Chapter 7 – The Secrets Between Us

It had been over a week since Elara first walked into the mansion, a week filled with trials and survival.

And now, she had begun to notice the shifts.

The other maids had stopped whispering that she wouldn’t last. They had seen her endure the sharpness of Edward’s tongue without running. They had seen her drag buckets across stone floors without complaint. They had seen her scrub the same stair rail three times in one morning because “the shine offended him.”

Elara had not broken.

But she was beginning to bend.

Not in her work–her hands moved steady, precise–but in her mind. She had started having visions. The visions had started three nights ago. They came like cracks in glass, sudden and sharp, showing her things she could not understand. A silver blur in the corner of her eye. A hallway drenched in red. The echo of a voice she did not know whispering her name.

She pressed her palms to her eyes when they came, willing them away. Not now. Not here. But they clung like cobwebs, threads she could not shake.

And Edward… Edward made them worse.

Each time he wheeled closer and his scrutinizing gaze landed on her, her mind buckled. The visions, sharp and relentless, clawed at the periphery, like something trapped and fighting to get out

This morning was no different.

She was sweeping the main hall when the sound of wheels scraped against stone. She stiffened, forcing her strokes slower, steadier, as if that might make her invisible.

“Still here,” Edward said, voice low, almost musing.

She turned, lowering her head. “Yes, Sir.”

“Most don’t last the week.”

Elara gripped the broom tighter. “Then perhaps I’m not like most, Sir.”

The words slipped before she could stop them. Her stomach lurched. She expected his anger, his cutting dismissal.

Instead–silence. Then, a sound she had not expected at all.

A laugh.

It was brief, rough, like stone striking against stone, but real.

She fought the urge, but her head snapped up anyway. He was waiting, his watching gaze met by a thin-lipped curve that fell just short of genuine cruelty.

“You’re not,” he said finally. His gaze sharpened. “That much is obvious.”

Elara’s chest tightened. She forced her eyes back down, sweeping faster, though her pulse betrayed her.

Edward leaned forward slightly in his chair. The scent brushed him again–warm, earthy, threaded with something wild. His nostrils flared before he could stop them.

It was faint, but it was there. A whisper of fur and forest, clinging to her skin. He had noticed it all week, stronger when she was close, absent when she left the room. Humans would never catch it, but he was not entirely human. His senses sharpened in ways that had saved him once and cursed him now.

And he could not ignore it.

“Elara,” he said, testing her name on his tongue for the first time.

She froze. It was always girl, or maid, or nothing at all. Hearing her name in his voice startled her more.

“Yes, Sir?” she answered, her voice carefully neutral.

His eyes lingered on her face, too long. He noted the line of her jaw, the steadiness of her mouth, the flicker in her eyes she tried to hide. He let his gaze drop, not in lust but in scrutiny, as if each detail of her body might explain the scent that haunted him.

“You work like someone running,” he said.

Her fingers tightened on the broom. “Running, Sir?”

“Running from something,” he clarified. He tilted his head, studying her. “Or maybe hiding.”

The wolf inside her snarled. Elara forced her breath steady. “I’m just working, Sir.”

“Mm.” His sound was skeptical, dismissive–and yet his eyes didn’t leave her.

By afternoon, the banter sharpened.

She brought his tea, the porcelain rattling slightly against the saucer.

“You shake,” he observed.

“It’s hot, Sir” she replied.

"Is it?" His gaze did not waver. "Or are you frightened?"

She met his eyes then, just for a moment. “If I were frightened, Sir, I wouldn’t still be here.”

His lips curved again, that almost-smile she was beginning to dread. “Bold.”

Her throat tightened. “Honest.”

Edward leaned closer, close enough that the faint scent of her struck him like heat. He shouldn’t have, but he inhaled–quietly and carefully. The forest, the wildness, the animal hidden under her skin.

It stirred something in him. Not just suspicion. Not just the wolf inside. Something warmer. Something dangerous.

She stepped back quickly, nearly spilling the tea. His eyes narrowed.

“You’re different,” he said softly.

Elara’s pulse hammered in her throat. “Different, Sir?”

“Yes.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I can’t place it. Yet.”

She forced herself to bow her head. “Then perhaps you imagine it, Sir.”

His laugh was low, without humor. “I don’t imagine things, Elara. Not when they’re right in front of me.”

The words settled heavy between them, charged with more than suspicion. Something unsaid. Something they both felt and neither dared name.

That night, as Elara washed her hands at the basin, the visions returned.

She gripped the edge of the porcelain, knuckles white, as silver eyes flashed in her mind. Not Edward’s–someone else’s. Eyes she didn’t know. A shadowed figure in the hall. A voice whispering: He’ll see you. He’ll see everything.

She gasped, water dripping down her wrists. Her reflection wavered in the basin, her face fractured by ripples.

She pressed her palms against the basin, whispering, “No, not now.”

But deep in her chest, the wolf pressed harder. And somewhere in the house, she could swear Edward’s voice echoed, low and certain:

“You’re different.”