Della stood by the carriage, cloaked in a long black coat draped over her modest dress. Her gloved hands tightened at her sides, a visible sign of the quiet storm inside her. Beside her, Oliver remained unreadable.
She knew Lord Lucas had sent him.
Beth appeared just as Della was preparing to step into the carriage. Her voice sliced through the tense air.
"Why are you here, sire?" Beth asked, eyes narrowing at Oliver before shifting to her sister...her expression hard and bitter.
"I'm here for your sister," Oliver said plainly, his voice offering no room for questions. If anything, he sounded bored.
Beth turned sharply to Della. "You're going with him?"
Della gave a small nod, her voice soft, but firm. "Yes, Beth. I'm leaving."
"I don't care if you leave," Beth hissed, "but why him?"
The words stung, but Della swallowed the ache. "I'll see you another time."
She tried to pass, but Beth moved as if to block her, only to be caught and held back by Fredrick.
"Papa!" Beth shouted in protest.
Fredrick's voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. "Why are you so bitter, Beth?"
He watched his adopted daughter's silhouette grow smaller in the distance. A tear threatened to fall, but he blinked it away.
"Why is she leaving with Sir Oliver?" Beth demanded.
"She'll be living with Lord Lucas now," Fredrick said, voice strained.
Beth gasped. "What?"
"Yes. And I suggest you change your attitude. I don't know what's come between the two of you, but I didn't raise you to speak with such venom."
Della stepped into the carriage. Oliver sat across from her, silent and stiff. The tension between them was unspoken but present.
"Did Lord Lucas send you to fetch me so I wouldn't escape?" she asked, voice dry.
"No," Oliver answered. "You can't escape from him."
Della frowned. What exactly did he mean by that?
Soon, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of an enormous estate. As Oliver stepped out and offered his hand to help her down, she hesitated before accepting. The mansion was elegant...cold in beauty, intimidating in size.
"Why do you always wear gloves?" Oliver asked, almost absently.
She tensed. Few noticed. "I like them," she replied quickly, offering no further explanation.
Inside, they were greeted by an older man.
"You've returned, sire," said Mr. Hubert, bowing respectfully.
Oliver nodded. "She'll be staying here. Have the maid fetch her things."
Mr. Hubert's eyes flickered to Della. He gave a slight nod before calling over a nearby maid to retrieve her belongings from the carriage.
"Where's Lord Lucas?" Della asked.
"In a meeting," Oliver replied curtly. "Mr. Hubert will show you to your room."
Then he turned and walked away without another word.
Della stood alone in the vast hallway. Though it was grand, she felt no warmth from the place. She wondered if the stones truly were here...but she couldn't feel them. It was like trying to hear a whisper in a thunderstorm.
Her new room was far too lavish...more a noblewoman's chamber than that of a guest. The bed was large, the interior gilded with fine details. It was also oddly positioned...on the highest floor of the mansion. A place too close to the lord's quarters.
Too close to him.
It was suspicious. Almost like he wanted her near. So she couldn't run.
When the maids had finished arranging her belongings, she sat in silence, alone with her thoughts. The walls felt like they listened. She couldn't afford to stay passive...she needed to start searching.
Slipping out, she tiptoed through the candlelit corridors, her gloved hands clutching the fabric of her gown. As she passed one particular doorway, something in her stirred. A whisper of intuition. She paused.
Then, curiosity took hold.
She opened the door—only to fall into something solid.
Arms.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the floor. She looked up, eyes locking with the dark, unreadable gaze of Lord Lucas.
The door slammed shut behind her.
His eyes didn't leave hers.
Della pulled away instantly, stepping back with alarm. "I—I apologize, my lord," she stammered, bowing her head to hide her face.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, sharp.
She didn't answer.
In one fluid movement, he was before her. She barely had time to react before her back was against the wall, his body close, trapping her in place.
Her eyes widened. "What... what are you doing?!"
"You're not as bold as you were before," he said, voice taunting, his crimson gaze never breaking from hers.
She was trembling—part fear, part something she didn't want to name. The proximity, his presence, it rattled something deep inside her.
"I said let me go," she said, pushing against him weakly. But he didn't budge.
He leaned slightly closer, smirking. "Fearless... yet flustered."
She flushed deeply, her thoughts spiraling in every direction. Never had a man stood so close, never had her heart raced so wildly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to run... or scream.
Or stay.