The piano had stopped, but the silence it left behind was louder than music.
I stood before the unfamiliar door with my fingers resting on the carved wood, the silver mark on my wrist warm as a living thing. The manor felt different now—less like a beautiful cage and more like a creature pretending to sleep.
"Adrian?" I called again.
Footsteps answered from the end of the corridor. He appeared a moment later, shirt half-buttoned, hair charmingly undone, looking far too innocent for a man who had spent the day teaching my body new definitions of the word yes.
"You shouldn't wander alone," he said softly.
"I followed the music."
His gaze flicked to the door behind me, then back to my face. Something unreadable passed through his eyes—worry, perhaps, or hesitation.
"That room is… unfinished," he murmured. "Full of old things best left dreaming."
I wanted to ask more, but he stepped closer and stole the questions from my mouth with a kiss that tasted of apologies and promises. Curiosity melted into warmth beneath his hands.
"Come back to bed," he whispered. "Let the house keep its secrets a little longer."
And because I was a woman made reckless by affection, I agreed.
---
We spent the afternoon rediscovering each other in lazy pieces.
There is an art to learning someone without urgency. Adrian seemed to understand that instinctively. He touched me as though I were a story he intended to read slowly, savoring every sentence.
We spoke between kisses—about the town, about my childhood by the sea, about the strange loneliness of returning to a family name everyone recognized but no one truly knew. He listened more than he talked, storing my confessions in the careful vault behind his ribs.
At one point he traced the line of my shoulder and said, "You feel like summer."
"And you feel like trouble," I answered.
He laughed, the sound warm and young. "Guilty again."
The manor creaked around us, an old chaperone pretending not to watch. I began to notice small things: how he liked to tuck my hair behind my ear when he was thinking, how his thumb drew absent circles on my skin whenever silence grew comfortable.
Desire became a conversation rather than a storm.
Still, storms have a way of returning.
---
It happened near dusk.
We were tangled in the sheets, the windows open to the salty breath of the ocean. Adrian was telling me about the first time he'd left town, how the world had seemed too bright and too loud after the quiet cliffs.
"You came back anyway," I said.
"Some places pull harder than others."
His hand rested on my hip, idle and affectionate. I felt brave enough to ask the question that had circled me all day.
"Why me, Adrian?"
The air changed.
He looked at me for a long moment, weighing truths like fragile glass.
"Because when I saw you," he said finally, "it felt like recognizing a song I'd forgotten I knew."
That answer should have satisfied me. Instead it made my heart beat faster, as if it understood something my mind hadn't caught up with.
He leaned over me, hair falling forward, eyes dark with that familiar hunger that was somehow never frightening.
"Stop thinking so much, Mira."
"Make me."
The challenge slipped out before modesty could stop it. His expression softened into something deliciously dangerous.
"With pleasure."
---
What followed was less about urgency and more about discovery.
He kissed the places I didn't expect anyone to notice—the inside of my wrist, the corner of my knee, the shy hollow beneath my collarbone. Every touch felt like a question asked gently, and my body answered without consulting my common sense.
The world narrowed to the rhythm of us.
I learned the texture of his laughter when it tangled with breath, the way his shoulders tightened when I dared to explore him in return. We were two people writing a secret language only our skin could read.
Outside, the first evening star appeared. Inside, time surrendered its authority.
When the intensity finally softened into quiet, I lay with my head on his chest listening to the steady drum that proved he was real. For a moment I believed nothing existed beyond this room.
"You're dangerous to my peace," I murmured.
"Good," he replied. "Peace is overrated."
---
Later he cooked for me again, insisting that seduction required proper nourishment. I watched from the kitchen doorway wearing one of his shirts, sleeves rolled past my hands like borrowed confidence.
Domesticity looked unfairly good on him.
We ate at a small table overlooking the cliffs. The sea had turned the color of dark wine, and the lanterns along the terrace lit themselves one by one without visible hands.
"Do you ever get lonely here?" I asked.
"All the time," he admitted. "Until you."
The simplicity of that confession made my throat ache.
After dinner he suggested a walk through the gardens. Night wrapped the manor in velvet as we wandered between hedges heavy with roses. Crickets argued in the grass; somewhere an owl kept watch.
He took my hand as naturally as breathing.
I realized, with a small shock, how quickly he had become part of my ordinary. Only days ago he'd been a stranger from dreams. Now the idea of not touching him felt like misplacing a piece of myself.
Near the fountain he pulled me close and kissed me again, slow and thorough, as if the garden were our private kingdom.
"You make it very hard to behave like a gentleman," he whispered.
"I'm not asking for one."
His laugh scattered the fireflies.
---
We didn't notice the figure at first.
A woman stood near the edge of the path, pale dress fluttering like a torn sail. For a heartbeat I thought she was another statue—until she moved.
Adrian went very still.
"Evelyn," he said, voice suddenly formal.
The woman's gaze slid to me, cool and assessing. She was beautiful in the way winter is beautiful—sharp, untouchable, dangerous to hold.
"So this is her," she replied.
The air between them felt crowded with histories I didn't own.
"I should introduce you," Adrian said after a tense pause. "Mira, this is Evelyn Hart, an old… friend of the family."
"Old is generous," Evelyn murmured. "Ancient might be kinder."
Her eyes returned to me, lingering on the shirt I wore, the hand Adrian still held.
"You've been busy, cousin."
Cousin?
The word landed like a small stone in water, sending ripples through everything I thought I understood.
"I didn't know you had family nearby," I said to Adrian.
He gave my fingers a reassuring squeeze. "Evelyn visits when she's in the mood to haunt us."
"Someone must keep an eye on the house," she answered. "It has a habit of choosing favorites."
Her gaze dropped pointedly to the silver mark on my wrist. For the first time, uncertainty tasted cold.
"Be careful with Blackthorne men, Mira Vale," Evelyn continued lightly. "They love with impressive enthusiasm—and complicated consequences."
"Evelyn," Adrian warned.
She only smiled. "Enjoy your evening."
With that she drifted back into the gardens, leaving the scent of jasmine and unease behind.
---
We returned to the manor quieter than before.
Adrian tried to apologize, but I waved it away, pretending not to feel the tiny crack in my confidence.
"Families are strange," I said. "Mine argues about soup recipes."
He didn't laugh.
Inside the bedroom the earlier warmth had thinned. He pulled me into his arms as if afraid distance might grow teeth.
"Don't let her frighten you," he murmured. "There are stories in this house that enjoy exaggeration."
"I'm not frightened."
That was mostly true. What I felt was something more complicated—jealousy perhaps, or the first awareness that loving him might mean sharing him with shadows.
He kissed my temple, gentle now instead of playful.
"Stay tonight," he said. "Let me prove there's nothing here but us."
And because I wanted to believe him, I did.
---
Sleep found me easily, worn out by pleasure and questions. I dreamed of the piano again, of a melody that sounded like a woman weeping beneath water.
In the dream Adrian stood beside me, but his reflection in the mirror wore a crown made of thorns.
When I woke near midnight, the bed was empty.
From the corridor came the soft turning of a key.
And somewhere behind that forbidden door, the piano began to play once more.