A breath of tempest air in a suffocating room.
“Who are—” My words faltered, failing me as my mind struggled to reconcile this sudden encounter with the nightmare unraveling around me.
He did not speak.
Instead, he watched me, those deep, inscrutable eyes assessing, weighing something unseen.In them, I caught a whisper of danger that did not belong to this world of silk and submission.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy.Murderous.Each tread a drumbeat of impending doom.
My father.
Panic surged in my chest.Flustered, I wrenched myself from the stranger’s grip, though his touch lingered on my skin like an unspoken promise.I could not afford to linger—not with the specter of my father’s wrath looming ever closer.
“Elizabeth, come back here!”
The command cracked through the corridor like a whip.My pulse leaped.
I stole one last glance at the enigmatic man who had momentarily anchored me in the storm, memorizing the dark intensity of his gaze—the quiet power coiled beneath his stillness.
And then I ran.
I gathered the remnants of my skirts and fled, leaving behind the fleeting possibility of sanctuary for the certainty of my cursed haven.My lonely existence had gone from awful to horrible in an hour, and I knew, deep in my marrow, that it could only get worse from here.
My only hope was escape.
But as I hurried through the labyrinth of my prison, something new flickered within me.A glimmer of hope, fragile but insistent.
The stranger.
Our collision—a moment as swift as a heartbeat—burned in my mind, refusing to fade.His eyes had spoken of untold secrets, of something beyond this life I was shackled to.A daring escape?A chance at freedom?
Or had I only imagined it?
Fate, I knew, was not so kind.
And yet… for the first time in years, I dared to believe it might see me.
ChapterFour
AMIR
As I approached the estate of Thomas Alexander—the infamous Timehunter—an eerie sensation crept up my spine.
The stone steps before me, vast and inexorable, rose from the earth like a monument to his power.Pale limestone slabs, expertly curated and smoothed, bore the marks of time’s relentless touch—rain-softened edges and faint weathering that whispered of age and endurance.Yet they remained strong, unmoving, an unspoken warning that those who ascended did so at his will.
My footsteps echoed as I climbed, the sound swallowed by the towering facade looming overhead.The steps were shallow, almost leisurely in their design, as though meant for men who never hurried—least of all, to escape.
Wrought-iron railings flanked me, cold beneath my fingertips.Their patterns—twisting acanthus leaves and cruel, spiraling thorns—spoke of elegance laced with danger as if the very metal had been shaped to mirror the man who ruled within.Here, wealth was not a mere display, but a weapon displayed for all to see.
The doorway at the summit of the steps loomed, framed by stone pillars and encased in dark, timeworn wood.Every carving that adorned it—symbols of victory, strength, dominion—offered no comfort, only a promise of the disturbed mind that had ordered them into existence.Above, the triangular pediment jutted forward, an unspoken sneer, as though the house itself watched and judged all who dared approach.
Lanterns flickered at either side of the entrance, their dim, ghostly light casting uneasy shadows along the facade.They swayed like restless sentinels, their glow barely piercing the thick, oppressive air, yet they made the stone seem alive—a house that breathed, watched, and knew.
The massive oak door was before me, a silent guardian, its polished surface a deep, almost bloody-red.The lion’s head knocker—impossibly lifelike—stared at me with piercing eyes, its expression frozen in a perpetual snarl.The beast’s gaze was almost predacious, a silent warning to those who dared disturb the house’s master.
I hesitated, my fingers twitching at my side.
