Chapter 3 — The Thorns Beneath the Silk

Seraphina

The silence of the manor was not peaceful. It was aware.

Walls whispered. Floorboards remembered. Every room had eyes that watched from beyond the veil of time, listening to footsteps and forgotten breaths.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this wing. Not beyond the carved archway veiled in velvet drapes where dust danced like ash in the air. But curiosity is a blade with no sheath, and my fingers had always itched for the truth—no matter how deep it cut.

I slipped through the forbidden door, heart thudding like it was trying to beat its way free of my chest.

It was cold inside.

The room was still, untouched by years. But time had not been kind to its bones.

Piles of old books leaned like gravestones. Shattered mirrors lined the walls like broken promises. At the center stood a solitary violin, resting on a faded chair, its strings curled and slack, as though even music had abandoned this place.

And above it, a portrait.

Her eyes were mine.

The resemblance made my stomach twist. The same gaze—wide, sharp, unyielding.

"She was beautiful," I murmured. "And she looks like me."

The voice that answered wasn’t a whisper, but it was everywhere.

Dante

“She was nothing like you.”

She turned with a start, her body tense like a string pulled too tight. Her skin was flushed, lips parted, and eyes—those wild, defiant eyes—met mine.

“You followed me.”

“I always do,” I replied calmly, stepping into the room. “You just never notice until I want you to.”

She clenched her fists. “This room was locked.”

“Everything in this house is locked for a reason, Seraphina.”

“Who was she?” Her voice was tight.

“My mother.” I said it like a fact, not a memory.

She glanced at the portrait again, brows furrowing. “And what happened to her?”

“She tried to run from this life. From blood. From shadows that wouldn’t let her go.” I paused, gaze flickering toward the violin. “The house didn’t forget.”

Her breath faltered. “Did you?”

“No,” I said. “I never forget what belongs to me.”

She laughed—soft and bitter. “You think I belong to you?”

I stepped closer. “I know you do.”

Seraphina

My pulse rioted. His voice was smoke and silk, curling around my ribs like vines.

“You’re delusional.”

“No. I’m aware.” His eyes pinned me. “Of the way you breathe when you lie. Of how you didn’t flinch when I told you about her. Of how your curiosity outweighs your fear.”

“You’re wrong.”

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he walked past me—unhurried—and picked up the violin. It moaned under his touch, the bow trembling slightly in his gloved hand. He dragged it across the strings.

A discordant note split the air like a scream.

Seraphina flinched.

The sound wasn’t music. It was grief. Rage. Longing.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

He didn’t look at her. “Because you keep trying to convince yourself I’m the villain. And it’s easier to hate a monster than admit you feel something you shouldn’t.”

I stared at him. This man—this terrifying, unreadable man—was unraveling me thread by thread, with nothing more than presence and unspoken truths.

“I don’t feel anything for you,” I lied, but even my voice cracked under the weight of it.

He looked at me then.

Not with lust.

With knowing.

Dante

The air between us was a blade—sharp and gleaming.

“You lie beautifully,” I murmured, “but not well.”

She turned sharply, ready to leave. I moved fast. My hand met the door before hers did.

We were close. Too close.

The scent of her skin—the defiance in her breath—was maddening. She made me want to destroy every boundary I had set.

I leaned in.

“I should let you go,” I whispered against her ear. “But I don’t want to.”

Seraphina’s eyes shimmered with fury and something she couldn’t name.

“You don’t get to decide what I feel.”

“No. But I see it.” My voice was low. “I see how your body betrays your mind. How your pulse hammers when I speak your name. You want to run, but something in you stays.”

She shoved me back—not gently.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed.

I smiled.

She was magnificent in her rage.

Seraphina

I stormed down the hallway, my heart pounding like a war drum.

But I didn’t feel safer away from him. I felt haunted.

His words were inside me now. His presence lingered under my skin.

I reached my chamber, slammed the door, and braced myself against it.

What was happening to me?

What was he?

He wasn't merely a man. He was a force. A storm. A soul-shatterer.