Alistair stood framed in the doorway, his silhouette dark against the paler light of the hall. His voice, when he spoke again, was a venomous blade, slicing into the heavy air. "Julia, what are you doing in my study?"
Julia turned slowly, her fists clenched at her sides, the scattered "Harrow Properties" documents still trembling faintly where they lay on the polished floorboards. The fear was a cold knot in her stomach, but a spark of defiance, fueled by rage, ignited in her chest.
"I am here, Alistair," she began, her voice low but charged, "because you insist on treating me as a decorative inconvenience. Because you refuse to give me answers. Because a man just spoke of me as the 'subject of Clause D,' a clause I know nothing about, and you sought to silence him!"
Alistair stepped fully into the room, his movements fluid, deceptively calm. Finch, a silent sentinel, remained in the doorway. "Julia, do not raise your voice. This is a private space. And as I informed you, I would explain all in due course." His tone was patronizing, a thin veneer of diplomacy over steel.
"In due course?" Julia's voice rose, laced with sarcasm. "As you explained the presence of Marian's wedding dress in my wardrobe? As you explained my books vanishing, replaced by her private notes, all marked with my name? Do you take me for a fool, Alistair? Do you think I am blind?"
Alistair's eyes, usually so controlled, flickered. "The dress, as Finch explained, was a mistake, a servant's error. The notes… perhaps a thoughtful gesture. You expressed such interest in Marian's life." He spread his hands, a gesture of feigned innocence.
"A mistake?" Julia scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her. "A mistake that places Marian's ghost in my very chambers? A mistake that seeks to erase my own thoughts, my own passions, and replace them with hers? Do not insult my intelligence, Alistair. This is not carelessness. This is deliberate." Her voice trembled with fury. "And it is sick."
Alistair's jaw tightened. "Julia, you are overwrought. Your imagination runs wild. This is precisely why such matters of business are kept from ladies. You become… excitable."
"Excitable?" Julia echoed, her voice now a low, dangerous growl. "I am not excitable, Alistair. I am furious. And I am tired of your games. What is Clause D? What does it say about me? About my family's properties?" She gestured wildly at the papers on the floor. "And what does Harrow Properties have to do with you? My family has nothing! My aunt Evelyn told me years ago, we are destitute!"
Alistair's composure finally began to crack. His face, usually so smooth, contorted with a mixture of frustration and something darker, more intense. "Destitute?" he scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "That is what your aunt wished you to believe! I only discovered the truth myself when I went to Corbin, Lyle and Trent, the very day I was supposedly purchasing tonic for your fevered brow!" His voice rose, breathless with a sudden, raw emotion that startled Julia. "They held the deeds! The wills! They had been sitting there for years, waiting!" He took a step towards her, his eyes blazing. "Marian knew! She knew everything! This… this entire charade, this marriage, it was never simply for love, Julia! It was for control! For inheritance! And now… now it is about you!"
Julia reeled back, horrified. "You… you are lying!" Her voice shook with rage and disbelief. "My family's properties? My name, on a clause? You are trying to turn me into her! You planted the dress, the notes, everything, to gaslight me, to make me believe I am losing my mind, just as Marian did!" Her chest heaved. "You are obsessed! You are sick!"
"Sick?" Alistair cried, his voice echoing in the large room, devoid of all pretense. "Is it sick to desire what is mine? To ensure my future? To desire you, Julia?" He took another step, his eyes burning with a fevered intensity. "Don't you see? Marian… Marian was merely the vessel. The means to an end. But you… you are different. You breathe life into this desolate place. Blackwood Hall feels alive with you here."
"Stop it!" Julia hissed, her face contorted with disgust. "Don't you dare! You tried to replace her, didn't you? With me! That's why the dress, that's why the notes! You wanted to create your perfect, pliable Marian again!"
"No!" Alistair reached out, his hand grasping her arm. "I only did it to show you, to make you understand! To make you see!"
