His Shirt And Gaze

  What game is this now? she wondered bitterly, her contempt bubbling back to the surface. Of course, this entire situation was by his design. 

  The overbearing bastard had likely ensured they shared the same space to keep her under his thumb. 

  She imagined the smug conversations he must have had, ordering everyone to keep her in his proximity.

  She drew in a deep breath, inhaling slowly as she fought to calm herself. 

  They think keeping me near the strongest will stop me from running? They think I won’t find a way out?

  Her jaw tightened, and she steeled herself. I’ll show them just how wrong they are.

  With her composure somewhat regained, she sauntered toward the bathroom, forcing herself to move with deliberate confidence. 

  Her chin lifted, her steps measured, her expression schooled into one of icy indifference.

  Adolphus was nowhere to be seen as she reached the bathroom door. 

  She didn’t know whether to feel relief or irritation that he hadn’t thrown some arrogant comment her way.

  Without hesitating, she slipped into the bathroom and locked the door firmly behind her. 

  Only then did she let out a shaky sigh, her forehead pressing against the cool wood of the door.

  The air in the small room was thick with steam and the faint, lingering scent of his soap—a warm, masculine scent that somehow made her stomach twist again. 

  She shook her head, annoyed at her own reaction, and pushed away from the door.

  She caught sight of herself in the mirror and frowned. Her golden hair was disheveled, sticking in messy clumps, and her face was pale and drawn. 

  The dark circles under her eyes were evidence of another sleepless night.

  Seraphina sighed and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. 

  The water running from the tap called to her, and she leaned down to splash it on her face, determined to wash away more than just the grime clinging to her skin. 

  It’s just a beginning, she thought. One day, I’ll make them all regret keeping me here.

  Seraphina stepped out of the bathroom, clutching the towel tightly around her body. 

  Her damp hair clung to her shoulders, and the cool air prickled her skin. 

  She cast a disdainful look at the pile of clothes she’d been given earlier. 

  The fabric was flimsy, the cut too revealing—it was as if they’d deliberately tried to humiliate her.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line as she weighed her options. 

  Staying wrapped in a towel wasn’t practical, and wearing those ridiculous scraps wasn’t an option either. 

  Her pride wouldn’t allow it. She sighed, her thoughts churning as she decided on a course of action.

  There was only one person she could demand answers from in this miserable place. And as much as it grated on her, that person was Adolphus.

  Grumbling under her breath, she made her way to his room. 

  The idea of asking him for anything made her stomach churn, but desperation had a way of softening the edges of her defiance—if only for a moment.

  Reaching his door, she hesitated briefly before rapping her knuckles against the wood.

  “Knock… knock…”

  She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes at how long it took for a response. Just as she was about to knock again, his voice drifted lazily through the door.

  “Come in.”

  Pushing the door open, she stepped inside to find him sitting on the edge of his bed. 

  He was in a plain black T-shirt, his dark hair messy and tousled, like he’d just rolled out of bed. 

  He looked up, his brows lifting slightly at the sight of her.

  She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Where are my clothes?”

  Her tone was sharp, demanding. She hadn’t even thought about softening it. Why should she?

  Adolphus blinked, momentarily caught off guard, his eyes flickering to the towel wrapped around her. “Your clothes are…”

  He faltered, his words trailing off as his gaze lingered a moment too long.

  “Yes, my clothes. Where?” she snapped, her frustration bubbling over. “Are you deaf, or just slow?”

  His lips quirked into the faintest smirk, but he quickly masked it, standing and heading toward his wardrobe. “You should wear mine,” he said over his shoulder.

  She folded her arms, her glare icy. “Why would I wear your clothes? Where are mine?”

  “They’re torn,” he replied simply, his voice calm, almost too calm, as if he found her outrage amusing.

  Her jaw tightened. “I’ll wear them torn, then.”

  Adolphus turned, one brow arching as if to challenge her resolve. “Why not wear what the village provided?”

  Her cheeks burned at the thought, a faint blush creeping across her face. She averted her eyes and muttered, “They’re too exposing.”

  His smirk returned, this time a little wider. “Ah,” he said knowingly. He pulled a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from his wardrobe and tossed them onto the bed. “Wear these, then.”

  She scowled at the offered clothing. “I don’t want yours. I want mine.”

  Ignoring her protest, he headed toward the door. “Wear them or not. Up to you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he was already leaving. 

  He paused briefly in the doorway, his dark eyes meeting hers with a flicker of amusement. “You’ll look good in them, Butterfly,” he said before disappearing down the hall.

  Seraphina stood frozen for a moment, her fists clenching at her sides. Butterfly. Again with that stupid name.

  Her eyes darted to the clothes on the bed, then back to the door. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, still hear the cocky undertone in his voice.

  “What an infuriating man,” she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek.

  But no matter how much she hated to admit it, he was right about one thing: she didn’t have any other options. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she grabbed the T-shirt and shorts.

  As she slipped them on, her mind replayed the interaction. 

  Why does he always look at me like that? And why, of all things, did I blush?

  She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he got under her skin.

  Pulling the oversized T-shirt over her head, she caught her reflection in the mirror. 

  It was annoyingly comfortable, and worse—it smelled like him.