Chapter 8: A Glimpse Beyond the Mask
The days after that tense confrontation held a weird balance between being remote and subtly close. Emilia could not help but recognize the way Dorian managed to get into her line of view without ever being quite too close. He'd simply pass by her where she was working, looking perhaps a second longer than needed before continuing on his way, wordless, yet saying oodles about the softly brewing storm between them.
She had grown used to him being around, but the silence between them grew increasingly unbearable with each passing day. The mere thought of him made her heart stutter, made her breath catch in her throat. Every time their eyes met, she felt that electric pull—something deep, something visceral—that left her uncertain of everything she knew.
It was early one evening when she found herself in the library, tidying up the shelves. It was that part of the house she seldom visited-a quiet, shut-off room smelling of old books and leather-bound volumes that seemed to hold the secrets of ages back. This was where she loved to retreat whenever the weight of the atmosphere in this mansion became a bit too much to take.
As she straightened a row of books, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Her pulse quickened, and she couldn't help but tense, her back straightening in anticipation.
"Emilia," came Dorian's voice, soft yet commanding, from the doorway. She turned slowly, her heart skipping a beat as she faced him.
He stood in the doorway, tall and composed, like something out of another era. His eyes were fixed on hers, his face inscrutable, but something in the depths of his gaze left her feeling exposed, as though he could see right through her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though her hands were shaking ever so slightly.
Dorian stepped inside, the door clicking softly shut behind him. He was closer now, his presence filling the room, and Emilia could feel the heat of his gaze like a touch on her skin.
"I came to check on you," he said simply, his voice low and smooth. There was no teasing this time, no mockery. He seemed more serious, more intent than before. "You've been spending a lot of time alone."
Emilia swallowed hard. She wasn't quite sure how to answer him. Had he noticed how much she'd been avoiding him? Or was this his way of keeping her close, of making sure she couldn't slip away entirely?
"I like the quiet," she said softly, trying to brush off the tension in the air. "It helps me think.
Dorian took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You've been thinking a lot about me, haven't you?"
Emilia's heart raced at his words. How did he know? She hadn't said a word, but the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to know exactly what was going on in her mind, was both unnerving and oddly thrilling.
"I don't—" she began, but her words faltered as Dorian reached out, his hand delicately cupping her cheek. The skin tingled from the softness of his touch, yet sent a flush of warmth coursing through her veins, as if his fingertips had somehow touched off something deep within.
"I can see it in your eyes," he murmured, his voice little above a whisper. "You can't stop thinking about me, can you?"
Her breath caught, and she bit down on the urge to avert her gaze. Everything inside of her screamed to draw back, to retreat, but she couldn't move. She was frozen in place, caught in the intensity of his gaze.
"I. I don't know what you want from me," she whispered, her voice trembling despite the best effort to stay composed.
Dorian's thumb brushed over skin, and she felt the familiar shiver. "I don't want anything from you, Emilia. Not yet."
Her heart quivered. What did he mean by that? What was he waiting for?
"I just want you to stop running from me," he continued in his voice so soft yet sharp as a razor. "You don't have to be afraid of me.
"I'm not afraid," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her body betrayed her-the way it leaned into his touch, the way her breath would catch every time he drew near.
Dorian smiled slightly, as if to say he knew that behind every word she said lay another, unsaid. "No? Then why do you pull away every time I get too close?"
"I'm not pulling away," she protested, but the words lacked conviction. She knew she was lying to him, and worse, she was lying to herself.
Dorian watched her for a long moment, his eyes softening just a fraction. He leaned in closer now, their bodies almost touching. His presence overwhelmed yet was strangely comforting. His hand slid from her cheek to her jaw, tilting her face upward to meet his eyes.
You're scared," he whispered, his tone softer now, nearly tender. "It's alright. You don't need to understand everything at once. Just trust me.
Emilia's heart quickened as she stared deep into his eyes, searching for anything, any sign, that might define what was happening between them. She had worked so hard to ignore it-to bury it deep beneath the surface-but it was impossible now to deny. The pull was too strong, the feel of it overwhelming.
"I don't know how to trust you," she whispered, her voice faltering.
"You don't have to know," Dorian replied, his voice low, almost coaxing. "Just feel it."
The way he spoke sent a wave of warmth through her, and for a brief moment, she found herself closing her eyes, letting herself feel the connection between them. It was there, undeniable and fierce, a thread that tied her to him in ways she couldn't explain.
She finally opened her eyes to find Dorian still sitting there, his eyes not having moved or wavered from hers.
"I'm not going anywhere, Emilia," he said softly, "not unless you want me to.
The silence between them grew thick with anticipation and longing. Emilia felt her breath hitch as his fingers lightly traced the curve of her jaw, his touch so light it sent a shiver down her spine. It was like every fiber of her was screaming for her to give in, stop fighting whatever this was between them.
But she couldn't. She wasn't ready.
"Not yet," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Dorian's smile returned, soft but knowing. "I'll wait."
He stepped back, his hand slipping away from her face. "But know this, Emilia," he said quietly, his voice low and steady. "I won't wait forever."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her still standing, her heart racing in her chest, her head whirling with confusion
and desire and something deeper, some place she wasn't quite ready to go.