chapter 8

I woke up to a strange sensation, a heaviness in my chest that I couldn’t quite explain. My body ached, though not in the way it had after the surgery. This was different. My skin felt warm to the touch, almost feverish, and my heart was racing as if I’d been running.

Sitting up, I pressed a hand to my forehead. No sweat, no chills, just an odd warmth that didn’t make sense.

“Probably a cold,” I muttered to myself, though deep down, I wasn’t sure.

The Moretti mansion was quiet as I wandered into the hall. I didn’t have the energy for one of my usual explorations. All I wanted was a cup of tea and maybe a good book to distract me from the weird sensations coursing through my body.

In the kitchen, a maid greeted me with a polite, “Good morning, Mrs. Moretti.”

I cringed. The title still felt foreign, wrong. “Good morning,” I replied, forcing a small smile.

As she prepared my tea, I leaned against the counter, trying to ignore the way my heart fluttered in an erratic rhythm. What was wrong with me?

The answer, of course, came in the form of the man who walked through the doors.

Alaric.

He was dressed in a dark suit, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d been working all night. His grey eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, something flickered in his gaze—concern? No, it couldn’t be.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone as cold as ever.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. “You look pale.”

“I feel fine,” I lied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I felt... off.

He walked closer, and the air seemed to thicken. My skin tingled, heat rushing to my cheeks as his presence overwhelmed me. It wasn’t normal, this reaction I had to him.

“You’re not fine,” he said, his voice lower now.

“I told you, it’s just a cold,” I snapped, irritated by his scrutiny.

He stepped even closer, his towering figure making me feel small. His scent—leather and something darker, richer—invaded my senses. I felt dizzy, the strange warmth in my chest intensifying.

His hand shot out, brushing against my forehead before I could stop him. The contact sent a jolt through me, like static electricity but so much more intense.

“You’re burning up,” he said, his tone sharper now.

I slapped his hand away, my frustration boiling over. “I’m fine, Alaric. Stop acting like you care.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it, stepping back and adjusting his tie. “Do whatever you want,” he said, his voice cold again. “Just don’t faint in my kitchen.”

I glared at him as he turned and walked away, my heart pounding from more than just anger.

The day dragged on, and the strange sensations only grew worse. My body felt too warm, my chest tight, my head fuzzy. I tried to distract myself by reading, but even the words on the page blurred together.

By the time night fell, I was exhausted. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess.

Alaric had been avoiding me all day. Not that I cared, of course. If anything, I was relieved not to have his penetrating gaze and cryptic remarks making me feel even more unbalanced.

But the way he’d looked at me in the kitchen, the brief flicker of something almost... protective—it haunted me.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I woke up, it was to the sound of voices outside my door.

“She’s getting worse,” someone said. It was a man, his voice low and gruff.

“She’ll survive,” Alaric replied, his tone cold but tight.

“Not for long,” the other man said. “You know what’s happening. If you don’t—”

“That’s enough,” Alaric growled, cutting him off.

I sat up, my heart pounding. Were they talking about me? What did he mean, I wouldn’t survive?

The door opened suddenly, and Alaric stepped in, his expression unreadable.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Clearly,” I replied, pulling the blanket tighter around me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Alaric,” I said, my voice firm. “If something’s wrong with me, I have a right to know.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tell me. But then he shook his head.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice softer now. “Just... get some rest.”

He turned to leave, but I wasn’t done.

“Why do I feel like this?” I asked, my voice breaking. “It’s not normal. I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.”

He paused in the doorway, his shoulders tense. “You’ll feel better soon.”

And then he was gone, leaving me more confused and frustrated than ever.

The next day, I tried to push past the strange sensations, but my body had other plans. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus, couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was maddening, this pull I felt toward him, this ache that only seemed to intensify whenever he was near.

By the time evening rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed answers.

I found him in his study, leaning over his desk with a glass of whiskey in hand.

“We need to talk,” I said, walking in without knocking.

He didn’t look up. “I’m busy.”

“I don’t care,” I snapped. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”

He sighed, setting the glass down and finally meeting my gaze. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Stop dodging the question, Alaric,” I said, stepping closer. “Why do I feel like this?”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tell me. But then he shook his head.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said.

“Try me.”

He stood, his presence overwhelming as he closed the distance between us. “You’re not ready for the truth, Vanessa.”

I glared at him, refusing to back down. “I deserve to know. If this is because of you, if you did something to me—”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Then why do I feel like I’m dying every time you’re near me?” I shot back.

His eyes softened for just a moment before he masked it with his usual coldness. “You’ll feel better soon,” he said again, as if that was supposed to be comforting.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The sparks were there again, igniting every nerve in my body.

“You should stay away from me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why?” I whispered back, my heart racing.

“Because I’m not what you think I am,” he said, stepping back.

Before I could say anything else, he walked out, leaving me alone with more questions than answers.

As I lay in bed that night, the ache in my chest intensified. I clutched the pillow tightly, tears streaming down my face as I tried to make sense of it all.

Alaric was hiding something. Something big. And whatever it was, it was tearing me apart. Maybe he had poisoned me now that he had my lung ...the man was capable of anything .