Chapter9
854 Words
Chapter Nine: The One Who Watches
The discovery of Elara’s journal had left the manor trembling.
Evelyn felt it in the floorboards, in the wind that pushed too hard against the windowpanes, in the way her reflection lingered half a second too long when she looked away. Something had changed.
And it wasn’t just the house.
Alaric was different too.
Ever since they read Elara’s warning—Don’t trust her—he had grown more guarded. The softness in his eyes hadn’t vanished, but it had hardened around the edges. He still reached for her in the dark, still kissed her like the world might end, but he rarely spoke of his fears anymore.
Because now, they weren’t just his.
They were hers, too.
⸻
Two nights after finding the journal, Evelyn woke to find her bed cold.
She sat up, the fire burned low, casting soft orange light across the room. A creak echoed down the corridor. Not like footsteps. Like something being dragged.
She rose, pulled her shawl around her, and followed it.
The sound led her to the old greenhouse—once thriving, now wilted and choked by ivy. The air was thick with the scent of soil and decay. Her heart pounded.
“Hello?” she called out.
No answer.
She stepped farther in, glass crunching beneath her slippers.
And that’s when she saw it.
A canvas. Standing upright at the far end of the greenhouse, half-shrouded in torn linen.
She moved closer.
It was her.
A painting of her—nude, curled beneath velvet sheets, her eyes wide open, staring right at the viewer.
She gasped and stumbled back. The signature at the bottom read:
“For the one who belongs to me. Soon.”
“Evelyn.”
She turned sharply. Alaric stood in the doorway, breathing hard.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, storming toward her.
“I—I followed a sound,” she stammered, pointing at the painting. “I didn’t—Alaric, someone painted me. I didn’t sit for this. I never—”
He reached the canvas, yanked the linen down completely.
His face went white.
Then he pulled it from the stand and smashed it against the floor, breaking it in two with terrifying force.
Evelyn jumped.
His chest rose and fell with fury. “This was done recently. The brushwork is fresh.”
“Then someone’s watching me.”
He turned to her, cupping her face with trembling hands. “No one is ever getting that close to you again.”
“Alaric—”
He kissed her hard. Desperate. Possessive. As if to burn away the fear, to brand her with his need.
And she let him.
She kissed him like she needed saving, like she didn’t care where the danger came from as long as he was with her. His hands were warm and rough, pulling her to him like he was afraid she’d disappear.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, he said, “You’ll sleep in my chamber tonight. No more of this separation.”
She nodded, chest heaving. “Do you think Mary—?”
“I don’t know,” he said darkly. “But we’re going to find out.”
⸻
That night, Evelyn curled into the warmth of Alaric’s bed. He lay behind her, arm wrapped tight around her waist, his breath against her neck.
“I’ve wanted this,” she whispered. “Since the first moment I saw you.”
“I wanted it too,” he replied softly. “But I was afraid.”
“Of hurting me?”
“No,” he said. “Of loving you.”
Silence wrapped around them. And in that silence, Evelyn realized she was falling in love with a man made of grief and fire—someone who could destroy her, or die for her.
And she wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.
⸻
Before dawn, she woke with a start.
The room was freezing. The fire had gone out. Alaric stirred beside her but didn’t wake.
And then she saw it.
A figure at the end of the bed. Pale face. Eyes like empty wells. A smile that stretched too wide.
Elara.
Evelyn tried to scream—but the figure vanished.
She shot up, gasping.
Alaric jolted awake. “What is it?”
“She was here,” Evelyn cried. “Elara—I saw her.”
He sat up, pulling her to him. “It’s the house. It’s playing tricks.”
“No.” Her voice trembled. “It’s not a trick. It’s a warning.”
Just then—a crash. From downstairs.
Alaric was already out of bed, grabbing his robe and pistol. “Stay here.”
“No—”
“Evelyn,” he said, voice sharp. “Please.”
She hesitated. Then nodded.
He disappeared into the hall.
Evelyn waited, her breath held, the seconds dragging on like years.
Then—another scream. From below.
And she knew, with chilling certainty, that someone in Thornewood wanted her gone.
Or worse—replaced.
- Writer
