CHAPTER 3 : A slip between words

It had been a relatively uneventful morning, which should have been a relief.

But for Alina, it only meant something was coming.

She spent most of her time organizing Elora’s bookshelves and helping her sort through her growing collection of dolls, carefully avoiding the west wing and limiting her interaction with Ethan. She hadn’t seen him at breakfast, which was fine. Great, even. The less tension, the better.

Except that calmness was short-lived.

Late in the afternoon, Greta had asked Alina to bring fresh linen to the guest rooms in the east wing. The upper floors were quiet—most of the staff had retired to their break or were preparing dinner in the kitchen below. She balanced the stack of crisp, lavender-scented sheets in her arms and started down the corridor.

At the corner, just as she rounded the bend—

Bang.

She bumped straight into someone. The linens slipped.

And there he was.

Ethan Vance.

Tall. Impeccably dressed. And looking at her like she was an inconvenient thunderstorm.

She blinked. “Oh. I—Sorry. I didn’t see—”

“Clearly,” he said flatly.

Alina dropped to her knees to gather the fallen sheets. “Maybe if you didn’t walk like a shadow, people would hear you coming.”

He crouched as well, grabbing two of the pillowcases. “Maybe if you didn’t roam the hallways like a lost cat, people wouldn’t bump into you.”

She glanced at him, raising a brow. “You really are incapable of a simple conversation without sounding like a condescending professor, aren’t you?”

“I don’t waste time with unnecessary pleasantries.”

“Is that what you call basic human decency?”

Their eyes met.

It wasn’t loud. No shouting. No raised voices.

But it crackled in the silence. Their tones were cool, clipped, but every word was a spark waiting to become a fire.

Ethan stood up first, straightening his cuff. “I don’t expect you to understand how things work here. You’re just—”

He stopped.

Alina’s gaze narrowed. “Just what?”

He exhaled, sharp and quiet. “Just someone who hasn’t seen what this house costs to maintain.”

“Maybe because this house feels more like a fortress than a home,” she said, standing up. “You treat everyone like they’re here to betray you.”

He looked at her, unreadable. “Because most of them are.”

Alina felt her throat tighten. The truth in his voice was... raw.

Still, she met his gaze. “Then maybe the problem isn’t the people.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then —her foot caught on the edge of the hallway rug.

It happened so fast. The linen bundle tipped from her arms again, her balance shifting too quickly backward.

“Alina—”

She fell.

Right against the polished wall, sliding down with a soft yelp. Her back hit the floor, and the sheets scattered around her like snow.

She groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

But before she could sit up, Ethan was already beside her. One hand went to her back, the other gently cradling her wrist.

“You okay?” he asked, voice surprisingly quiet.

She looked up, eyes wide. He was so close. She could see the faint trace of tiredness under his eyes, the barely-there scar just above his left brow. His palm against her wrist was warm, steady.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to sit up. “It was just a—”

He pulled her gently, guiding her to her feet.

“Stupid rug,” she added, brushing her cardigan off.

“Rug’s been here for ten years. Never tripped anyone.”

“Well, maybe the rug likes me.”

That made something flicker in his eyes—was it amusement?

For a moment, they stood too close. Neither moved. Neither spoke.

Then, realizing the tension hanging between them like thick fog, they both took a half-step back at the exact same time.

Ethan cleared his throat. “I’ll have Greta move it.”

Alina blinked. “What?”

“The rug. I’ll have it removed. So it doesn’t trip you again.”

She wasn’t sure if that was an apology or just a practical gesture, but it made her chest flutter awkwardly. “Oh... uh. Thanks.”

More silence.

Finally, he turned. “Try not to break your neck before dinner.”

“Noted,” she said, voice quieter.

He disappeared around the corner.

And Alina just stood there, surrounded by crumpled linen and a thousand questions buzzing in her chest.

—

That night, while brushing Elora’s hair before bed, Alina found herself zoning out more than once.

“You okay?” Elora asked, twisting to look at her.

Alina blinked. “Hmm? Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. Just a little tired.”

“You're thinking about Daddy, aren’t you?”

Alina choked. “What?”

“You always get that weird look on your face when you think about him,” Elora said innocently. “Like you want to yell at him."

Alina stared at her. “I do not.”

“You do,” Elora giggled. “But it’s okay. Everyone feels weird around him.”

“Even you?”

“Sometimes. But I love him anyway.”

Alina smiled gently, tugging the brush through the last of the knots. “You’re a wise little dragon tamer.”

Elora beamed. “Yup!”

—

In his study, Ethan stood by the window, a glass of scotch in hand.

He wasn’t thinking about work.

Not the delayed product launch. Not Parker’s thinly veiled threats. Not the potential leak from inside his own company.

He was thinking about her.

The way she snapped back at him without hesitation. The way she fell and laughed at herself, not caring how ridiculous she looked. The way her scent lingered in the hallway—sweet, subtle, frustrating.

He had no idea why that moment wouldn’t leave his mind.

It was just a fall. An accident.

So why the hell had it felt so...

uncomfortable?

Not in a bad way. Not dangerous. Just unfamiliar.

He didn’t like unfamiliar.

He took a long sip from the glass, exhaling slowly.

She was going to be a problem.

He just didn’t know what kind yet.

—

Alina lay awake in her small room, staring at the ceiling.

She shouldn’t have let him help her. She could’ve gotten up on her own. It wasn’t even that bad of a fall.