"Break you?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "No, my dear. This is merely a preview."
His words were like daggers, each one digging deeper. But amidst the pain, a flicker of resolve ignited.
"You’ll regret this," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me.
"We’ll see."
Nathaniel slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned, his retreating figure radiating triumph.
The garden fell silent, I allowed a single tear to fall.
He had won this round.
"You want war, Nathaniel?" I whispered to the empty night. "Then war it is."
"Do you believe in curses, Tiffany?"
Nathaniel’s voice slithered through the silence, dark and ominous, as we stood in the cavernous hall of his ancestral estate. His question hung in the air, heavy and foreboding.
I forced a laugh, though my pulse betrayed my unease. "Curses? You’re joking, right?"
"Am I?" His storm-gray eyes glinted, the faintest smirk curving his lips. "This house carries secrets you wouldn’t understand."
A chill crept down my spine. The air seemed colder here, as though the walls themselves exhaled whispers of long-buried sins.
"Enough with the theatrics," I snapped, masking my discomfort with irritation. "If you have something to say, just say it."
He took a deliberate step closer, his presence oppressive, magnetic. "Stay out of the west wing," he said softly, his tone laced with warning.
"The west wing? Are you serious?" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "What’s in there? Another one of your childish traps?"
His smirk vanished. For the first time, I saw something unguarded in his expression—something that looked a lot like fear.
"You’re not ready for what’s in there," he murmured.
His words sent a shiver through me, though I refused to let him see it. Instead, I tilted my chin, defiance curling my lips. "Maybe you’re the one who’s not ready for me to find out."
His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might actually grab my arm. Instead, he turned sharply and walked away, leaving me alone in the echoing hall.
His footsteps faded, the oppressive silence returned. I stood there, torn between unease and determination. What was Nathaniel hiding?
Dinner that evening was a tense affair. Nathaniel’s icy politeness grated on my nerves, his every glance a reminder of his earlier warning.
"You’ve barely touched your food," he observed, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.