Evelyn stayed silent after Nathaniel left her side, the ghost of his kiss still lingering—heavy and possessive—on her lips. She stared at the fire now, the only thing that dared to flicker in the thick hush of the room.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she rose.
Her legs were unsteady beneath her, but she stood tall, lifting her chin as if that might return some of her dignity. She moved toward the window, peeled back the curtain just enough to glimpse the grey morning. The rain had softened to a mist, clinging to the glass in trembling streaks.
Behind her, she heard the faint clink of porcelain. Nathaniel was pouring himself tea, unbothered by the silence—confident she would bend to it, as always.
She turned. "You don't see me."
His hand paused mid-pour. "I see you every night, Eleanor."
Evelyn flinched at the name, the careless way he wore it like truth.
'My name is Evelyn.' She thought.
He looked up at her then, slowly, like the movement cost him. "Why did you suddenly stand up?"
"It matters to me," she snapped.
Something in his gaze shifted. A flicker of confusion—hurt, even—but it was gone before it could fully bloom.
"What are you suddenly...Ah, You're still tired," he said instead, voice low and soothing, like she was some frightened animal. "You're always like this when you're tired. I remember."
She took a step back. "Stop..."
Nathaniel crossed the space between them in a few calm strides, stopping just short of her. His presence pressed against her like a shadow. "And yet, you stay."
Evelyn opened her mouth, but no words came. Because it was true. She hadn't run.
But did that mean she was his?
Or simply too far gone to find the door?
He reached out, his fingers brushing the side of her neck. "I missed you for so long," he murmured. "And now I have you. I won't lose you again, Eleanor."
"You never had me," she whispered. "You had her."
Nathaniel's expression darkened, lips parting as if to speak—but the knock came first. A crisp, deliberate sound against the heavy oak of the door.
He turned, irritated by the intrusion. "What?"
The door creaked open. Locke stood just inside, his posture rigid but respectful. He didn't meet Evelyn's eyes.
"My lord," Locke said, his voice low. "You've received a letter."
Nathaniel's brow furrowed. "From who?"
Locke stepped forward, extending a black envelope sealed in blood-red wax. "It's a black envelope this time."
A silence thickened in the room, the air sharpening like a blade.
Nathaniel's jaw tensed as he took it from Locke, fingers curling tightly around the edge.
Black. Not the usual ivory of society, nor the silver-tinted vellum of informants. This was different. Intentional.
Evelyn watched as he studied the seal—no crest, no name. Just the faint imprint of something indiscernible. Her stomach twisted.
Nathaniel didn't open it right away.
He stared at it like it was a relic, or a warning.
Then his voice, quiet. Cold.
"You may go, Locke."
Locke bowed once, shooting Evelyn a quick glance—there and gone.
As the door clicked shut, Nathaniel turned to her again, the envelope now resting in his hand like a loaded gun.
"You'll stay," he said, more command than request. "I want you close."
Evelyn's heart thudded unevenly. Not from fear.
From the sudden, unmistakable sense that something was beginning.
And it would not end kindly.
Nathaniel stood still, his fingers curling more tightly around the black envelope as though the thin parchment might bite back. He didn't look at Evelyn, but the air between them had shifted. His grip on the letter was almost obsessive, as if the very presence of it in his hands unsettled him.
Evelyn noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw, the slight flicker of uncertainty in his usually controlled eyes. Nathaniel, a man who exuded authority and control, seemed for a moment, just for a moment, at the mercy of whatever lay within that envelope.
"You'll stay," Nathaniel repeated, his voice low and commanding, though there was an edge of something raw underneath. Something Evelyn wasn't sure she should probe. "I want you close."
The words felt like a demand, but there was a slight quiver in his tone that made Evelyn hesitate.
The black envelope in his hand felt heavier now, a silent warning.
Nathaniel turned and crossed to the desk at the far side of the room, his every movement precise, deliberate. Evelyn's pulse quickened. She wanted to understand—understand why he acted this way, why he clung to his version of her. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to ask.
Instead, she watched him, her heart torn between fury and something else she couldn't name. He had her physically. But what about her heart?
