ChapterFour
1095 Words
Chapter 4: Silver and Shadows
The next morning Briars opened every curtain in the estate.
She started with the heavy brocade drapes in the foyer, fighting with cords and fabric until sunlight poured in like golden syrup, slicing through dust particles that danced in the air. The house, grand and sprawling, had sat for too long in a hush of wealth and shadows, suffocated by its own grandeur. She wasn’t trying to change it—only soften it. Breathe a little life into the stone and marble and silence.
By the time she reached the music room, her boots had tracked faint mud from the garden—another thing she’d tended to that morning, yanking away weeds with gloved hands and getting thorns stuck under her nails. There were calluses on her palms, and dirt smudged along her wrist where a rose bush had drawn blood.
But she didn’t mind.
Briar moved to the grand piano in the corner of the music room. She didn’t play, not really, but she dusted the keys and set a single white candle atop it. Then she went back to the entrance hall, where she arranged a bowl of fresh-cut wildflowers—imperfect and lopsided but fragrant with lavender and early spring roses. She placed it beside a black-and-white photo of a woman she’d found in one of the locked drawers. Leo’s mother, perhaps? The only picture not locked away in the study or bedroom.
As she stood back to observe her work, she didn’t hear the footsteps at first—too caught up in the way the light touched the silver frame.
“You’re making my house look... lived in.”
Briar spun around. Leo stood at the threshold of the music room, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie undone. A looseness hung about him that was unfamiliar—still powerful, but not as tightly coiled as usual.
“I wasn’t aware that was a crime,” she said, brushing her stray hair behind her ear. “But if it is, I plead guilty.”
He walked forward, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the fresh flowers, the open windows, and the absence of gloom.
“You changed things.”
“I added things,” she corrected. “The house is beautiful, but it felt like a graveyard.”
Leo’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite land. “That was the point.”
“That’s... grim.”
“I’m a grim man, Miss Wolfe.”
Briar didn’t smile. “I don’t believe that.”
Silence pulsed between them like a heartbeat. Then Leo stepped closer, his gaze narrowing as it dropped to her hands.
“You’re bleeding.”
She looked down. A thin scratch marked the top of her hand, dried but red.
“Just a thorn. I was pruning the rosebush near the east wing.”
He took her hand without asking...
His fingers were warm, rougher than she’d expected for a billionaire who likely had assistants to hold his coffee and answer his phone. He turned her wrist gently, examining the injury like a secret.
“You did all this?” he asked quietly.
Briar nodded.
He didn’t let go immediately. Instead, his thumb traced the line of her wrist, slow, as if memorizing it. The touch ignited something low in her belly—hot and unsettling. She tugged her hand back, clearing her throat.
“I thought this place could use... less echo.”
Leo said nothing, but his silence wasn’t harsh. It was contemplative. Weighted.
“You found the photo,” he said at last, nodding toward the frame.
“Is it your mother?”
“Yes.” His voice was a shade darker. “The last thing my father ever gave a damn about before the estate swallowed him whole.”
Briar’s brows lifted. “That’s poetic.”
He gave her a look. “That’s tragic.”
“Sometimes those are the same thing.” She responded.
Leo stared at her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t expected to want to solve. Then, in a sudden shift, he turned away and walked toward the window, looking out over the freshly trimmed hedges.
“This place doesn’t scare you, does it?”
Briar tilted her head. “Should it?”
“Most people feel suffocated here. That’s why I keep it this way. Cold. Closed.”
“That’s not living. That’s surviving.” she replied
He glanced over his shoulder, amused. “I wasn’t aware you were such a philosopher.”
“I’m not. I’m just... someone who’s learned not to settle for shadows when there’s sunlight.”
His gaze sharpened. “Who hurt you?”
Briar went still. She hadn’t expected the question. Or the intimacy behind it.
She forced a shrug. “Who hasn’t been hurt?”
But Leo’s stare didn’t waver. She could see the calculation behind his eyes—the analyst in him, always dissecting, understanding. Reading people like contracts.
“And yet you’re still standing here. Making flower arrangements.”
“I find it therapeutic.”
He took a step toward her. Then another. And suddenly, they were close again. Too close. The air between them grew taut, humming.
“I should be angry,” he murmured. “You’ve invaded my space. Moved things. Touched things I hadn’t looked at in years.”
“Then fire me,” she whispered.
He didn’t.
Instead, his eyes dropped to her lips, slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t step back.
“You’re dangerous,” Leo said, his voice barely audible.
“Why?” Briar asked.
“Because you’re waking things I buried a long time ago.” he replied.
And then—God help her—Briar wanted to be the one to dig them up. To uncover all the broken pieces of him and trace them with her fingers. But she didn’t say that. Couldn’t.
Instead, she reached up and gently brushed a speck of dust from his lapel.
“Maybe it’s time someone did,” she said.
He stared at her like he might kiss her—or walk away. But neither happened. Not yet.
A knock echoed from the front door, shattering the spell.
Leo exhaled, his jaw tightening as he turned away. “Stay out of the west wing. And don’t go into the cellar.”
Briar raised a brow. “Why not?”
“Because even shadows have teeth.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving her with sunlight, silver frames, and a strange ache in her chest.
- Writer
