8

Jennifer ’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flickered to the door—just a crack open, an invitation or a mistake. She’d always respected Bella’s boundaries, never daring to venture into that one room. It had always been locked, its contents a mystery that lingered in the back of her mind, taunting her. But now, the door stood ajar, offering a glimpse into the unknown.

Her heart pounded in her chest as her curiosity nudged her forward. She should leave. She knew she should. This was a violation of Bella’s privacy. But something in her couldn’t resist. Something darker, more urgent.

Jennifer hesitated, biting her lip as she glanced down the hall. The house was quiet, too quiet. The soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of a clock ticking were the only sounds. She took a step closer, almost instinctively, before her hand reached for the doorknob.

With a deep breath, she pushed the door open slightly more, just enough to peer inside.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in soft, golden light from a lamp on the far side. There was a large desk cluttered with papers, books, and what looked like a few personal mementos. The room was far from the sterile, cold office she’d imagined—it was cozy, almost lived-in, yet held a mysterious aura, one that made Jennifer ’s pulse quicken. But what really caught her attention were the shelves lining the walls, filled with old, dusty books and various artifacts. At the back of the room, a large, leather armchair faced a window, its back to her, as though someone had just left in a hurry.

Jennifer stepped inside, her mind racing as she tried to piece together what this room could possibly be. She couldn’t see much—just a few details, a glimpse of something more. Her curiosity got the best of her, and before she could second-guess herself, she moved further into the room.

Her gaze fell on a large, wooden drawer slightly pulled out. The papers on top of it looked important, official even, and something about them felt significant. Maybe they were just bills, or files—nothing too personal, right?

But then she saw it.

A thick folder, marked with a single word in bold, dark letters: Santoro.

Her stomach flipped. The folder wasn’t just any random file—it looked private. Confidential. But she couldn’t stop herself. She reached for it.

The moment her fingers grazed the folder, she heard a voice behind her.

“Jennifer .”

Her blood ran cold, and she froze.

Vincent .

He was standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his eyes locked on hers. There was no anger, no immediate reaction—just a cool, steady gaze that sent shivers down her spine. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Time seemed to stretch out between them, the tension hanging thick in the air.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Jennifer ’s mind raced, scrambling for an explanation, an excuse. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting—disappointment? Anger? Maybe even amusement?

But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, too calm.

“Why are you in here, Jennifer ?”

Jennifer ’s breath hitched in her throat, and she quickly placed the folder back on the desk, as if it had burned her. She couldn’t meet his gaze, her mind too fogged with embarrassment and guilt.

“I—” She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “I didn’t mean to… I just… I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have come in.”

Vincent stepped forward, his presence filling the small room. His eyes softened, but there was something intense in them that made her heart race.

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing,” he said quietly, his voice low and almost dangerous. “Sometimes, it’s better not to know.”

Jennifer felt a wave of heat rush to her cheeks, a mix of shame and something else—something electric. She couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him, that strange, magnetic attraction that had been growing between them. She didn’t know what it meant, or what was happening, but she couldn’t stop it.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. “I shouldn’t have… invaded your privacy.”

Vincent didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, slowly, he walked closer to her, his footsteps deliberate, steady.

“You’re not a child anymore, Jennifer ,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to apologize to me. But you do need to understand boundaries.”

Jennifer ’s heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, the words lingering in the air between them. There was no anger, just a quiet intensity that made her feel exposed in ways she hadn’t expected.

He stopped just a few feet away from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, but far enough that the space between them still felt charged. She could barely breathe, her mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. She wanted to apologize again, to explain, but the words were stuck in her throat.

Instead, she simply nodded, unable to speak.

“Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Vincent said, his tone more casual now, though there was still that underlying tension in his words. “It’s getting late.”

Jennifer ’s throat tightened. She knew she should leave, knew it was the right thing to do. But there was a part of her that didn’t want to. Didn’t want this moment to end.

As she turned to leave, she felt Vincent ’s eyes on her, watching her every move. The weight of his gaze lingered on her back as she exited the room, her heart pounding in her chest.

But as she stepped out into the hallway, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Something unspoken. Something that would haunt her.

And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for whatever came next.