Chapter 57

Agnes

I stared down at the sketchbook in my lap, tapping the end of my pencil against the blank page until even the sounds of the soft thuds were starting to irritate me. No matter how long I sat there, no matter how hard I tried to force inspiration to come, nothing was coming to me.

No designs, no patterns, not even a stray doodle to fill the blank page staring up at me.

I let out a soft huff and tossed my pen down. Ava’s sketches sat beside me, mocking me. I glanced at one of her designs again—a structured yet elegant winter coat with a fur-lined hood and a slim waist that flared out around the hips, both sophisticated and practical. The stitching detail alone looked like it belonged on a runway. It was beautiful.

And I hated how much I liked it.

All morning, I’d been sitting here at my desk, trying to force sketches onto my notepad. Nothing of use had come out of it; I felt as if I had hit a full-on creative block.

With a weary sigh, I glanced up at my office door, noticing the forms moving around the design department through the frosted glass. Everyone was working hard, chatting and laughing. Meanwhile, I’d been holed up in this room all morning with nothing to show for it.

Finally, I had enough. I grabbed my notebook, my coffee, and a cardigan, and stepped out of my office. Only a few people noticed as I walked through the department, but of course Ava was among them. I could feel her eyes on me as I strode across the floor and pushed out into the hallway, and even when I left the department behind, I swore I could still feel her gaze prickling my skin.

Thankfully, though, once I stepped out into the courtyard, that feeling dissipated.

The sun was warm against my skin, and the faint breeze that drifted through the courtyard carried the sweet scent of the blooming lavender that lined the path nearby. I hoped that coming outside would help clear my head, and so I sat down at one of the stone picnic tables and got back to work.

At first, the fresh air really did help. I threw together a couple of mock sketches for some dresses with detachable sleeves to be worn in warmer and cooler weather, although they were far from polished.

But no matter how hard I worked, my mind kept wandering back to her.

Ava.

How had she come up with those fabulous sketches yesterday? She wasn’t a designer. She wasn’t an artist. Hell, she’d always made it clear just how much she despised those sorts of things, always putting down my late mother and claiming that her designs were ugly and frivolous.

And yet, somehow, she had thrown together some of the nicest sketches I’d seen in the span of one day.

It didn’t make any sense.

I closed the sketchbook, sighing softly as I rubbed slow circles around my temples. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe Ava had just been lucky, and this was a fluke. But deep down, a part of me couldn’t help but shake the feeling that no matter how hard I tried, I would always somehow wind up one step behind her.

“Mind if I sit?”

I looked up to see Gertrude standing a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her long cardigan. Her glasses slid slightly down her nose, and she pushed them back up with a flick of her finger. I nodded, gesturing to the table.

“Sure. I could use some company.”

She settled down on the bench across from me, stretching her legs out beneath the table. For a few moments, neither of us spoke. The soft rustle of leaves filled the silence, and I watched as a few birds flitted between the pink blossoms dangling from the trees.

“Sketching?” Gertrude eventually asked, nodding toward the closed book on the table.

“Trying to,” I admitted with a wry chuckle. “But it’s not going as well as I’d like.”

The librarian hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at the pages scattered beside me. Her eyes caught on one of Ava’s sketches that I’d brought with me—although I wasn’t sure why I had brought them, knowing how they affected me—and her brows lifted.

“Did you draw these? They’re impressive.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning. “They’re my sister’s.”

Gertrude’s eyes widened. “Oh… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” I reassured her with a small smile. “They’re good sketches, I’ll give her that.”

There was another pause after that. I could feel Gertrude watching me out of the corner of her eye, and after a moment, she took a deep breath. “I hope I didn’t overstep when I stood up for you against her,” she said softly.

I quickly shook my head. “No, not at all. It’s actually kind of… nice knowing that there are people around here who support me.”

Gertrude huffed softly. “Trust me, you’re a lot better than the last Luna. Lots of people love you.”

I blinked, turning to her with a raised brow. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah, Olivia hardly ever came here. She always had some excuse. ‘I’m too busy with personal matters,’ or ‘I have to oversee something at home.’ Most of the time, she just stayed away. And when she did show up, she mostly just gossiped with the secretaries or lounged around. She didn’t really contribute anything.”

I frowned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t know that,” I said, not that the information surprised me all that much.

Gertrude shrugged. “Alpha Elijah never made a big deal of it, but people noticed. Especially the ones working directly under him. So when you started showing up, actually putting in effort, people appreciated it.”

Her words caught me off guard, and I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. I wasn’t used to compliments, at least not ones that felt this genuine.

“Thanks,” I said softly. “I guess I just... I want to be useful. I don’t want to just sit around and waste the opportunity.”

Gertrude just smiled in response.

We sat together for a little while longer, chatting about unrelated things—the weather, work, even our favorite books and music. Eventually, Gertrude excused herself to return to the library, leaving me alone with my thoughts. But strangely, I felt a little lighter after that chat.

Gathering my things, I started back toward the building. I was halfway to my office when I rounded the corner and nearly collided with a sturdy frame.

It was Elijah. He was dressed impeccably as always, his tailored suit perfectly fitted across his chest and his cologne hitting me like a wall of pine. But something seemed off about him—he seemed disheveled, panicked, as if he’d been…

Running?

Before I could even register what was happening, his strong hands suddenly caught me by the waist and pulled me to the side. The next thing I knew, I was being tugged into a small, dark utility closet. The door clicked shut behind us, and we were cast into darkness.

“Elijah—”

His name barely left my lips before he pressed a finger to them, silencing me instantly. His body was close—too close—and I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine.

The small room left little space between us, and even with my back pressed lightly against the shelves behind me, I could still feel his body pressed firmly up against me.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I was frozen in place, completely at his mercy as his warm breath fanned across my neck.