Don’t Look at Me Like That
960 Words
The second night in the mansion felt colder than the first.
Maya sat in her room long after sunset, staring at the untouched dinner tray someone had left by the door. The air smelled faintly of cedar and old money Ethan’s scent somehow threaded through the walls. She hated that she could feel him even when he wasn’t in the room.
A knock startled her.
Three sharp taps controlled, precise.
Only one man in this house knocked like that.
She swallowed, smoothing her hands down the hem of her dress. “Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and there he was. Ethan Devine dark suit, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, no tie tonight. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a hint of tanned skin and power that came too easily to him.
His gaze swept over her one careful, lingering second before his voice broke the silence.
“You missed dinner.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Grief doesn’t mean you stop taking care of yourself.”
Maya’s chest tightened. “You sound just like him.”
Something flickered in his eyes pain, maybe before he exhaled slowly and stepped farther into the room. The lamplight fell across his face, sharpening every line and shadow. He looked older tonight, the weight of loss clinging to him just as much as it did to her.
“Come downstairs,” he said. “You should eat something.”
She wanted to argue, but the tone in his voice made her move. It wasn’t harsh, just final. The kind of tone that left no room for disobedience.
They walked down the long hallway together, neither speaking. The mansion at night was beautiful and lonely the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the dark.
When they reached the dining room, the table had already been reset. One candle burned low in the middle, flickering between them. Ethan gestured for her to sit.
“I didn’t think you’d bother waiting,” she said softly, sliding into her chair.
“I didn’t,” he replied. “But you shouldn’t eat alone.”
The small talk died before it started. The sound of cutlery filled the silence. Every now and then, she felt his eyes on her studying, weighing, remembering.
“Why are you still here?” she asked suddenly. “You could’ve gone back to your city. You don’t owe me anything.”
He set his fork down, his expression unreadable. “Your father made me promise to look after you. I don’t break promises.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t need looking after.”
His lips curved, but not with amusement. “That’s what you think.”
The words lingered between them a challenge, a warning, maybe both.
Maya pushed her plate away, appetite gone. “You always talk like you know me better than I know myself.”
“I do,” he said simply. “You were fifteen when I first met you. You hid behind your father’s coat the whole time. You used to flinch whenever anyone raised their voice.”
Her cheeks burned. “I grew up, Ethan.”
His eyes darkened. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You did.”
The air shifted. Something raw, electric, and forbidden stretched between them.
She tried to hold his gaze, but it was too much too intense, too knowing. She looked away, pretending to fix her napkin.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?” His tone was low now, the kind that made her pulse race.
“Like you’re trying to see through me.”
“I’m not trying,” he said. “I already can.”
Her breath caught. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“And why not?”
“Because it sounds like you mean them.”
He leaned back, eyes never leaving hers. “What if I do?”
The silence that followed was deafening. The candlelight danced between them, and for a moment, she could almost hear her heart hammering against her ribs.
Maya stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to bed.”
Ethan rose too, but slower deliberate. “Maya—”
“No.” She took a step back. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you care because of him. You feel guilty, that’s all.”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t reduce what I feel to guilt.”
“Then what is it?” she demanded, voice trembling.
His silence said everything.
She shook her head and turned to leave, but his next words froze her mid-step.
“Your father trusted me,” he said quietly. “And I won’t betray that by wanting something I shouldn’t.”
Her breath hitched. “Then stop wanting it.”
He didn’t answer.
She left the room before she could see the look on his face the one that made her knees weak and her heart ache all at once.
Upstairs, she closed her bedroom door, leaning against it as tears burned the back of her eyes. The house felt too big, too heavy with ghosts and memories. But beneath it all, there was something new something alive.
She hated that she could feel him everywhere.
She hated that she wanted him to come after her.
Downstairs, Ethan stood alone at the table, staring at the flickering candle until it went out.
Then, softly, under his breath almost like a confession he said,
“Don’t look at me like that, Maya. You have no idea what it does to me.”
Both are fully aware of their feelings now but neither is ready to admit it. The next chapter will push their restraint to the edge.
- Writer
