Paris

As I reviewed the psychological evaluation report for what felt like the hundredth time, the words echoed in my mind:

"Nix Dean is not yet considered completely stable. However, at this time, he is deemed to be mentally sound."

My hands trembled slightly as I set the report down on the table, the knot of worry in my chest tightening.

I picked up the accompanying letter.

"Run! It's either you die at my hands or at the hands of the one you feel the safest with."

A chill crawled down my spine, and I unconsciously let the letter slip from my fingers. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of the message pressing down on me like an unseen force.

The house was silent, but suddenly, I was aware of every creak in the floorboards, every whisper of the wind against the windows. I turned toward my bedroom window, scanning the darkness outside. My breath hitched. Was someone still out there, watching? Waiting?

But the night offered no answers—only the hush of an estate that should have been impenetrable.

How had they gotten in, despite the tight security?

The estate was heavily guarded, every entrance monitored. Motion detectors, surveillance cameras, reinforced locks—each precaution had been put in place to prevent intrusion. And yet, someone had slipped through.

Even more unsettling was the impossibility of it all. My room was several stories above the ground, the walls smooth and offering no footholds, no ledges to grasp. It was almost impossible to climb.

And yet, this individual had done exactly that—defying logic, as if gravity itself held no power over them.

Whoever they were, they hadn't just infiltrated the estate to leave a message.

They weren't afraid. Not of falling. Not of being caught. Not even of death itself.

"No, it can't be an insider," I muttered, thinking of the fear that gripped everyone in Mr. Dean's presence.

So who would possibly have a death wish?

"Carmela! Carmela, come downstairs!" Xavier's voice rang out, cutting through my thoughts with urgency.

I took a deep breath, smoothing my expression before making my way down the stairs.

Whoever sent that letter… if their intent was to scare me, they had failed. If they wanted to test me, well, they would soon see their desired results. Even if Nix Dean was mentally unstable, only time and circumstances would determine whether I would leave him or not..

And don't think I'm in love. No. You should know me better than anyone else.

"Car—oh, there you are," Xavier said, relief softening his features as he pulled me toward the couch. His smile was wide, but the tension in the air remained.

"Do you remember your painting at the art exhibition?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

I nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going.

*Sponsors from Paris have decided to take the owner of the painting under their care," he explained, still smiling. "They'll sponsor the artist until they've earned their degree and offer them a full-time position."

I blinked, the words sinking in sluggishly.

"You still don't get it?" Xavier teased, but before I could respond, Luna swept into the room, holding a large brown envelope.

"Baby, you're going to Paris," she announced with a grin, tapping my cheek affectionately.

The world seemed to pause.

And then it hit me.

"Ahhh!" I screamed, jumping to my feet as the realization crashed over me.

"Yes, girl, you're about to fly higher!" Luna said, pulling me into a tight hug.

They must think I'm happy because I got a scholarship. But I believe it's more than that. And in time, you'll understand why.

Our celebration was abruptly cut short when Mr. Dean entered the room, his expression dark and stormy.

"N…" Xavier began, but Mr. Dean raised a hand, silencing him as he made his way toward the stairs. A cold draft seemed to follow him, and the weight of unspoken tension settled over the room.

"He's in a foul mood. Someone trashed his car," Ken's voice broke through my thoughts as he entered, a smirk playing at his lips. "I heard someone screaming—what's going on?"

Luna wasted no time filling him in, but my gaze drifted back to the stairs, my mind restless with unease.

"Congratulations, Carmela. I always knew you were smart," Ken said, pulling me into a warm hug.

I smiled, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

"What is Nix Dean hiding?"

---

As we sat for dinner, my eyes flickered toward the stairs, waiting for him to reappear.

"He won't come," Luna said, her voice distant. "Not when he's in a bad mood."

I nodded absentmindedly, returning back to the food before me which I barely touched.

"Carmela, could you take a glass of milk to Nix when you're done?" Ken asked. "I would have sent one of the maids, but I doubt they'd get past the door. You, on the other hand… I think he'll let you in."

I looked up at him, a silent question in my eyes.

"He mentioned something about ice cream," Ken added, amusement lacing his voice. "If you could convince him to…" His words trailed off, but his smirk remained. "Never mind. Forget it if you don't want to.. I'll send someone.."

Heat crept into my cheeks at the mention of ice cream. Memories from the yacht surfaced, unbidden. Without a word, I stood, grabbed a glass of milk, and made my way to Mr. Dean's room.

The door was slightly ajar. Making me hesitate.

Knocking softly, I waited.

But got no response.

I pushed the door open cautiously. Darkness swallowed the room, the only sound the faint rustling of blankets.

"Mr. Dean?" I whispered.

But still,got no response.

I fumbled to find the light switch. I sigh of relief as warm light filled the space,but my breath caught I'm my throat.

Nix Dean lay wrapped in blankets, shivering uncontrollably.

"Mr. Dean," I called again, stepping closer. His usually sharp features were softened, his skin flushed with fever. My heart twisted at the sight.

I placed the glass of milk on the bedside table, my unease growing.

"What happened to you?" I murmured, reaching out instinctively.

Suddenly, his fingers closed around my wrist, pulling me closer.

"Beloved," he whispered, his voice raw, fevered. His head rested against my shoulder, his body radiating warmth. The air between us thickened, a strange mixture of tension, worry, and something unspoken.

"I'll…" His words trailed off as a cough shook him. "Just sit like this with me. I'll be fine."

A lump formed in my throat. His grip tightened, and I found myself hesitating.

"Mr. Dean, I don't think—"

But as I turned, his body slackened, unconscious once more.

A heavy sigh escaped me, worry clawing at my chest.

Not wanting his condition to worsen, I gently laid him down, urgency settling in my bones. I rushed to the kitchen, fetching a bowl of cold water and a cloth, thankfully there wasn no one downstairs to question me.

As I wiped his forehead, I couldn't help but wonder—what secret is this man has buried deep down in this heart away from the world?

My fingers traced his jawline absentmindedly, a soft smile tugging at my lips.

He was beautiful. That much was an undeniable fact. A man any woman would kill to have by their side.

But as my grandmother always said, "Ninety-nine percent of rumors are lies. Only one percent is the truth."

I stared at him, searching his face for answers.

"What is your truth, Nix Dean?"

Were the rumors about him real? Did the scandalous reports truly belong to him?

I sighed, pushing my doubts aside.

If they were true, then he wouldn't be the man of principle I believed him to be. And if they weren't… then it wasn't my business.

After all, a time would come when we would no longer have to see each other.

With that thought, I continued wiping his forehead until, without realizing it, sleep claimed me.

"Carmela…"

A voice, faint yet persistent called

"Carmela."

I stirred, eyes heavy. A pair of deep, unreadable eyes met mine.

"How are you feeling?" I murmured, my voice drowsy.

But before I could hear his response, sleep pulled me back into its embrace.