THE PROMISE IN HIS EYES

Dinner had been quiet.

Too quiet.

Daniel had filled their plates himself—grilled chicken, seasoned vegetables, and a glass of sparkling juice on either side. They ate at the wide dining table under the soft chandelier, their clinking cutlery the only sound in the room. Every now and then, he glanced at her. She tried to smile, to carry on with small talk. But the garden conversation still played in her mind on repeat.

Lucian's words.

The way he had looked at her.

The calm weight of his warnings.

Now they were upstairs again, the bedroom dim and quiet, the soft golden light washing over the sheets as Velma sat at the edge of the bed, brushing through her hair in silence. Daniel stood near the window, the moonlight casting long shadows across his back.

He turned finally and came to sit beside her.

"You must want to ask me a lot of questions," he said gently, "because of what Lucian said."

Velma paused, lowering the brush to her lap. Her eyes shifted to his face. "I... wasn't sure how to bring it up."

"I figured." He reached over and took the brush from her hand, setting it on the nightstand. "He has a way of planting things in people's minds. It's his specialty."

She didn't respond, so he continued.

"Lucian likes to make people think there's more than what's really there. He does it in meetings too—drops these little lines, makes people uneasy just to see what they'll do. He's strategic. He always has been."

"But what if he wasn't just doing it for fun this time?" she asked quietly. "What if he said it because there's something I need to know?"

Daniel turned toward her, his eyes steady, serious. "Velma, I want you to listen to me—and really listen. There's nothing to be afraid of. There's nothing I'm hiding from you. Lucian might've said something vague or mysterious, but that's just his style."

Her voice trembled a little. "He said people change around you. That the air changes."

He gave a soft, humorless chuckle. "He says things like that when he wants to sound wise. But what does that even mean?"

She looked down at her hands, folding them together.

"I had a strange dream last night, Daniel."

"I know," he said. "You wouldn't tell me what it was."

She hesitated. "It was dark. I saw red eyes. Horns. And I couldn't move or scream. It felt so real... I thought I was awake."

Daniel reached for her hand, wrapping it in both of his. "It was just a dream. After everything—the wedding, the excitement, the change—you're still settling into a new space. Your mind was processing all of it."

She looked at him then, uncertain, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then I thought I heard something earlier, too. From the walls."

Daniel exhaled slowly. "Velma, I promise you—this house is safe. It's just old. It's large. Sometimes it creaks. You're still getting used to the sounds."

There was silence between them for a few seconds, and then he reached up, gently cupping her face.

"I would never keep something from you. Not now. Not ever. You're my wife. You have all of me. There are no locked doors here. No buried pasts. Just us."

His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, his eyes searching hers with quiet sincerity.

"Trust me," he said softly. "Whatever Lucian suggested—it isn't real. He likes stirring storms where there's no wind."

Velma searched his face. His gaze didn't falter. There was no nervous twitch, no flicker of guilt. Just calm, steady certainty. A man looking into the eyes of his wife with an open soul.

And deep down, part of her believed him.

Because this was Daniel.

The man who had held her hand through her lowest seasons. The man who knew how to braid her hair when her hands were sore. The man who memorized how much pepper she liked on her eggs and never once made her feel small.

Could he really lie like this?

Velma drew a long breath and looked away, then back again. Her shoulders eased. The tension in her chest loosened slightly.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I trust you."

Daniel's expression softened. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead—slow, firm, lingering.

"Thank you."

She nodded, though something inside her still stirred—a small voice, faint but persistent. Just watch. Just wait.

Daniel stood and crossed the room to pull the curtains together. "Tomorrow we'll have a quiet day," he said, changing the subject gently. "No visitors, no business, just us. You can show me that sketch you started. The one you didn't finish before the wedding."

Velma smiled faintly, grateful for the warmth of his tone. "I might let you see it."

He laughed and returned to the bed, kicking off his shoes. "That's generous of you."

They slid under the sheets and the soft hush of the room settled around them again. Daniel switched off the lamp. Moonlight filtered through the curtain edges, casting quiet silver across the ceiling.

He pulled her close, resting his chin gently on her head. "You're safe with me," he whispered.

And she wanted to believe it.

She held onto his warmth, burying her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. His heartbeat was steady. Familiar. The sound she had always trusted.

But long after Daniel fell asleep beside her, Velma's eyes remained open.

Because something about Lucian's words still echoed in her chest.

Would you still love someone once you find out they're not who you thought they were?

She hadn't answered him.

Because she wasn't sure she could.

Not yet.