Days turned into weeks, and Ava found herself spending more time with Alexander. It wasn't just his presence; it was the little things he did. The way he remembered her favorite breakfast. The way he subtly adjusted his schedule to join her on walks. The way he listened—truly listened—when she spoke.
One afternoon, while exploring the mansion, Ava stumbled upon a room she hadn't seen before. Inside, rows of meticulously arranged books and artifacts lined the walls. Each item seemed deliberately placed, almost obsessively so.
She reached for a book that seemed slightly out of alignment, but before her hand could touch it, Alexander's voice stopped her.
"Please don't."
She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression taut.
"I didn't mean to intrude," she said quickly.
"It's not that," he said, stepping inside. He hesitated before admitting, "I like things a certain way. It's... a quirk of mine."
Ava nodded, sensing there was more he wasn't saying. "It's okay. I understand."
For a moment, he looked at her as if she'd just spoken a language he hadn't heard before—one of acceptance, without judgment.
That evening, as they sat in the garden under a canopy of stars, Alexander broke the silence. "You make this place feel... alive again."
Ava's breath caught. She wanted to ask what he meant, but the look in his eyes—the quiet intensity—said more than words ever could.