Chapter 7: Unraveling Threads
The next few days passed in a blur for Emilia. Every moment was long and stretched, filled with the weight of her thoughts and the pull of Dorian's presence. The mansion was quieter than usual, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking just beneath the surface, something that neither of them could ignore for much longer.
She found herself being distracted at every turn. Even the most mundane tasks she had performed with ease-silver polishing, dusting of the long corridors-felt almost foreign to her now. The thought of Dorian seemed to be at the back of her mind, tugging her from everything else. She'd catch glimpses of him as he passed through the house, his eyes fleetingly meeting hers, and each time, her pulse would quicken, her stomach fluttering uncomfortably.
It was as if the distance between them had been compacted and she could not escape from his magnetic force of attraction.
The third evening since the incident found Emilia in the large dining hall, setting the table for dinner. She did it with steady hands, while her mind wandered miles away from what she was actually doing. It was as if the quiet of the room still reverberated with the memory of Dorian's touch, his fingers warm against her skin. She could not forget. As hard as she tried, it remained with her, that sense of his presence-a silent thread fastening her to him.
She hadn't seen him since the night he'd come to her room and she hadn't seen him again since then, though she had seen him watching her from afar, his dark eyes always tracking her movements. Every time she lifted her head, he was there, his gaze heavy and intense, as if waiting for her to break.
As the evening wore on, she grew increasingly restless, knowing dinner would soon begin. Her steps quickened, as did her heart rate at the thought of him. The mansion was eerily silent except for the light sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall. The door to the dining room creaked open, and she stood still.
He was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the soft darkness from the hallway. His presence seemed to fill the room, as though everything else receded behind him. His eyes were dark, inscrutable, but a flicker of something else danced in them, an emotion that stirred a mixture of curiosity and unease in her chest.
"Emilia," he whispered, his voice low, saying her name as though it were some sort of secret. "You have been avoiding me again.
The words, though softly spoken, carried weight. She didn't know how to answer him. She wasn't avoiding him-at least, not consciously. But every time he was near, the tension between them became unbearable. It was as if she couldn't breathe when he was close, as if he took up all the space in the room.
"I've been busy," she replied, her voice more composed than she felt. She couldn't let him see how much his presence affected her. Not yet, at least.
Dorian stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving hers. "I noticed." He paused, as if considering something, before continuing, his tone shifting to something more teasing. "You know, avoiding me only makes me more interested." His smile was small, but it was there-faint, almost imperceptible-but it was enough to send a wave of heat through her.
Emilia forced herself to take a steady breath, resisting the urge to shift under his intense gaze. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, betraying the calm facade she tried so hard to maintain. She wasn't sure if it was the way he looked at her, or the way he made her feel so small, yet so seen at the same time, but she couldn't seem to control her reactions.
She had replied gently, though with no real conviction, "I am not avoiding you." At that moment, she couldn't say how much this sounded like the truth anymore.
He stepped closer, just a few feet away now. The space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, and the scent of him-the faint trace of cologne mixed with something deeper, something primal-washed over her.
"You don't have to lie to me, Emilia," he said in a low voice, almost a growl. "I know what you're feeling. You can't deny it."
Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt the strain that built up, much as if a string were twisted in the hands, each second winding higher with mounting pressure. She wanted to get back, to pull from beneath the suffocating grasp of this intensity of seconds at this moment, but was held, even by some unwilling traction, drawn down it seemed into a very fated place.
"I'm not lying," she said, her voice shaking now. "I just don't understand you."
He smiled, but there was no warmth in it—only a teasing glint. "That's the point, Emilia. You don't need to understand me. You just need to trust me."
Her mind was racing, her thoughts whirling in a whirlwind. He was too much, too intense, too… everything. Yet, at the same time, he was everything she couldn't ignore. Her body seemed to betray her with every beat of her heart. She wanted to argue, to push him away, but when she opened her mouth, the words didn't come.
Dorian watched her closely, sensing the battle waging inside of her. The moment stretched between them, thick with tension, until he finally took a step back.
"Relax," he said softly, though his voice still carried that same weight of authority. "You don't have to be afraid of me."
But how could she not be scared? How could she not be terrified of the way he made her feel-like she teetered on some dangerous edge that would pull her under unless she was careful?
As Dorian turned and left the room, Emilia stood frozen, her heart still racing. She was left standing there, alone in the silence, the air thick around her with the unspoken promise of things yet to come.
She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep denying it, but one thing she knew
for sure: Dorian was never going to let her go.