Chapter 7 Hunted Eyes

CHAPTER 7

(Hunted Eyes)

William's study felt colder than the rest of the mansion, lined with shelves of leather-bound books and shadows that seemed to stretch with every flicker of light.

He closed the door behind Anna, the soft click sounding more like a lock than a courtesy.

“Sit.” The tone allowed no room for disobedience.

And Anna obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the chair, as if it might swallow her whole.

He didn't sit. Instead, he leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on her as if dissecting every inch of her face.

William's piercing and assessing gaze was starting to make Anna highly self conscious.

His eyes narrowed slightly, tracing the faint redness along her cheek. The mark of Margaret's hand.

“Who hit you in the face?” The question came low, dangerous.

She froze. Her lips opened and closed. Words stuck in her throat, terrified of what naming her stepmother might bring.

William tilted his head, the silence stretching. His look sharpened, cutting through her hesitation like a blade.

With her heart pounding. “My stepmother.” she whispered at last, voice trembling.

He gave a single cold nod. No outrage. No comfort. Only acknowledgement, as though he had expected no less.

Her stomach churned. A part of her had hoped… just a flicker, that he might care. Instead he moved on, his voice deep and steady, relentless.

“I'm going to ask you something important,” he said, voice deep, each word cutting through the air.

Her palms dampened instantly. “O–okay.”

“Did you know?” His obsidian eyes didn't blink, boring into hers.

Her lips parted, confused. “Know what?”

“That your sister was pregnant.”

The room spun. Pregnant. The word still clawed at her from earlier in the day, piercing holes into her heart.

She quickly shook her head.

“No,” she whispered, clutching her hands together. “I swear, I didn't know. I had no idea. Lauren… she never told me things like that.”

He straightened, unfolding his arms, pacing slowly, like a predator circling prey. “Don't lie to me. You expect me to believe you lived under the same roof, and yet you had no idea?”

“I'm telling the truth,” Anna insisted, her voice breaking. “Lauren never told me. I didn't know… I didn't know…”

He stopped in front of her, towering, the air thickening with his presence. “Convenient.”

His tone dropped with ice. “And if you did know, but chose to stay silent? That would make you complicit.”

Her heart raced as he leaned closer. She flinched, shrinking back in her seat, eyes closed, expecting the sting of a hand, but instead his words cut sharper than any blow she has ever received.

“I don't strike women,” he said darkly, reading the fear in her eyes. “But don't mistake that for mercy. If I find out you're lying, Anna…”

His gaze burned through her, his voice lowering into something lethal, “you'll regret ever walking down that aisle yesterday.”

The words hollowed her chest.

William straightened, grabbed his briefcase, his movements controlled but heavy with warning.

He didn't look back as he walked to the door. “Pray that you're smarter than your sister.”

The door shut with a finality that made Anna's lungs ache.

She sat there frozen for a moment, her pulse hammering, before forcing herself to rise.

When she finally found the strength to rise, her legs carried her aimlessly through the hall and out the garden.

The cool morning air struck her face, but it did little to settle the storm inside her.

Her thoughts spun in fragments.

The wedding that wasn't meant for her.

The blood on Lauren's gown.

Her stepmother's iron authority that forced her down the aisle.

The cold arrival at the mansion.

Katherine's stare, piercing and unwelcoming.

Helena's smirk in the shadows.

This morning's slap, Margaret's curse hissing in her ears.

Then the coroner's words…

Pregnant. Murdered.

The accusations, the stares, the whispers. And now William, who made it clear that if she was lying, she'd regret it in ways she couldn't imagine.

Anna gripped the edge of the stone bench, willing herself not to cry. Not here. Not now.

“Anna.”

Her head snapped up. Her father stood a few steps away, hands tucked in his coat pockets. His eyes softened as he looked at her, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was something almost tender in them.

She rose quickly, moving to him before she could think.

Vincent's lips curved faintly, and he reached out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. The gesture was brief, tentative, but it nearly undid her.

“You'll be alright,” he murmured. “Take care of yourself.”

Her throat constricted. She nodded mutely.

“I'll miss you,” he added, his voice low, almost guilty.

She blinked at him, a thousand unsaid words caught between them.

The moment fractured as Margaret's shrill call rang from behind them.

“Vincent! Are you planning to move into the Fairchild's garden now? Let's go, we don't have all day!”

His hand lingered a second, before he let it fall. “Be careful Anna.” Then he turned walking toward the car.

Margaret stood by the gates, tapping her foot impatiently, breathing heavily like a bull ready to fight, eyes narrowing at Anna like daggers.

“Rotten girl,” she spat. “First your mother, then my Lauren. You destroy everything you touch. Mark my words…” her lips twisted cruelly.

“I won't rest easy until you join Lauren in the underworld where you rightfully belong.”

Anna's breath caught, but Margaret didn't wait for a response. She swept toward the car, her heels clacking like gunfire.

Vincent said nothing. He only guided his wife away, his shoulders bent under the weight of too many battles lost.

The engine roared, and just like that, they were gone.

Anna stood frozen in the garden path, her pulse unsteady, her father's warmth still ghosting her cheek, Margaret's venom still stinging her ears.

Anna drew in a shaky breath.

She had turned desperate to breathe, desperate to escape the weight of everything, desperate to find out that everything happening so far had been a dream. Nothing but a dream.

Then the hairs at the back of her neck rose.

That feeling. Watching eyes.

Anna turned around, only for her gaze to lift upwards to the mansion's balcony.

And froze.

There he was.

Daniel.

Daniel stood there, in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips, his damp hair falling over his forehead.

One hand rested lazily on the railing, the other dragging through wet hair. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, his blue eyes fixed solely on her, gleamed with something she couldn't name… but felt it in her bones.

Watching her. Claiming the moment.

It wasn't the gaze of an in-law. It wasn't even the look of a stranger.

It was hunger.

A slow smile curved his mouth, charming to anyone else, but to Anna, it crawled under her skin like ice.

Anna's breath caught, a shiver running down her spine.

Daniel tilted his head slightly, as though savoring her unease. The towel hung precariously, his muscular body unapologetically exposed to the morning air… and to her.

Doesn't he care about being indecently exposed?

Her legs trembled. She forced herself to look away, to move, to breathe, but his stare stuck to her, like second skin, she couldn't shake off.

In that moment, Anna understood with chilling clarity:

William's coldness terrified her, but Daniel's gaze… it promised something far darker.

And he was watching.

Always watching.