Chapter 4: The Rules of Black Manor
1482 Words
The world seemed to stop.
Hena could hear nothing except the steady rhythm of Dariel Black's heartbeat beneath his crisp black shirt.
Strong.
Calm.
Unshaken.
His arms held her securely as he carried her through the woods, his long strides barely slowing despite the uneven ground. The scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne surrounded him, making it strangely difficult for Hena to focus.
She had only known this man for two days.
Yet every encounter with him left her more confused than the last.
Was he truly as cold as everyone claimed?
Or was there another Dariel hidden beneath the ruthless mask?
"You can put me down," she said quietly.
"No."
"My ankle isn't broken."
"You don't know that."
"I can walk."
"You couldn't stand."
Hena sighed.
"You enjoy giving orders, don't you?"
"I don't enjoy repeating myself."
She rolled her eyes.
"I noticed."
Dariel glanced down at her.
"You speak far too much."
"And you don't speak enough."
His lips twitched ever so slightly before returning to their usual indifferent line.
Hena almost thought she had imagined it.
Almost.
By the time they reached the mansion, nearly every servant had gathered at the entrance.
Mrs. Brooks rushed forward.
"Oh, dear heavens! Miss Prat!"
"I'm fine," Hena assured her.
"It doesn't look like you're fine."
Dariel walked straight past everyone.
"Call Dr. Lawson."
"Immediately, Young Master."
The servants watched in stunned silence.
Young Master Dariel...
Carrying someone?
The same man who hated unnecessary physical contact?
The same man who never concerned himself with injured employees?
The whispers began the moment he disappeared upstairs.
"Did you see that?"
"He carried her himself."
"I've worked here for twelve years."
"I've never seen anything like it."
"Not even when Miss Vanessa fainted."
"No."
Mrs. Brooks heard every word but chose to remain silent.
She had lived in Black Manor long enough to recognize the impossible.
Something was changing.
Very slowly.
But changing nonetheless.
---
Dariel kicked open the guest bedroom door with surprising ease before gently laying Hena on the edge of the bed.
"I told you I'm fine."
"You've repeated that six times."
"And?"
"You've been wrong six times."
She crossed her arms.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
A few moments later, Dr. Lawson hurried into the room carrying his medical bag.
He was an elderly man who had served the Black family for nearly thirty years.
"Young Master."
"Examine her."
The doctor smiled kindly at Hena.
"Let's have a look."
After carefully examining her ankle, he leaned back with a satisfied nod.
"Nothing serious."
Hena smiled triumphantly.
"I told you."
"It's a mild sprain."
Her smile disappeared.
Dr. Lawson continued, "She'll need plenty of rest for at least three days."
Dariel folded his arms.
"She won't be working."
"I don't need three days."
"You'll take them."
She looked from Dariel to the doctor.
"Does anyone here actually listen to me?"
"No," both men answered at the same time.
Dr. Lawson chuckled while Dariel remained completely serious.
Hena couldn't believe it.
---
After the doctor left, an awkward silence settled over the room.
Dariel walked toward the window overlooking the gardens.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Hena broke the silence.
"Who was that man?"
"What man?"
"The one in the woods."
"There was no one."
She stared at him.
"You found me because you followed him."
"I found you because one of the security guards saw you wandering into the forest."
"You're lying."
His shoulders stiffened.
"You accuse me quite often."
"Only when you deserve it."
He turned slowly.
"Why can't you let it go?"
"Because your grandmother was terrified."
"Because someone entered her room."
"Because I saw a stranger watching me."
"And because every time I ask about it..."
She stood carefully despite the pain.
"...you pretend nothing happened."
Dariel walked toward her until they stood only inches apart.
"You think you're clever."
"I know what I saw."
His gray eyes searched hers.
"Curiosity can be dangerous."
"So can secrets."
For a second, the tension between them became almost unbearable.
Neither moved.
Neither looked away.
Then...
A loud knock shattered the moment.
"Young Master?"
Mrs. Brooks' voice came through the door.
"What?"
"Master Noah refuses to eat dinner."
Dariel closed his eyes briefly.
"I'll handle it."
He walked toward the door before stopping.
Without turning around, he spoke quietly.
"Stay away from the forest."
"Why?"
"Because next time..."
He paused.
"...I may not reach you in time."
Then he left.
