This guy has broad shoulders, and there is a wild look in his eyes that seems to catalog everything around him.
His long dark hair, pulled back in a bun, and the various tattoos gracing his neck and hands make him stand out among everyone else.
Not to mention I rarely see him interact with anyone besides Lachlan and Levi, giving Valencia and Aileen a wide berth, but somehow always finding time for me and getting me everything I need whenever I come here.
Like a shadow following me around.
“Likewise, Hardy.”
He salutes Gordon, who honks twice before reversing the car and driving back to the gates, while Hardy points toward the entrance, and we start walking. “Do you enjoy working at the library?”
“For now,” I reply, and then blink. “How do you know about that?”
While he’s super nice and all, I don’t make a habit of sharing my personal life with Hardy.
“Miss Scott mentioned it earlier.” His odd tone makes the familiar nervousness wash over me, and I roll my eyes at myself internally. Not everything in this world is suspicious.
“Great. I love when people talk about me.”
He chuckles just as we enter the house. “Enjoy living your life as the main character, Miss Wright.”
“I prefer a supporting role.”
“Supporting characters eventually get a book as well.” He laughs at my glare, and I still when an unreadable expression settles on his features. He straightens up, and his voice turns rougher. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”
Another thing about Hardy?
He disappears at random after short chats.
Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him mingle with the other stuff. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think his only job was to cater to my needs.
“Whatever,” I mutter, and walk through the spacious hallway, which is lined with strategically placed lights that showcase the decor’s gold, red, and brown hues vividly, creating a fairy-tale-like atmosphere around us as the shining marble glistens.
Beauty permanently resides here, reminding us imperfect creatures that we don’t fit into the aesthetic.
Expensive paintings acquired at outrageously pricey auctions, judging by the style, hang on the walls, displaying myths centered on love and war, and the endless stories of human sorrow that involve sacrificing something for the greater good.
Extending my hand toward a painting depicting a bird picking at Prometheus’s liver, I grace the golden frame with my fingers, admiring the carved wood that will cost a fortune alone.
“Prometheus, the epitome of a greater good sacrifice that turned into endless hell.” A zipping sensation washes over, and the air hitches in my throat when I notice Levi standing by the stairway leading to their second floor and leaning on the banister, his black shirt stretching over his muscular chest, and the V of the neck showing off all his tattoos. His jeans and leather shoes only add to the swirling energy around him, sending goose bumps down my spine. “He was a titan who defied the gods and stole fire from them to give it to humans. As punishment, Zeus bound him to a rock, and an eagle ate at his liver every single day. Quite creative torment on the gods’ part. After all, it’s the only organ that grows back.”
Pulling my hand away, I swallow and urge my heart to calm down, although I can’t blame it for being emotional since this man always finds a way to ruin my mood one way or the other.
And my body being weirdly attracted to the guy has nothing to do with it, nope.
It’s not a crime to notice a handsome man. That being said, he’s a walking red flag, so I have to be careful around him. Besides, it’s not like I can cause a scene at his parents’ house.
So mustering up all the courage and manners I might have, I say, “Thank you for your explanation. I know who Prometheus is, though. I graduated from high school.” I groan inwardly at the last sentence that slipped past my lips because it has a lot of bite to it and shows my vulnerability.
Sometimes it’s hard to hold back when people try to explain everything to you as if you lack intelligence.
And him assuming I’m stupid doesn’t sit well with me either.
“Graduating from high school or university has nothing to do with knowledge or intelligence.” He pushes off the banister and strolls toward me, his footsteps exceptionally loud in the hallway, and the classical music playing from the living room highlights his rather amused demeanor.
His eyes, though…
His ocean-blue eyes hold so much rage, I step back and rub my neck, still remembering his hand wrapped around it, and while it didn’t bring me pain…the idea of him cutting off my oxygen creates all sorts of fucked-up images in my head.