The sharp scrape of the chair as Nathaniel sat down broke the silence. He placed the envelope before him, eyes narrowing at the black wax seal once again.
"Why don't you open it?" Evelyn's voice was small, tentative. "Who is it from? A spy?"
Nathaniel's gaze flicked to her, and for a moment, his eyes hardened—almost imperceptibly. "That's none of your concern, Eleanor."
"Then why am I here?" she asked. Her voice trembled despite herself. "Why keep me close if I have no role to play in this?"
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. "You'll play your part," he said slowly. "In time."
But Evelyn wasn't so sure she was going to wait for his "time" to run out. The weight of the black envelope seemed to hang between them, an unspoken tension filling the space. She could feel the edges of his obsession gnawing at the edges of the room, thick and suffocating. A pull she couldn't escape.
Nathaniel exhaled, his expression a carefully crafted mask of indifference as he broke the wax seal and slowly opened the letter. He unfolded the parchment with the kind of care that suggested whatever was written was far more important than mere words.
Evelyn moved closer, curiosity clawing at her insides. The suspense, the weight of the moment, settled in her chest like stones.
Nathaniel's fingers skimmed the paper, his gaze darkening as he read.
Then, he said nothing.
His jaw tightened, the muscles working under his skin in a way that was unmistakable.
The words must have been grave.
Evelyn watched him, the silence between them stretching unbearably. "What does it say?" she asked quietly.
For the first time in their entire time together, Nathaniel's gaze flicked to hers with something almost like vulnerability. But it was quickly masked. He folded the letter back into its envelope, his lips tight.
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." His voice was ice.
Evelyn took a step back, eyes narrowing, but she said nothing. There was something in his tone, something in the way he held the letter, that told her everything she needed to know.
It wasn't just a letter. It was a sign. A warning. And whatever it was, it was going to change everything.
---
Nathaniel continued to sit at the desk, the letter now tucked safely away, but Evelyn couldn't shake the unease creeping through her. Whatever the letter contained, it had been enough to rattle the steel façade he'd carefully constructed.
Finally, he stood again, looking at her with a mix of frustration and possessiveness. His eyes bored into hers, as though willing her to understand something unspoken.
"I will protect you," he said suddenly, his voice low but unmistakably firm.
Evelyn's breath hitched. "From what?" she asked, heart racing.
Nathaniel's eyes darkened even more, a flicker of something savage flashing across his face. "From everything."
The chill in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but it was the way his gaze softened in the next breath that truly unsettled her. He moved toward her, reaching out to touch her cheek—so gently, but it felt like a restraint. Like he was holding her in place, not giving her the choice to escape.
Evelyn swallowed hard, trying to ignore the shiver that ran through her at his touch. "What do you want from me, Nathaniel?" she whispered.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, "Everything."
But his lips never quite met hers.
And that terrified Evelyn more than anything.
---
The storm outside had calmed to a hush, but inside, Evelyn's mind was a tempest.
Nathaniel had left the room not long after uttering his promise to "protect her." His steps had been quiet, but deliberate. The black envelope had vanished into his coat pocket before he'd turned the handle.
And Evelyn had been left alone—again—with the echo of a warning she didn't understand.
She stood near the window long after he'd gone, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if that might still the rapid flutter of her heart.
That letter…
It wasn't ordinary. She could feel it, the way one might sense a shift in air pressure before a storm broke. And the way Nathaniel had changed after reading it—it was subtle, but not subtle enough.
She couldn't stop thinking about the black wax. The lack of a crest. The tension in his shoulders. The way his tone had darkened with each word he refused to speak aloud.
Where did it come from?
The question grew roots, digging into her thoughts. She couldn't ask him—he'd never give her a straight answer. But there were others. Servants, guards, perhaps even Locke.
A plan was already forming in her mind, sharp and quiet.
She would begin her own investigation.
Not with the letter—no, that would be too obvious. If Nathaniel caught h
er searching through his belongings, he would never trust her again. Or worse—he would grow suspicious. She had to be cautious.
She needed to know who delivered it. When. How.