Chapter 1
862 Words
The steam coiled around Elora like a living thing, thick and suffocating, blurring the edges of the room until everything felt unreal. Water traced slow paths down her skin as she stepped out of the bathtub, her breath steady but her thoughts miles away. For once, there was silence—no expectations, no watchful eyes, no whispered judgments.
Just her.
Her fingers stretched toward the towel hanging nearby—
Footsteps.
Not faint.
Not passing.
Stopping. Right outside.
Her body went rigid.
The door creaked open.
Windsor stepped in.
Elora’s heart slammed violently against her ribs.
For a suspended second, time twisted.
Neither of them moved.
The air thickened—not just with steam, but with something sharper… something dangerous.
“Opps…” she gasped, instinctively folding her arms across herself, though it barely shielded anything. “Why would you barge in like that?!”
Windsor didn’t blink.
Didn’t turn away.
Didn’t even pretend to.
“It’s my house,” he said, voice calm—too calm. “I go wherever I want.”
The words weren’t loud, but they landed heavily.
Possessive.
Unapologetic.
Elora’s jaw tightened, heat rising to her face—not from embarrassment, but anger.
She reached quickly for the towel—
“Don’t.”
The command cut through the room like a blade.
Her hand froze mid-air.
Windsor stepped closer, unhurried, as though her reaction didn’t matter. He picked up another towel—dry—and held it out to her.
“That one’s soaked.”
Casual.
Too casual.
Elora hesitated.
Something about the way he stood there—composed, watching her too closely—made her pulse misbehave.
Not fear.
Not entirely.
And that unsettled her more.
She snatched the towel from him.
“Thank you,” she muttered, wrapping it tightly around herself, as if she could hide more than just her body.
But he didn’t leave.
He just stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like he was studying her.
“I have a question,” Windsor said.
Elora exhaled slowly, irritation creeping back in.
“You always do. Say it.”
His gaze darkened slightly.
“Are you the only daughter of the Matthew family?”
The question struck deeper than expected.
It wasn’t just curiosity.
It was deliberate.
Careful.
Dangerous.
Elora didn’t answer immediately.
Instead—
She laughed.
But the sound was wrong.
Sharp.
Hollow.
Like glass cracking under pressure.
“I’m one of the daughters,” she said quietly. “Just not the one that matters.”
Windsor’s eyes narrowed—almost imperceptibly.
“The one you wanted refused to marry you,” she continued, her voice gaining an edge, something long buried clawing its way up. “She heard stories about you.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile—but it carried no warmth.
“Cruel. Cold. Dangerous.”
A beat.
“So they handed you me instead.”
Silence settled heavily between them.
But Elora wasn’t done.
Not anymore.
“I’m the illegitimate one,” she said, her voice lower now, steadier—but heavier. “The mistake they couldn’t erase.”
Her fingers tightened slightly against the towel.
“I didn’t even have the right to carry their name. I used my mother’s… until I became your wife.”
The words lingered.
Windsor didn’t react.
Not outwardly.
But something flickered in his eyes—
So brief it could’ve been imagined.
Elora saw it.
And that scared her more than his indifference ever could.
“You remember the party?” Windsor said suddenly.
Her brows drew together. “Of course I do.”
“You ran into me,” he continued. “Spilled a drink on my shirt.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You handed me a handkerchief.”
A pause.
Then—
“Were you trying to seduce me?”
The question hit like a slap.
For a split second, Elora just stared at him.
Then her expression hardened.
“Is that what you think?” she asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
Windsor didn’t answer.
That hesitation—
That single, silent second—
It ignited something explosive.
“What?!” Elora snapped, stepping forward now, anger surging through her veins. “You think I planned that? That I wanted your attention?”
Her chest rose and fell quickly.
“Running into you was an accident! Helping you was basic human decency—something you clearly don’t understand!”
Her voice echoed against the tiled walls.
Sharp.
Unrestrained.
“And now you’ve got your answers.”
She pointed toward the door, her eyes blazing.
“So leave.”
For a moment, it looked like he might say something.
Like he wanted to.
But instead—
Windsor turned.
“You can get back to your shower,” he said flatly.
And just like that—
He walked out.
The door shut with a quiet click.
Silence rushed back in.
But it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t peaceful.
It wasn’t empty.
Elora stood there, unmoving.
The mirror ahead of her was fogged, her reflection barely visible—distorted, fractured.
Her heartbeat refused to slow.
Not from embarrassment.
Not from anger.
But from something far more unsettling.
Something unfamiliar.
Something dangerous.
Something she couldn't explain.
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