The scream from the west wing still rang in Adelina's ears long after the lights flickered back on.
By the time Nathan reached the source, the hallway was empty. No signs of struggle. No signs of anyone. Just the quiet hum of the estate returning to its unnatural calm.
Victor claimed it was a power surge. Cassandra dismissed it entirely. Stefan shrugged and said, "Old houses make old noises." But Adelina didn't believe any of them.
And neither did Nathan.
Since that night, he had barely left her side.
At first, his presence was reassuring. But then, she began to notice things.
Every conversation she had—Nathan seemed to know about it. A passing comment to Mira about a book, and that book would be on her desk the next morning. A brief laugh with Lina outside her lecture hall, and he'd be waiting by the car with a furrowed brow.
When she mentioned wanting space, the staff subtly stopped engaging her unless necessary. The calls from extended family dwindled. Even Mira, outspoken and chaotic, had become strangely cautious around Nathan.
Adelina began to wonder: Was this concern… or control?
The question simmered during a business function later that week.
It was a cocktail evening hosted by one of Gavrila Holdings' most public partners—Aurel Petrescu, a charming, sharp-witted investor in his early thirties. He was handsome in the way most powerful men were: sleek suit, perfect smile, eyes that assessed everything.
Adelina wore an emerald silk gown. She didn't choose it—Mira did. But it made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. Beautiful, yes. But curated.
Nathan, as usual, stood a few feet away, speaking with a board member but always glancing in her direction.
When Aurel approached, Nathan stiffened.
"Miss Gavrila," Aurel said smoothly, "I must say, it's a pleasure to finally speak to the most mysterious member of the family."
Adelina smiled politely. "The mystery is mostly silence, I'm afraid."
He laughed. "Silence is power. Most people waste their breath trying to prove they belong. You… already do."
He offered her a glass of champagne.
Before she could reach for it, Nathan was there.
"Adelina doesn't drink," he said flatly, taking the glass himself and setting it on a nearby tray.
Aurel raised an eyebrow. "My apologies. I didn't mean to overstep."
"You didn't," Adelina said quickly, voice cool. "It's fine."
But Nathan's hand was already at the small of her back.
Aurel gave her a knowing smile, then bowed slightly. "Another time, then."
When he walked away, Nathan's grip tightened.
"Don't encourage him," he said.
Adelina turned, pulling away slightly. "You're not my bodyguard."
"No," he said. "But I am the only one here who knows what people want from you."
"And what do you want?" she snapped.
Silence.
Then, "To keep you safe."
She didn't speak the rest of the evening.
Back at the estate, she stood in front of her vanity, brushing her hair in silence. Nathan had gone to make a call—or so he said—but even in his absence, she felt him lingering like a shadow.
Her reflection stared back at her with eyes she didn't recognize. This version of her was refined, obedient, encased in luxury and expectation. But beneath that facade, a storm was brewing.
Because the worst part wasn't Nathan's behavior.
It was her reaction to it.
She remembered the warmth of his touch at the gala. The intensity in his eyes when he told Aurel to back off. The way her pulse quickened when his voice lowered just for her.
It wasn't normal.
It wasn't right.
But it felt like gravity.
She pressed her fingers to her temples.
She couldn't let herself fall into the illusion that this was something safe. Something sacred.
It was something else.
Possession dressed as protection.
Obsession disguised as loyalty.
And yet... when she closed her eyes, she didn't see Aurel. Or Stefan. Or any of the poised, well-bred suitors the family might have once envisioned.
She saw Nathan.
And she hated herself for it.
The next day, she tried to speak with Mira.
They walked through the garden in the late morning sun. Mira was unusually quiet, her usual sarcasm dialed down.
"Mira," Adelina said carefully, "do you think Nathan ever… crosses a line?"
Mira didn't look at her. "He's the line."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," she said slowly, "that everyone in this house knows not to get between you and him. The staff tiptoe around it. Even your father doesn't push him on it. He's obsessed, Adel. Maybe he always was."
Adelina's chest tightened.
"So why doesn't anyone stop him?"
Mira finally looked at her.
"Because no one's sure if you want him to."
That night, Adelina couldn't sleep.
Again.
She paced the halls until she ended up outside the west wing—the same wing where the scream had come from nights ago. It was dark. Quiet. Almost too quiet.
She tried a few doors. All locked.
Then she saw it: a faint light beneath one of them.
She approached slowly.
Listened.
Nothing.
She reached for the handle—
"Adelina?"
Nathan's voice behind her made her jump.
She turned. He stood in the dark corridor, shirt slightly unbuttoned, eyes sharp.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping closer.
She backed up. "I heard something."
"There's nothing here," he said. "That part of the house is sealed."
"Why?"
His jaw tensed. "Because it needs to be."
Adelina stared at him.
"Why do you act like I'm glass?" she whispered. "Like I'll break if you tell me anything real?"
Nathan stepped closer until only inches separated them.
"You want the truth?" he said quietly. "The truth is that if you knew everything, you wouldn't be able to look at me the same way again."
"I don't think I can now."
He stared at her, and for a terrifying moment, she thought he might kiss her.
But instead, he turned away.
And without looking back, he said, "Stay out of the west wing."
Then he disappeared into the shadows.
Adelina stood there, breathless, chest heaving.
And finally, she asked the question she had been avoiding for days:
Was this still protection... or was it possession?
But the answer didn't come.
Only a sound.
A soft, echoing voice from behind the sealed door:
"Adelina... come back."