UNSETTLING FEELINGS

The memory of the old woman's words echoed in Adelina's ears long after they left the crumbling house.

"You died in that room. I saw it."

Nathan hadn't said a word on the drive home. Neither had she. The silence between them was charged, thick with unspoken truths. When they returned to the estate, he simply escorted her to her room, touched her shoulder gently, and said, "Get some rest."

But sleep never came.

The next morning, a velvet box sat on her nightstand. No note. Just a delicate necklace—white gold, set with a sapphire so deep it looked like it could swallow the light. It was her birthstone. Or rather, Adelina's.

She blinked, confused.

She hadn't told anyone.

Anya entered moments later and paused when she saw the box.

"It arrived this morning," she said. "From Mr. Nathan."

Adelina stared at the necklace. "Why?"

Anya smiled faintly. "He does that sometimes. When he's worried."

Adelina touched the cool stone. It matched the one in her dream.

Over the following days, it continued.

A book she had been thinking about suddenly appeared on her desk.

Tea prepared exactly the way she'd liked it—before she even realized she preferred it that way.

Even the scent of the bath oil changed. Jasmine and cedarwood. Familiar. Calming.

And always, Nathan's silent presence just down the hall.

She began noticing more.

The way his eyes tracked her whenever she entered a room.

The way he never quite let her walk behind him, always adjusting his pace to keep her in sight.

And when she tripped on the stairs one morning, it was his hand that caught her waist, his arm that steadied her. Too quickly. Too naturally.

For a second, her body had pressed against his.

Warm. Solid. Protective.

Too close.

Their eyes met, and neither of them moved.

Her breath hitched. His fingers lingered a beat too long.

Then he let go.

"Be careful," he said, voice rougher than usual.

Adelina nodded quickly and walked away, her face burning.

She tried to dismiss it.

Tried to tell herself that she was reading too much into small gestures. That Nathan was just being... Nathan. Protective. Intense. But not inappropriate.

Still, the way he looked at her sometimes—it didn't feel like a brother's gaze.

And it was starting to terrify her.

Mira came into her room that evening, flopping dramatically onto the chaise by the window.

"I swear, if I hear one more cousin ask about your 'recovery glow,' I'm going to hex someone's skincare fridge."

Adelina laughed, grateful for the distraction.

"Can I ask you something?" she said after a moment.

Mira turned. "Shoot."

"Nathan... has he ever dated anyone?"

Mira blinked. Then smirked. "Wow. Bold."

"It's not like that," Adelina lied. "I just... people talk. He's always around me."

Mira tilted her head. "No. He's never dated anyone. Or if he did, they were ghosts. He's not the type who brings someone home unless it matters. And no one's ever mattered. Except you."

Adelina swallowed hard. "He's my brother."

Mira didn't answer. Just looked at her with something between curiosity and pity.

"You're the only person who makes him... softer. Less dangerous."

Adelina turned away.

That night, she wandered the halls, unable to sleep again.

The estate was quiet. Dimly lit.

She passed Nathan's study—an imposing black door with brass handles. Usually locked. Tonight, it stood ajar.

She knew she shouldn't.

But something inside her pushed forward.

The room smelled like leather and cedar. His scent.

The shelves were lined with books and files. A few personal items: a watch, a glass paperweight, a photo of the family.

She turned toward the desk.

There, in the drawer—unlocked—was a leather-bound folder.

She opened it.

Photographs.

Dozens of them.

All of her.

Some were clearly taken during public events. But others...

One of her asleep on the balcony, curled in a chair.

One from years ago—before the accident—her reading under a tree in the garden.

One of her holding a book to her chest, eyes closed, alone in the study.

And one from just last week—her standing in the hallway, hair still damp from a bath, caught mid-step.

She couldn't breathe.

Her fingers trembled as she flipped through them.

Then she heard it.

The door behind her closing.

Slowly.

She turned.

Nathan stood there.

Silent.

Watching her.

Not surprised.

And not sorry.