I pour myself a drink and settle into the chair facing the fireplace with my laptop to keep me company. The drink has that familiar burn going down, but it’s nothing compared to the acid eating away at my insides.
On the screen, I watch Robin sleeping in her bed.
Mine.
Even if she hates me for it. Even if I don’t deserve her. She’s mine.
And she means something to me instead of nothing.
Chapter 9
Robin
The next morning, I sit next to Eva at the impossibly long dining table, stirring my coffee slowly while watching her pretend to read through a stack of papers.
She’s aware of every move I make. I can feel her attention like heat against my skin, even though her amber eyes never lift from the documents spread before her. The way she holds herself—spine straight, shoulders squared, that careful mask of indifference—it’s all performance.
Eva Novak doesn’t fool me anymore.
And if I’m ever going to test her promises, it has to be today.
“I’m going to walk down to the lake this morning,” I say casually, keeping my eyes on my tea.
The rustling of papers stops. The silence stretches between us like a held breath, and I can practically feel Eva’s sharp gaze cutting across the table.
“As you wish,” she says finally, her voice carrying that familiar edge of boredom. She doesn’t even look up. “Better there than the village, anyway.”
“And why is that?” I demand at once.
“Because those superstitious peasants are observing some religious holiday today. Everything will be shut.”
I scowl at her rudeness but don’t respond, relieved that she’s not going to stop me. I set down my teacup with deliberate care and stand, smoothing my sweater. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Still no response. Just the sound of papers shuffling as Eva continues her performance of indifference. But I catch the way her fingers tighten on the documents, the slight tension in her shoulders that tells me she’s anything but casual about my departure.
I run up to my room to get a coat, and then with a sense of relief, I exit into the castle grounds by a side door. Outside, the air is crisp, carrying the scent of distant woodsmoke. I wrap my coat tighter around myself and set off down the winding gravel path that leads to the lake.
But as I reach a crest, I catch sight of the village below, and even from this distance I see it’s as bustling and busy. Children playing in the schoolyard. Laundry hanging from windows and balconies. Smoke rising from the chimneys of the businesses running through the center of the village.
Eva lied to me. The village is just as it usually is.
She just didn’t want me to go there.
I glance over my shoulder, wondering if one of Eva’s men is following me. I listen as hard as I can, but hear nothing. So,determined to be contrary, I take the turnoff to the village and head down that way instead.
Each step away from the castle feels like shedding a suffocating layer. Sticks crunch under my boots in a satisfying rhythm. The sun comes out, warming the cold forest. And for the first time since returning to this gothic fortress, I feel like I can breathe properly.
But the sense of being watched lingers like a chill at my back. I try to shake it off, telling myself it’s just paranoia, but Eva’s presence seems to follow me even when she’s not there. As if she’s carved herself into my very soul.
And then I hear it: a low, steady hum. Acar engine, approaching from the direction of the castle. Without thinking, I duck behind a thick bush that borders the path. The rough branches catch at my coat as I press myself against them, trying to make myself invisible.
Is she following me? Did she change her mind about letting me wander freely?
Eva’s black car sweeps past without slowing, disappearing around the bend with its usual purr of expensive engineering.
Relieved that it didn’t stop, I shake my head and continue down the path, but the calm has vanished even though I keep insisting to myself that whatever Eva Novak is doing, it’s none of my business. I’m here to get reacquainted with the village, to remind myself what normal human interaction feels like.
The village comes into view once more as I round the final curve—cobblestone streets winding between timber and stone buildings, flower boxes that I assume will come alive in spring,smoke stretching from chimneys like gray fingers clawing at the pale but cloudy sky.
