The Crimson Thorn

Chapter Three: A Dangerous Dance

Eleanor’s fingers trembled as she slipped the photographs back into the envelope. Her heart was racing, her mind spinning with questions she couldn’t answer.

Who was the young woman? Why did William have these pictures? And why did they feel so…wrong?

The angles were intimate but unprofessional, as if taken by someone who was watching her without her knowledge. Her hands clenched the envelope tightly, the paper crinkling under the pressure.

She shouldn’t have been in his office. She knew that. But the moment she’d seen the envelope on his desk, curiosity had outweighed caution.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway snapped her out of her thoughts.

Panic surged through her as she scrambled to return the envelope to its original position. The door creaked open, and William’s tall figure filled the frame.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice low and even.

Eleanor froze, her breath catching in her throat. “I—uh—I was just leaving you a note,” she stammered, pointing to the small scrap of paper on his desk.

William’s gaze flicked to the envelope, then back to her. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—suspicion, perhaps, or something darker.

“A note,” he repeated, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

Eleanor’s pulse quickened as he moved closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space.

“Yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “I didn’t want to forget to remind you about dinner with the Crawfords tomorrow night.”

He arched an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Thoughtful of you.”

William reached past her, his hand brushing against her arm as he picked up the envelope. She flinched slightly, but he didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he did not comment.

His fingers rhythmically tapped the edge of the envelope, his gaze lingering on her face. “Anything else that I should know?”

Eleanor shook her head, unable to find her voice. She felt like a rabbit caught in the sights of a predator, every muscle in her body taut with fear.

But then, something shifted. William’s expression softened, and his lips curved into a smile that was almost warm.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low. “Why are you so nervous, Eleanor?”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

William stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on her waist. The gesture was unexpected, intimate in a way they hadn’t been in years. Eleanor’s breath hitched as his fingers traced small, deliberate circles against the fabric of her dress.

“You’ve been so distant lately,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something she couldn’t quite place. “I’ve missed you.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind reeling from the sudden shift in his demeanor. This was the man she had fallen in love with, the one who had once made her feel like the center of his world.

“I…” She swallowed hard, her words faltering.

William leaned in, his lips brushing against her temple. “You’re still as beautiful as the first day I met you” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

Eleanor’s body betrayed her, a shiver running down her spine at his touch. She hated herself for it—for the way her heart raced and her knees weakened under his gaze.

“William…” she began, but his fingers tilted her chin upward, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was both tender and commanding.

Her hands instinctively reached for his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft beneath her fingertips. For a moment, she let herself get lost in the warmth of him, the familiarity of his touch.

But then reality came crashing back, and she pulled away, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I should go,” she said, her voice trembling.

William’s eyes darkened, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. Possessively. “Go where?”

“To—” She faltered, unable to think of an excuse.

He smiled, but there was an edge to it that sent a chill down her spine. “You’re always running, Eleanor. What are you so afraid of?”

She shook her head, stepping back until his hands fell away from her. “I’m not afraid,” she lied.

William watched her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. “You should get some rest,” he said finally. “You look tired.”

Eleanor nodded, her legs unsteady as she turned and left the room.

---

Back in the sanctuary of her bedroom, Eleanor pressed her back against the door, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing.

Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, confusion, and a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in years: desire. She hated how easily William could unravel her, how a single touch from him could make her question everything.

But she couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt in the back of her mind. His sudden tenderness, his attention—it felt calculated, like a move on a chessboard.

Eleanor climbed into bed, pulling the quilt tightly around her. She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Images of the photographs swirled in her mind, the young woman’s face haunting her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had stumbled onto something she wasn’t meant to see—and that William’s renewed interest in her was no coincidence.

**

Cliffhanger for the next chapter:

The next morning, Eleanor finds a single red rose on her pillow, its petals dewy and fresh. Beneath it is a note in William’s neat handwriting:

"You’re mine, Eleanor. Don’t forget that."

Her blood runs cold as she stares at the words, the lingering warmth of his kiss from the night before now tainted by a chill that cuts straight to her core.