Julia ripped her arm free, repulsion coursing through her. "See what, Alistair? Your madness? Your depravity? Get away from me!" She turned, needing air, needing to escape the suffocating walls of the study, of Blackwood Hall, of Alistair's oppressive presence. She ran, blindly, through the main hall, her lungs burning.
The front door seemed to beckon, a promise of escape. She pulled it open, rushing out into the chill, damp morning. The mist, thick and insistent, curled around the hedges like ghostly fingers, clinging to the ancient stones of the house. The garden, usually a place of quiet beauty, felt eerie, distorted by the swirling fog.
Alistair followed her, his footsteps swift, his voice calling after her. "Julia! Wait! You must understand!"
She spun around, facing him amidst the swirling grey, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes blazed with a raw, visceral fury. "Understand what, Alistair? That you preyed on Marian, on her family, and now you seek to do the same to me? You said you loved her!"
Alistair stopped, a few feet from her, his handsome face stark in the ghostly light. The mist clung to his dark hair, softening his usually sharp edges. He didn't deny it. "I… I believed I did. But this house… it was always so cold. So empty. Until you came." His voice became husky, raw, echoing strangely in the fog. "You breathe life into it, Julia. I feel it. The very walls bend toward you. Blackwood Hall… it wants you."
He took another step, closing the distance between them. His blue eyes, usually cold, were now alight with a fevered, obsessive warmth. "You are not just Marian's cousin, Julia. You are the only thing that has ever mattered since her death. The only thing that has made this place bearable."
Before Julia could react, before she could even process the chilling intensity of his words, Alistair reached out. His hands, cold yet possessive, cupped her face. And then, he kissed her.
It was deep, possessive, uninvited. The shock of it paralyzed Julia for a beat, her heart stammering in her chest, a terrified bird trapped in a cage. His lips were cold, demanding, tasting faintly of the stale air of the study. A wave of nausea washed over her.
Then, the paralysis broke. Disgust, sharp and acidic, surged through her. With a guttural cry, she shoved him with both hands, pushing him away with all her might. The force of her repulsion sent him stumbling back, surprised.
Then, her hand flew, unthinking, driven by pure revulsion. The slap cracked across his face, a sharp, resounding sound that echoed in the heavy silence of the misty garden. Alistair's head snapped to the side, a red mark blooming on his pale cheek.
Julia's voice trembled, raw with betrayal and utter contempt. "How dare you, Alistair? How dare you touch me? How could you kiss me? I am Marian's cousin! Your dead wife's cousin! How could you justify such… such madness?"
Alistair slowly turned his head back, his eyes still fixed on her, unashamed. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his bruised lips. His gaze held a fevered hunger, a dark, consuming passion. "Because you are not Marian, Julia," he whispered, his voice ragged, filled with a terrifying sincerity. "You are more. You are the only thing that has ever mattered since she died. Since this house became a tomb."
"You are trying to replace her!" Julia screamed, the words tearing from her throat. "Everything! The dress, the notes, the lies about my family! It was all part of your sick fantasy! To make me Marian, reborn for your twisted pleasure!"
"No!" he cried, reaching for her again, his voice desperate. "I only did it to show you! To show you what was here, what was waiting for you! To show you-"
"Stop it!" Julia shrieked, backing away, her voice shaking with pure, unadulterated fury. "Just stop! Stay the hell away from me, Alistair. You disgust me!" She spun on her heel, her charcoal dress a dark blur against the grey mist, and stormed away, disappearing into the swirling white, leaving him alone in the haunting garden.
---
From an upper window, a shadow detached itself from the heavy curtains. Silas. His face was pale, unreadable, etched with a quiet fury as he watched Julia disappear into the fog. He had seen the kiss. Every agonizing second of it.
Alistair, left alone in the swirling mist, slowly brought his hand to his throbbing cheek. He glanced up, his blue eyes narrowing, piercing the grey veil to the very window where Silas stood. He knew. He knew exactly what Silas had witnessed.
And a slow, chilling smile spread across Alistair's lips. Not with guilt. Not with regret. But with hunger. The mist curled at his boots, obscuring him, as the house behind him creaked with wind and memory.