Hena watched the door close behind him.
Those weren't the words of a man giving an order.
They sounded...
Like a warning.
---
Downstairs...
Noah sat stubbornly at the dining table with his arms crossed.
"I don't want vegetables."
Dariel pulled out a chair opposite him.
"You'll eat."
"No."
"You don't have a choice."
"I want Hena."
Dariel frowned.
"She's resting."
"I don't care."
"Neither do I."
Noah pushed the plate away.
"I'm not eating."
Dariel's patience was wearing thin.
"You've become very difficult."
"No."
The little boy looked directly into his father's eyes.
"I've always been difficult."
"You just never noticed."
The words struck Dariel harder than he expected.
For several moments, he said nothing.
Then, unexpectedly...
Hena entered the dining room, limping slightly.
Mrs. Brooks followed behind her.
"I told you to stay in bed," Dariel said.
"And I told you my ankle isn't broken."
She ignored him completely before walking over to Noah.
"What seems to be the problem?"
He pouted.
"Dad wants me to eat vegetables."
"He's right."
Noah blinked.
"You're taking his side?"
"I'm taking your stomach's side."
She picked up a carrot.
"Tell you what."
She smiled mischievously.
"If you finish everything on your plate..."
"I'll tell you the story of the bravest knight who ever lived."
Noah's eyes sparkled.
"A real story?"
"The best one."
Within ten minutes...
Every bite was gone.
Mrs. Brooks covered her mouth in disbelief.
The kitchen staff applauded quietly.
Dariel simply watched.
He had spent years trying to convince Noah to eat properly.
Hena had accomplished it in minutes.
Again.
How?
---
That evening, after Noah had fallen asleep during the promised bedtime story, Hena quietly left his room.
As she closed the door, she nearly collided with Dariel.
"You scared me."
"You shouldn't be walking."
"There you go again."
He glanced toward Noah's room.
"He likes you."
"I like him too."
Silence.
Then Dariel asked something unexpected.
"How?"
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"How did you get him to trust you?"
Hena leaned against the wall thoughtfully.
"I listened."
"I listen."
"No."
She smiled softly.
"You hear him."
"But you don't listen."
Dariel's expression darkened slightly.
"There's a difference."
"He doesn't need a perfect father."
"He needs his father."
Those words lingered in the hallway long after Lena walked away.
---
Midnight.
Black Manor slept beneath a blanket of silence.
Moonlight spilled across the polished floors.
Somewhere deep within the mansion...
A grandfather clock chimed twelve times.
Hena couldn't sleep.
The events of the day replayed endlessly in her mind.
The mysterious stranger.
Lady Eleanor's terror.
Damien's warning.
None of it made sense.
Finally giving up on sleep, she slipped out of bed and walked quietly toward the library.
Books had always calmed her.
The library was magnificent.
Towering shelves stretched from floor to ceiling.
Ancient leather-bound volumes filled every corner.
A fireplace crackled softly despite the summer night.
As Hena wandered between the shelves, something caught her eye.
A framed family photograph.
She picked it up.
It showed a much younger Dariel standing beside an elegant woman with warm brown eyes and a bright smile.
She looked nothing like Lady Eleanor.
In the photograph, Dariel couldn't have been older than fifteen.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
The happiness in his eyes was unmistakable.
"What happened to you?" Hena whispered.
"You shouldn't touch that."
She spun around.
Dariel stood near the doorway, dressed in a black shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He looked less like a billionaire CEO...
And more like a man who hadn't slept in years.
"I was just looking."
He walked over and gently took the photograph from her hands.
"Who is she?"
"My mother."
"She looks kind."
"She was."
"What happened?"
His jaw tightened.
"She died."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
For the first time...
His voice carried emotion.
Real emotion.
Before Hena could say another word...
A loud crash echoed from the second floor.
Then another.
Glass shattered.
Someone screamed.
Dariel's face changed instantly.
All warmth vanished.
"Stay here."
He sprinted toward the door.
Naturally...
Hena ignored him.
She followed.
By the time they reached the second floor, servants were already running through the corridors in panic.
Smoke drifted beneath one of the bedroom doors.
Mrs. Brooks cried out in horror.
"The west wing!"
Flames suddenly burst through the curtains.
Someone had started a fire.
And trapped inside the burning room...
Was Lady Eleanor Black.
- Writer
