Scarlett’s POV
By the time I started leaving my door open just a crack, I told myself it was for air.
The windows in the east wing always let in more light than warmth. The wind carried a hush through the hallway, brushing against the heavy velvet drapes and making them dance in slow, reluctant movements. But it wasn’t just the wind I listened for anymore.
It was footsteps.
Not bold. Not urgent.
Just… there.
Always just outside.
I didn’t look up the first time. Or the second. I pretended not to notice. But on the third day, as I stood at the mirror pulling my hair back, I felt it, eyes on me. Like a shift in air pressure. Like someone remembering how to breathe.
Jasper.
He thought I couldn’t see him from the corner of the mirror. He stood just beyond the doorframe, still and hesit
