Between Shadows

Zoelle woke with a start, disoriented by the faint creaks and whispers of the old house. Shadows stretched across the walls, playing tricks on her tired mind. Maxwell's house had an odd way of feeling too quiet, like it was holding its breath. She couldn't sleep anymore. Something—someone—was calling her curiosity.

The hallway was dimly lit, the wooden floors cool under her bare feet as she wandered aimlessly. Then she saw it—a partially open door at the end of the hall. Beyond it lay darkness, thick and inviting. Her heart fluttered, an odd mix of fear and thrill urging her forward.

Pushing the door open, she whispered, "Hello?"

"You're up early," came a voice, deep and calm.

Zoelle nearly jumped out of her skin. "Maxwell! What are you doing in here? Sitting in the dark like some... Victorian ghost?"

Maxwell chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the small space. He was seated in an old rocking chair, a photo album resting on his lap. "It's called reminiscing. You should try it."

Her annoyance melted into curiosity as she stepped closer. His usual sharpness was gone, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. She leaned over to peek at the album, her shoulder brushing his lightly.

"Who's that?" she asked, pointing to an image of a man with a kind smile.

"My grandfather, Mr. Jones," Maxwell replied, his voice carrying a rare warmth. "He was... everything. A father, a mentor, a protector. He taught me how to be strong, even when I felt weak."

Zoelle watched his face as he spoke. The way his eyes softened, the way his lips curved slightly at the memories—it was a side of Maxwell she hadn't seen before, and it stirred something in her chest.

Then she spotted a different picture—one of Maxwell in a wheelchair. "Wait… this is you?"

His expression darkened, the warmth replaced by a shadow. "Yeah. A car accident. My parents didn't make it. I did—barely."

Zoelle's breath hitched. She wanted to say something comforting, but the words stuck in her throat.

"And this…" Maxwell gestured to another photo, his voice laced with bitterness, "was taken after someone decided I wasn't worth keeping around."

"Someone pushed you?" she whispered, horrified.

"Off a balcony," he confirmed. "Doctors said I'd never walk again."

"But here you are," she said softly. "How?"

He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable. "You."

Zoelle blinked, taken aback. "Me? That doesn't even make sense."

Maxwell leaned forward, the space between them shrinking. "You don't need to understand. Just accept that you're more important to me than you realize."

Her heart fluttered again, this time for an entirely different reason. The way he looked at her—intense, unyielding, as if she were the only thing keeping him alive—left her breathless.

"Stop looking at me like that," she murmured, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

"Like what?" he teased, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

"Like you're…" She trailed off, her cheeks heating.

Maxwell chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "You're fun to fluster, you know that?"

Zoelle scowled. "You're impossible."

"And yet," he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, "you're still here."

---

Their playful banter was interrupted when Maxwell asked, "Have you found the wolf yet?"

Zoelle shook her head. "No, but I know someone who's looking for it. Jolie Lee. She wants it dead."

Maxwell's jaw tightened. "Jolie Lee doesn't give up, does she?"

As he flipped through the album again, Zoelle's eyes caught on a familiar face. She gasped. "That's Ryland! I know him."

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "You know Ryland?"

"He saved me twice," Zoelle explained. "Once when Jolie almost killed me, and another time when wolves attacked. But... there's something off about him. He's so mysterious, and I always feel uneasy around him."

Maxwell's expression darkened further. "Uneasy is an understatement. Ryland is dangerous."

"What do you mean?" Zoelle asked, suddenly wary.

"He's my cousin," Maxwell said grimly. "And he's the one who tried to kill me."

Zoelle's blood ran cold. "What? Why?"

"If I die, he inherits everything," Maxwell said simply.

Zoelle's mind raced, piecing together the web of danger she'd unknowingly stepped into. She looked at Maxwell, her eyes wide. "This is insane. What have I gotten myself into?"

Maxwell smirked, his teasing tone returning. "Relax. I'll protect you."

Zoelle rolled her eyes, her pulse still racing. "Oh, sure. Nothing says 'safety' like a man whose family tree is full of murderers."

"Stick with me," Maxwell said, his voice softer now. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She stared at him, her resolve faltering under his steady gaze. "Why do I even trust you?"

"Because," he said, leaning closer, his voice barely above a whisper, "you feel it too."

"Feel what?" she asked, her breath hitching as their faces were just inches apart.

"This," Maxwell said, his eyes locked onto hers. The air between them crackled with tension, and for a fleeting moment, Zoelle thought he might kiss her.

But then, as if sensing her hesitation, he pulled back, a small, knowing smile on his lips. "You'll figure it out eventually."

Zoelle blinked, caught between frustration and something she couldn't name. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he said again, his voice like a velvet promise, "you're still here."

---

Meanwhile, Ryland was fuming.

He stood outside Zoelle's empty house, his fists clenched. The scent of another man—a dominant, powerful presence—hung in the air. It made his blood boil. How dare she run off with someone like that?

He stormed to Jolie Lee's office, his anger barely contained.

"Who did you send to Zoelle?" he demanded.

Jolie flinched under his glare. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," Ryland growled. "Her house reeks of someone else. Who is it?"

Jolie's heart raced. She knew exactly what he was sensing. "Grandfather went to see her," she lied quickly. "He just wanted her to come back to work."

Ryland narrowed his eyes but didn't push further. For now.

---

Back at Maxwell's house, Zoelle sat with him by the fire. She felt more confused than ever, her thoughts a chaotic mess of fear, attraction, and questions she didn't know how to ask.

Maxwell caught her staring and smirked. "Falling for me already?"

"Please," she said, scoffing. "I'm just trying to figure out how you manage to make everything about yourself."

Maxwell laughed, the sound low and rich. "It's a gift."

And for reasons she couldn't explain, Zoelle found herself laughing too