Cracks in secret
517 Words
Chapter 14 – Cracks in the Silence
Adrian stood by the fireplace, his figure caught between shadow and flame. His cut still bled, dark against his pale skin, but he ignored it as though pain were an old companion.
Elena set the book down on the desk with a deliberate thud. “Enough,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “You keep telling me I’m not safe, that this house is dangerous, that you’re dangerous—but you never tell me why. Not really. Not the truth.”
His gaze flicked to the book, then to her. The muscle in his jaw tightened.
“I’m protecting you,” he said, low and rough.
“Protecting me by drowning me in lies?” Elena snapped. “By letting me walk blind into whatever nightmare my grandmother left behind? I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I can’t keep fearing you and wanting you at the same time.”
Adrian flinched as if struck. For a heartbeat, his composure slipped, his eyes raw with something he couldn’t hide.
“Elena…” His voice cracked, just slightly, before he forced it steady again. “There are things in this world you can’t unsee once you know them. Things that bind you forever. Your grandmother knew it. That’s why she warned you.”
“Warned me about what?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing the room. Every line of his body screamed conflict—like a man pulled apart by chains.
Finally, he stopped and faced her, storm-gray eyes burning with a dangerous light.
“Your grandmother and I… we weren’t just connected by this house. We were bound. By choice, by blood, by something older than either of us. And when she died…” His breath caught, ragged. “That bond didn’t break. It shifted. To you.”
Elena’s blood ran cold. “Bound? To me?”
Adrian nodded once, sharp and heavy, as though the word itself was a weight he’d been carrying too long. “That’s why I can’t leave. That’s why I can’t stay away. You think it’s choice? It isn’t. It’s gravity. It’s curse. It’s both.”
Elena staggered back, her hand finding the desk for balance. The book seemed to pulse under her palm, the rose emblem glowing faintly in the firelight.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “What are you, Adrian?”
He closed the space between them in two steps, his presence overwhelming, his eyes fever-bright. His hand lifted, trembling, and brushed the edge of her cheek—gentle, aching, forbidden.
“Something you shouldn’t love,” he whispered.
And then he pulled away, leaving her skin burning with the ghost of his touch.
Before she could demand more, the grandfather clock in the hall tolled midnight. Each chime seemed to rattle the walls, the sound resonating in her chest.
On the final strike, a voice echoed from upstairs, loud and clear this time. Not a whisper, but a woman’s cry:
“Elena… choose.”
The candle flames guttered out, plunging the room into darkness.
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- Writer
