Chapter 4: Unmasking the Darkness
Days blended into days as Emilia's routine did not change, but something had shifted. Dorian's presence, his piercing gaze, and his silent warnings continued to reverberate in her brain like an itch she could not scratch. She couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt toward him, even though every instinct screamed for her to stay away. It was as though the mansion itself was conspiring with him, pushing her closer and closer to unraveling the mystery.
It wasn't until the night of the gala that things really started to change.
The mansion was transformed, as it always was when Dorian hosted one of his rare social events. The grand ballroom gleamed with chandeliers, their light reflecting off polished floors. The scent of roses and expensive perfume filled the air, mingling with soft music drifting from the string quartet in the corner. The guests, in their finest, moved with grace through the room, their conversations mingling with laughter and the clinking of glasses.
She had seen Emilia only once before, and then again, it had been out of reach, so remote; now here she was with the other servants moving around guests in their own world of glass and crystal. But on this night, it seemed different; Dorian requested her presence-an order which she could not deny.
She stood near the door, a tray of champagne glasses in her hands, her eyes darting nervously between the guests. As she passed a group of men, her gaze fell upon Dorian. He stood at the far side of the room, an imposing figure in a perfectly tailored suit. His face, as always, was unreadable, but tonight there was a subtle shift. His gaze flicked over the crowd, his eyes sharp in their calculations, his movements deliberate and commanding.
Emilia couldn't help but stare. There was something about the way he stood above them that made him untouchable. Yet, as her gaze met his across the room, a spark of something-unsaid, something electric-passed between them, and her pulse quickened, her breath caught in her throat.
Then, without a word, he began to move toward her.
Her heart leapt in her chest as he approached, the crowd parting around him like waves parting for a ship. She felt her legs turn to jelly as he came closer, his eyes locked on hers, as if no one else existed in the room.
"You look nervous," he said, his voice low, his tone carrying an edge of amusement.
Emilia swallowed, trying to steady herself. "I. I'm fine, Mr. Vale," she said, her voice betraying her.
Dorian's lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that made her stomach flutter nervously. "It's Dorian, remember?"
Emilia nodded, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. "Dorian."
He reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist as he took a glass from the tray. "Tell me, Emilia. what do you think of all this?" He waved his hand in the general direction of the room, the guests, the laughter, and the music.
"I—" She hesitated, unsure how to answer. It all felt so foreign to her, so out of place. "It's beautiful, but. it feels so far removed from everything I know.
For a moment, Dorian's eyes softened, but the look was gone before Emilia could wrap her head around it. "The world we live in is full of facades," he said cryptically. "But there's one thing you should know, Emilia."
She looked up at him, her heart racing.
"Nothing here is as it seems," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.
Before she could say a word, a loud, sudden noise boomed from the far end of the room. Emilia's heart jumped as she turned to see one of the guests, in a stumble, knock over a table, and with it, a glass of wine. The laughter ceased, the room falling silent as the guests turned to see what happened.
Emilia instinctively moved to help, but Dorian's hand shot out, grasping her wrist firmly. His touch was like fire, burning her skin even through the fabric of her dress.
"Stay," he commanded, his voice low, an edge in it that froze her place. "Don't move."
Emilia moved neither left nor right, her movements fixed by the unyielding strength in his grip. She watched Dorian approach the scene, his stance still casual, but there was something in his eyes—a cold, calculating look that sent a shiver down her spine.
By the time he reached the guest, Emilia had sensed a change in the atmosphere. The room, tense a few moments before, now seemed stiflingly so. It was as though something perilous was to occur, something nobody else was perceiving. Dorian leaned in close toward the guest and whispered in his ear. The man straightened up, the color bleeding from his face, but nodded and stepped aside without saying a word.
Dorian turned back to Emilia, his fingers still clamped around her wrist.
"What did you say to him?" she whispered.
Dorian's lips curled into that same, dangerous smile. "Just a little reminder of who rules here." His voice dropped even lower, barely audible. "You don't need to worry about him. Worry about me instead."
Her breath caught in her throat.
He leaned his head to one side, regarding her with a keen, almost predatory glint in his eye. "You have no idea, Emilia. You have no idea what kind of world you've stepped into.
His hand was still clamped around her wrist; it tightened, and through it, she felt a jolt run, as though he were tugging her deeper into his world, a dark, dangerous place. Fear and curiosity blurred into an unclear line, and it was impossible to say which one was stronger.
The man leaned in closer. His lips brushed her ear: "You wanted to know more. Now you will."
She wanted to pull away, to escape from his touch, but she couldn't. There was something magnetic about him, something she couldn't resist.
As the night wore on, Emilia found herself unable to look away from him. His every move, every word, only deepened the mystery. The night had only just begun, but she was already too far in-too deep to back out.