Arian led her up to the third floor, his step seeming to slow as they neared the top of the stairs. It was by just a fraction, barely noticeable. But Cass caught it—the slight hesitation, the tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders squared just a little more, as if bracing himself. As though he were leading her into a place not meant to be disturbed.
The lighting on this floor was dimmer than the rest of the mansion, making the space look like there were ghosts constantly slipping in and out of the shadows. It felt colder up here, like the very air had dipped in ice. The black-and-red interior design that Cass had grown familiar with downstairs was even more intense here, sharper, more pronounced. The furniture and decor were expensive, sleek, but they lacked warmth. Each piece looked like it belonged in a museum—beautiful, but untouchable.
