The car’s engine purred low as we rolled up the long driveway. Night clung to the air, heavy and sweet, wrapping itself around the mansion’s white columns. I could still feel the pulse of the drive—the way silence had settled between Rhys and me, charged, almost alive.
The gates creaked open, and the house loomed ahead, all soft lights and shadows. It looked asleep, but I knew better. In this house, someone was always awake.
Rhys killed the engine. For a moment neither of us moved. His hand rested on the wheel; mine sat in my lap, useless, trembling just slightly. The space between us felt too small, too loud.
When I finally reached for the door, he spoke, voice low.
“Alex.”
I looked at him. His eyes caught the faint light from the dash—dark, unreadable, too knowing.
“Try not to look
