He laughs. “I’d pay to see that happen for real.” He tugs playfully on the waistband of my jeans, his eyes bright with mischief. “Hey, wait. There’s an old bar at the other end of this floor, and it’s fully stocked. How about we grab a drink while we wait for everyone to get back? Get a little buzzed?”
I hesitate, unable to shake the unsettling feeling gnawing at me. “I’m not sure, Hayes. Maybe we should just leave for a while. This place is really starting to give me the creeps.
He keeps his grip on my waistband, his smile not fading. “Come on, just one drink. It’ll help you relax. Trust me.”
I nod reluctantly. “Just one,” I agree, hoping a drink might help shake off the uneasiness clinging to me.
Our footsteps echo through the long hallway as we walk. The air feels dense, almost suffocating, and I can’t shake the sensation that we’re being watched. I glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Lyle lurking in the shadows, but there’s nothing. Just our shadows dancing on the walls, like restless spirits.
We reach the bar, and Hayes pushes open the creaky wooden door, revealing a room untouched by time. Dust floats in the air, caught in the dim light from the hallway. A long mahogany counter stretches out, lined with bottles of all shapes and sizes, their labels faded and peeling. Hayes takes my hand, his fingers threading through mine. His touch is warm, reassuring—reminding me I’m not alone.
“It looks like no one’s been in here for years,” I murmur, noting the cobwebs draped over the shelves.
Hayes guides me to a stool and leans over the bar, searching through the bottles. “Ah, here we go,” he says, pulling out a dusty bottle of whiskey. “This should do the trick.” He grabs two glasses from the shelf, wipes them clean with his shirt, and pours us each a drink.
I take a long sip, feeling the whiskey burn down my throat. I breathe deeply, savoring the warmth as it spreads through my body, chasing away the chill that seems to have settled in my bones. Hayes watches me, his smile amused, his eyes dark in the dim light.
"Better?" he asks, his voice low and smooth.
“A little.” I nod.
We drink in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clink of our glasses against the counter. I can feel Hayes’s gaze on me—intense, unwavering. It makes me shiver, even with the fiery whiskey coursing through my veins.
"So, tell me more about these weird things that have been happening," he says finally, leaning forward on his elbows. "Tell me everything."
I hesitate, my mind flashing back to the disturbing scene with Lyle. I don't want to relive it, don't want to think about it ever again. But Hayes is looking at me with such genuine concern, such earnestness, that I find myself opening up a little.
"There's something...off about this whole place. Agatha, Lyle, thinking that people are coming into my room when I sleep to rearrange things," I say slowly, tracing my finger around the rim of my glass.
Hayes reaches out and takes my hand, his skin warm and rough against mine. "It’s all in good fun," he says, his tone firm and reassuring.
I want to believe him, to take comfort in his strength and certainty. But as I glance toward the shadowy hallway beyond the bar, half-expecting something unsettling to emerge from the darkness, I can't shake the trepidation creeping over me.
Hayes studies my face, his eyes searching mine as if trying to gauge my thoughts. He takes a sip of his whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the low light, and clears his throat. “Jonathan and Marissa were fighting today.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “They were fighting?”
“Yeah,” Hayes replies, taking another sip and running his tongue along his bottom lip. “It got pretty heated. She was screaming at him.”
A flicker of curiosity replaces my apprehension. “What were they fighting about?” I’m positive Hayes is telling me this to take my mind off of feeling uncomfortable here. It’s working a little.
“Marissa thinks you and Jonathan are sleeping together.”
I bite my lip. It’s because of what I said at breakfast this morning. “I wonder if I’ll be uninvited to the wedding,” I wince at my joke. “Well, what did he say back to her?”
“He denied everything,” Hayes says, his gaze steady on mine. “Kept insisting that nothing ever really happened between you two.”
My stomach twists at his words. “He said that? That nothing really happened between us?” I down the rest of my drink, feeling the burn all the way down.
Hayes nods, his expression sympathetic. “He never deserved you,” he says softly. Then he reaches up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is tender, his voice steady. “I want to be the one who does.”
My heart flutters, and I look at him, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. “Hayes…”
He lifts a hand, stopping me. “No pressure, Tori. It’s your choice. But I want more than just friendship. A lot more.”
A rush of emotions floods through me—confusion, excitement, fear. Before I can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing against mine. His kiss is soft, searching.
Suddenly, the lights flicker overhead, plunging the room into darkness. I gasp, a cold wave of fear gripping me, and feel Hayes's hand tighten around mine.
