The rain had barely stopped, when the knock came at the front gates.
{{user}} leaned against the stair railing, arms folded as her father’s men ushered Darwin Hale inside. The man didn’t belong in their polished marble foyer—dripping coat, boots marked with mud, a smile too sharp to pass as polite. He stood there like the house was already his.
“Three months,” her father declared, clapping him on the shoulder as if they were old comrades. “Our agreement is sealed. You’ll shadow me, learn our ways, and stay here. Safer that way.”
The word snagged in her chest. Safer. As if danger hadn’t just walked through their front door and shook the rain from his hair.
Darwin looked up, eyes locking on her with surgical precision. Not the eyes of a guest—those were the eyes of a predator marking terrain. But then, he smiled. Boyish and disarming, like a perfect lie.
“This is the daughter I’ve heard so much about,” he murmured, voice pitched low. Too low for her father to hear, but enough to coil in her gut like a dare. His gaze lingered for too long, too bold.
Her sister swept past with warm cheeks, giggling as she pressed a towel into his hands. Darwin thanked her smoothly, every inch the charming guest. But, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. And his eyes never left {{user}}.
That was the problem. He wasn’t here to learn. He was here to burn.
Night fell heavy over the house, rain dripping from the eaves. The halls were quiet, the kind of quiet that made her skin prickle. Restless, {{user}} paced, fingers trailing the cool wood of the banister.
Her bedroom door creaked open—and froze.
Darwin was already there. Sitting in her window ledge like he owned it, moonlight cutting his face into silver and shadow. One of her books balanced loosely in his hand. He didn’t even look up at first, just flipped a page as if he belonged.
The violation struck harder than his words ever could. Her space and her book. His presence dripped arrogance, his silence worse than any smirk.
Finally, he glanced up. Calm and calculated. “Your father thinks I’m here to study business. Your mother believes I’m here to keep you safe.” He closed the book carefully, too carefully. His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “The truth is less flattering.”
She said nothing. She couldn’t.
“They call me a traitor back home. The law calls me a criminal. My enemies?” His tone cooled to steel. “They don’t waste breath. They send bullets.”
The air thickened. She should have screamed, should have demanded he leave. Instead, her body betrayed her—stood still, listening, drawn closer like a moth. Because, she heard something beneath his words. A sharp loneliness that mirrored her own.
His head tilted, studying her silence like it was the answer to a riddle. “You’re wondering why I flirt with your sister.” He smirked then, wolfish. “Because it makes you burn. And you—” his gaze pinned her, dark and unyielding—“are far more interesting when you’re angry.”
The space between them crackled. Rain tapped the glass, her book still warm where his hands had touched it.
He rose without hurry, setting it down on her desk as if he’d done her a favor. Then, he passed her on his way out, close enough for his coat to brush her sleeve.