Oakley stepped out of the drawing room, her mind clouded with unease.
Anthony's words echoed in her head like a warning bell she couldn't unhear.
"Be careful where your curiosity leads you."
Her feet moved mechanically, carrying her toward the stairs. She just wanted to reach her room—curl up on that too-soft bed and forget the butler's cryptic smile and the air of caution that had suddenly wrapped itself around her like chains.
She turned the corner too quickly—and walked straight into a solid chest.
"Oh!" she gasped, stumbling back slightly.
A hand reached out instinctively, steadying her by the arm.
"Sorry. I wasn't looking," she said quickly, her voice small, retreating.
"It's alright." The voice belonged to Jordan.
Oakley glanced up, immediately feeling the awkwardness settle between them. He was dressed in more casual clothing now, a dark sweater and pants, though he still held himself with a quiet, unreadable poise.
"I was just heading to my room—" she began, but he cut in.
"Would you like to visit the library instead?" he asked, his voice even, almost casual.
She blinked, unsure how to respond. Of all the people in this house, Jordan had been the most neutral so far. Not warm like Ian. Not cold like Anthony. But polite… in a distant sort of way.
Still, anything was better than being alone with her thoughts.
She nodded. "Okay."
He turned without waiting for a response and she followed him down the corridor. The silence between them wasn't heavy—it was just there. Oakley glanced at him occasionally, wondering if he'd speak again, but his expression remained blank. Focused.
The mansion's library was massive. Floor-to-ceiling shelves covered the walls, books stacked neatly and arranged by topic and genre. A thick carpet lined the floor, muffling their footsteps, and a set of tall windows let in soft sunlight that bathed the room in warmth.
She stood by the entrance, taking it in.
"Wow…" she murmured. "This is beautiful."
Jordan's mouth twitched—almost like a smile.
She moved slowly past the shelves, fingers grazing the spines of old hardcovers. Then, turning to him, she asked, "Where's Mr. Ian?"
"Drop the formalities," Jordan said mildly, settling onto a leather chair near the fireplace. "Just call him Ian. He's not that special."
Oakley looked at him, a little surprised at the answer. It wasn't harsh, but it held a familiar fondness she hadn't expected.
She nodded. "Okay. Ian, then. Is he not home?"
"He left an hour ago. Said something about avoiding boredom before it kills him."
She chuckled softly. That sounded about right.
She turned back to the shelves and after a few minutes, found a book that caught her eye. It was old, with faded gold lettering and a slightly frayed spine. She ran her fingers over the title, Wolves Beneath the Moonlight, then carried it to the couch across from Jordan and sat down.
The world faded as soon as she opened the first page.
It was a fantasy novel—at least, from what she could tell. A girl born under a cursed star. A mysterious heir hiding a dangerous secret. The words pulled her in like a gentle tide, and for a while, she let herself drift.
But after a few chapters, the sensation of being watched began to pull her back to shore.
She could feel it. That soft, lingering awareness prickling at her skin.
Jordan hadn't moved.
She turned a page slowly but didn't read it. Her gaze remained on the words, but her focus had shifted completely. Her eyes flicked upward—briefly.
He was still watching her.
Not in a cruel or creepy way. Not even obviously. But it was in the way his body hadn't shifted, how his gaze never drifted toward a book, or his phone, or the fire. Just her.
Oakley shifted slightly in her seat.
She told herself she was imagining it. That maybe he was thinking about something completely unrelated, and her mind—still shaken by Anthony's warning—was just playing tricks on her.
But that didn't explain the way her pulse was rising.
She closed the book slowly.
"I think I should head back to my room," she said, her voice calm but firmer than usual.
Jordan tilted his head slightly, as if surprised. "Already?"
"I'm tired," she lied.
He stood up. "Of course."
He didn't offer to walk her out, and she didn't expect him to. She rose to her feet and returned the book to its place on the shelf, then turned to the door.
But before she stepped out, she paused and looked back.
Jordan was still standing by the fireplace, his hands now clasped behind his back, watching the flames.
Only… he hadn't said goodbye.
She left the library with an uncomfortable weight pressing down on her chest.
She didn't know why, but something about his gaze had unsettled her more than anything Anthony had said.