~Tessa's POV~
Robert wasn't a man of many words, but the ones he spoke came out after much thought, the kind that didn't leave space for argument. And I had learned, quickly, not to try.
That morning, I was sure he'd already gone. The place had that empty hush to it, polished and perfect.
I went downstairs, water still dripping from my hair as it touched the black leggings and an oversized T-shirt I put on, the very kind of clothes that felt and screamed at me, the kind I hadn't worn in weeks.
I turned the corner.
And stopped.
He was there.
Leaning against the table more like he owned the air than the mansion. His half buttoned shirt exposing the layout of his abs and the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms. Resting in his hands was the cup of coffee as steam curling upward in delicate ribbons escaped from it.
His gaze fixed to me the moment I entered. No flicker of surprise. Just that steady, unblinking focus,sharp, assessing. Like he'd been waiting.
"You're late," he said.
I blinked. "I…"
"Breakfast is at eight." His tone didn't rise. "If you want the public to believe this arrangement, it starts with discipline. Time is the first thing people notice when it's missing."
I almost asked if he practiced these lines in the mirror. But I keep my mouth shut pressing my lips.
He didn't move. Didn't glance away. His gaze holding me in place.
"Posture," he said.
The word sliced through the space between us. My spine obeyed before my brain caught up, shoulders pulling back, chin lifting. Heat crawled from my neck to my ears.
"Better." his lips curving into a sly smile more like an approval, it didn't reach his eyes. He set his coffee down with deliberate care.
Without taking an inch further, he moved toward the refrigerator. The way he moved, slow, almost casual, but it pulled me forward like an unseen rope. As I passed him, his presence brushed mine without touching.
I reached for the refrigerator handle,I could still feel him behind me regardless of the cold from the handle although not in sound or movement, but in that charged stillness that seemed to fill every room he occupied.
And in that moment, I understood, living here wasn't just about sharing space. It was about existing inside his weather system.
It was something I had come to accept, the silence was nothing to write home about.
But still everything about him seemed perfect, I watched as he moved through the kitchen with the same calm, controlled aura he seemed to apply to everything down to the way he closed refrigerator door, how he opened it without making a sound.
And just before I could stop them, the word slipped. "Last night... The sound... I heard"
His hands stopped mid way. His golden wolf eyes emerged.
He quickly averted his gaze, but I had seen it.
"Heard what?" his voice carried something I couldn't express.
At that instant, the question threw me off balance, I clenched my hands together as I tried to steady myself. The words were out, and I couldn't take them back. "You… called out a name."
Time seemed to stop, every breath I took felt colder as the air between us turned to ice, thick and suffocating.
Straightening slowly, Robert turned as though my words had pulled him up from some deep yet hidden place. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had sharpened, the pupils narrowed, as he looked at me with a mixture of anger and hatred, just like a predator hunting for its prey. The aura of his wolf was visible, causing me to shudder.
"Tessa," he said, as though he was testing the name on his tongue.
I didn't move.
"Whatever you think you heard, it's not your concern." His tone was even, too even, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times. But the underlying steel in his words made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Whatever I thought I'd heard, whatever it meant, it didn't matter. Not after his cold words had sliced through like a cold blade.
I nodded quickly, the movement jerky, almost reflexive. "I understand."
He stared at me for one more beat, as though making sure the message had sunk in. His eyes didn't waver, holding me with an intensity that felt like a threat. And then, without another word, he turned back to the fridge.
"If you're hungry, eat," he said, his voice cool, detached. "Leave the kitchen as you found it."
"Yes." My voice was barely a whisper, small and tight with restraint.
Grabbing a bottle water form the refrigerator, he closed the door, the sound seemed louder than it should have been in the suffocating silence. Without a glance back, he walked past me, making me and everything present feel small, powerless.
And then he was gone, leaving me standing there in the middle of the kitchen, alone with the words that still hung between us, unspoken but pressing.
The question that had almost slipped out was now trapped inside me, a toxic thing I couldn't name. I swallowed it down, felt it burn in my throat.
Because it was clear now: Robert Miller wasn't a man you questioned. He was a man who gave nothing unless he chose to.
And the horror of last night? It was a door I couldn't open. Not if I wanted to stay sane.
The bing was soft, almost harmless yet my fingers moved just above the phone.
The glow of the screen lit my hand as I finally turned it over.
And there it was… the name that I never want to see.
Thomas!