating, maddening. “Then tell me the truth.”

He took another step, close enough that she felt the heat of him, the steady power he exuded. His hand lifted as if to touch her cheek, but he stopped just short, trembling with restraint.

“The truth,” he murmured, “is the one thing that could make you hate me. And I would rather you fear me than hate me, Elena.”

Her chest tightened. “You think you get to decide how I feel?”

“No.” His lips curved into something pained, almost desperate. “But I know how this ends if you open that book too far, if you walk through that door upstairs. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you before I’ve even had you.”

The confession stunned her. Heat surged through her veins, colliding with the ice of fear. For a moment, the air between them throbbed with an impossible pull—two souls drawn together by forces neither understood.

Her hand brushed his wrist, a fleeting, trembling touch. Adrian inhaled sharply, his restraint breaking for a heartbeat. His thumb ghosted over her knuckles, achingly gentle, as though even that contact was forbidden.

“Elena,” he whispered, her name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

And then—a crash upstairs. The sound of wood splintering.

Both of them jerked toward the noise. Adrian’s expression hardened, his hand slipping from hers. The softness vanished, replaced by steel.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

But Elena’s heart was no longer willing to obey. Not when she had the book. Not when the man standing before her was both her greatest danger and the only thing that made her feel alive.

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