Chapter 20: The Fire in His Eyes

Or was the grief he wore merely another mask, concealing a far darker truth

Chapter 20: The Fire in His Eyes

Seraphina did not sleep.

Not that night. Not after the words exchanged in the abandoned wing. Not after the way Adrian had reacted to Duke Laurent's taunts.

A man did not react that way unless he had something to hide.

She sat in the dim candlelight of her chambers, staring at the flames flickering in the hearth, her thoughts a tangled web of doubt and suspicion. The fire crackled, casting golden light across the richly embroidered curtains and the delicate lace of her nightgown. Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls of Valemont Manor, a ghostly whisper of secrets still buried.

Had Adrian truly mourned Evelyne?

Had he truly lost her to tragedy?

Or was the grief he wore merely another mask, concealing a far darker truth?

A soft knock on her door startled her.

Seraphina rose cautiously, smoothing down her silk nightgown before unlatching the door.

Adrian stood there, the glow of the hallway casting sharp shadows across his features.

He looked… exhausted.

For the first time, his usual calculated expression was missing. His silver eyes, always so unreadable, held something raw—something unguarded.

"You're awake," he murmured.

"As are you," she countered, searching his face for the man she thought she understood.

His lips quirked slightly. "I couldn't sleep."

Seraphina hesitated before stepping aside. He entered, his presence filling the space between them. She shut the door, watching him as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. The movement was absentminded, a habit of a man who had lost control of something he had desperately tried to contain.

"Are you here to warn me again?" she asked, arms crossing.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "No. I'm here because I know you won't listen."

Her lips parted slightly, surprised at his honesty.

"I won't," she admitted. "You know that by now."

Adrian turned to her, his gaze searching hers. "Then let me ask you this—if you find the truth, what will you do with it?"

Seraphina's pulse quickened. That question had lingered at the edge of her thoughts, unspoken.

"That depends on what the truth is," she said carefully. "And how deep the wounds run."

His jaw clenched. "Some truths destroy everything they touch, ma chérie."

Seraphina took a step closer, her breath shallow. "Then why do you look like a man who has already been destroyed?"

Silence.

A long, heavy silence that seemed to stretch between them like an invisible thread—one that neither of them dared to cut.

Adrian's hand curled into a fist at his side. The candlelight danced across the strong lines of his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the shadows under his eyes.

Seraphina had always seen him as a man of control—cold, calculated, deliberate. But standing here now, in the dim glow of the chamber, she saw something else.

He was unraveling.

Adrian took a slow step toward her. "You are playing a dangerous game."

Seraphina held her ground, refusing to let the weight of his presence intimidate her. "So are you."

His gaze dropped to her lips—just for a fraction of a second—before he looked away, exhaling sharply. "You should sleep."

"And you should stop treating me like glass," she shot back.

His eyes darkened, something flickering in their depths. "You think I do that?"

She lifted her chin. "I think you are afraid that if I break, I'll cut you too."

"You already have," he whispered.

His breath hitched. Just slightly. But Seraphina saw it.

She took another step forward, close enough that she could see the tension coiled in his shoulders, the way his hand twitched at his side as if resisting the urge to reach for her.

"Tell me the truth, Adrian," she whispered. "Not for my sake. For yours."

His expression hardened. "The truth does not bring peace, Seraphina. It only brings more questions. More blood."

"Then why do you think I can't handle it?"

Adrian exhaled slowly, his resolve wavering. Then, softly, he reached out—just the barest brush of his fingers against hers.

The space between them was suffocating, charged with something neither of them dared name. The fire in the hearth flickered, its glow casting their shadows against the walls, two figures caught in an unspoken war.

Then—abruptly—Adrian stepped back. His hand fell away. The moment shattered.

"Goodnight, Seraphina," he murmured, voice hoarse.

And then he was gone.

Seraphina stood there, heart pounding, watching the door he had just walked through.

She had come to this house expecting a loveless marriage, a husband she could not trust, and a life filled with duty.

What she hadn't expected—what she hadn't been prepared for—was the fire in his eyes when he looked at her.

And the fact that it was starting to burn her, too.