Elena's eyes fluttered open before dawn, her mind already racing with the promise of a new day. She lay still for a moment, feeling the softness of her pillow and the gentle hum of the morning outside her window. As she slowly sat up, a thrill of anticipation bubbled up in her chest.
With a quiet sense of purpose, Elena swung her legs over the side of the bed and planted her feet firmly on the ground. Today was the day she was going to tour round the house but not the whole house. Elena doesn't think she has that stamina to tour the whole house.
Despite everything, she couldn't deny she was excited—after all, this house was grand and imposing, with towering spires and intricate stonework reminiscent of a medieval castle. The secrets it held, the stories buried within its walls… she was curious to see it all.
Nana arrived as promised, her warm smile a comfort in this unfamiliar place.
"Ready, dear?"
Elena nodded eagerly.
As they walked through the grand hallways, Nana spoke of the mansion's history—the architecture, the hidden courtyards, the grand ballroom that hadn't seen a party in years. Elena listened, hanging onto every word. Her amusement grew as Nana found a way to sneak in a complaint about how the young master should really host a party again.
Then, they reached the portrait hall. A long corridor lined with oil paintings of Lorenzo's ancestors, each framed in heavy gold. Elena's gaze swept over the faces—men with sharp, chiseled features, women with regal beauty. The bloodline was strong and unmistakable. She watched, enraptured as Nana introduced them one after the other. Then, her eyes landed on him.
Captured in a painting, Lorenzo's dark eyes were unreadable even on canvas. The artist had captured every detail perfectly—his sculpted jawline, the proud tilt of his head, the quiet dominance in his stance, his beautiful features that seems to be against the gods, everything was perfectly portrayed. The Lorenzo in the picture came to life with each brushstrokes of the Artist.
Elena swallowed. She wasn't sure why, but she felt drawn to it. Her fingers reached out, tracing the hard lines of his face, the brushstrokes that created the illusion of life, a shiver running down her spine.
Then, she saw another painting beside it—another man, eerily similar to Lorenzo but not quite him. His face was softer, his expression more mischievous, yet their resemblance was uncanny.
"A brother…?" She murmured to herself. She barely had time to process this thought when—
"Ahem," a deep, deliberate cough broke the stillness of the hall. Elena stiffened and before she could react, her foot slipped, then she felt herself falling straight into strong, unyielding arms.
The scent of smoke and something distinctly Lorenzo wrapped around her as she was pulled against his chest. Her hands instinctively clutched at his shirt, her heartbeat a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Lorenzo's grip on her waist was firm and steady, his voice smooth as silk when he spoke. "If you wanted to admire me so closely, you could have just asked."
Elena's eyes widened as she jerked away, but his hold didn't loosen immediately, making her all too aware of how close they were. Her pulse racing— not out of fear which should have been there but out of something she didn't dare name.
Finally, he let her go, his gaze unreadable but unwaveringly on her.
"I..." Elena started, but she had no idea what she was trying to say.
To her surprise, Lorenzo's expression wasn't his usual cold mask. Instead, there was something almost… gentle about it. "I hope you slept well," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard before.
Elena stiffened. This was how it always started.
First, he would act normal—strange in his own sense of the word, lull her into a false sense of security and then, in the next moment, he would become that cold, intimidating man again.
She knew his game now.
"I-I just remembered something in my room!" She blurted out.
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. "You did?"
"Yes! I have to go get it!" And before he could say anything else, she spun on her heel and ran.
---
Elena's heart pounded as she hurried through the hallways, her mind racing with the memory of Lorenzo's unsettling behavior.
What was that?! Him, being polite? Talking like a normal person? She wasn't sure which was scarier—his cold demeanor or this sudden, unsettling kindness. She peeked over her shoulder and saw no one before exhaling and slowing her pace. Maybe she had overreacted she thought.
Sighing while shaking her head she looked around. She didn't even know where she was going. This house was a maze, with endless corridors and shadowy corners, and she had barely seen a fraction of it. She wondered when exactly had Nana ditched her, leaving her with such man.
She continued forward, her fingers brushing against the cool marble walls as she tried to find something familiar. Then, a shadow fell over her.
"Elena."
Her stomach dropped, her feet halting, but she didn't turn around. She knew that voice. That deep, smooth, yet dangerous voice.
Slowly and hesitantly, she turned and there he was standing behind her, arms crossed, eyes locked onto her with an expression that made her knees weak and he wasn't even smiling. He was not his usual cold self too.
He was more like a predator playing with its prey.
Elena swallowed. She wanted to say something, to make an excuse but under his gaze, her mind went blank.
And as Lorenzo took a step closer, she takes a step back, then another step followed by another retreat. The air between them crackling with an electric tension, sending shivers down Elena's spine, something unseen but intensely felt.
Until Elena's back finally hit the wall, her neck stretching upward to gaze at the man before her.
Lorenzo stopped inches away, his gaze dark and searching. "Running away from me, again?" His voice was low with teasing.
Elena's fingers curled into fists as she replied. "I...I wasn't running."
His lips curved slightly, as if amused by her weak attempt at denial. "Then what were you doing?"
Elena opened her mouth then closed it. She had no answer. She couldn't possibly tell him his presence and appeal were so overwhelming for her that she ran.
Lorenzo leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall beside her head, caging her in without touching her. Her pulse thrummed in her throat.
She could see every detail of his face, the sharp angles, the slight stubble on his jaw, the way his dark lashes framed his piercing gaze.
"You keep acting like I'm going to hurt you," he murmured.
Elena swallowed hard, looking at him with confusion. Wasn't he? Hadn't he already—?
But then he did something unexpected.
He reached up—so, so slowly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear carefully and gently. As if she were made of something fragile. Lorenzo's fingers lingered for a second too long before he pulled away.
"I'll see you at lunch," he said, his voice softer now. And then just like that he stepped back, turned, and walked away.
Leaving Elena pressed against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and vulnerability.