Page 17

EMMA

I t’s Friday evening.

My stomach twists with nerves. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Whenever I have to do something outside my comfort zone, I overthink every little detail until I drive myself crazy.

Tonight is my first night at the gentlemen’s club.

“Can you read me another story, Miss Turner?” James asks.

I check the time on my new phone. True to his word, Mr. Sinclair got me a brand new phone. I’ve never owned anything this expensive before.

“I have to leave now, but I’ll read you an extra story on Sunday night,” I say.

“Do you really have to go?” James asks softly.

“It’s just for one day,” I say. “You have all of your fun activities tomorrow,so you’ll barely miss me.”

“I’ll miss you,” James says, stacking his hands over his chest and blinking up at me. The kids don’t have school tomorrow, but they have about seven classes, from morning yoga to piano lessons before dinner.

“I’ll miss you too, my little jellybean,” I say.

I’m about to stand, but he places his small hand over mine, holding me hostage in the cutest way.

I’m going to be late if I don’t leave soon, but I can stay for another minute.

“Tell me which class you’re most excited about tomorrow,” I say,pushing his soft hair away from his face.

The light in his eyes dims.

“He doesn’t like any of the classes,” his sister answers for him. She’s on the other twin bed, reading a book she got from the school library.

“Is that true?” I ask James.

James frowns like he’s been reprimanded. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says, averting his gaze.

“Yeah huh,” Rosalie says. “I know you don’t like any of them.”

This admission doesn’t sit right with me.I’m aware that the kids have a lot of extracurriculars and tutors for various classes, but I assumed they were actually interested in all of the classes.

“What about you, Rosalie?” I ask.

“What about me?”

“Do you like any of the classes?”

“I love horse riding,” she says. “But it’s right after martial arts, so my legs hurt when I sit in the saddle.”

I want to have a word with Mr. Sinclair about this, but I’ve only been here a week. I don’t want him to think that I’m overstepping again.

“We’ll carve the pumpkins and put up the decorations when I get back,” I say. “Okay?”

“Can we make more cookies, too?” James asks.

The cookies were a big hit with everyone. Rosalie took most of them to school the next day, but we still had plenty left over. They just didn’t last very long.

“Only if you’re a good boy while I’m gone,” I say, tickling his belly.

He giggles and smiles up at me.

“Good night, Miss Turner,” he says.

I say good night to the kids. Even Rosalie gives me a shy smile. She doesn’t completely hate my existence now, so I guess we’re making progress.

I softly close the door behind me.

I’ve only been here a week, but I’m already protective over the kids. They’re not my own, but I would still go to war for them.

That includes confronting their grumpy uncle, who’s been avoiding me like the plague.

I haven’t seen him since the evening we went to the mall for Halloween decorations. He’s gone back to having his meals inside his study. Even though we’re living under the same roof, our paths haven’t crossed even once.

I’m walking back to my room when a peculiar noise stops me dead in my tracks.

It came from inside one of the locked rooms.

The noise echoes in my head like a bad omen. It sounded like a muffled scream. I strain my ears to hear it again, but there’s nothing.

I touch the door. It feels like ice underneath my fingertips.

I have no business being here. I know that.

But at the same time, Ican’t bring myself to walk away. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something on the other side of the door. And it’s been waiting for me.

I try to open the door.

It doesn’t budge.

I startle when I hear the muffled scream again. This time, my ears pick up another noise—footsteps coming up the staircase behind me. I should walk away from this room, but I don’t want to.

I give the door another push.

And this time, it gives. It opens with such a force that I’m nearly flung into the room.

The first thing I notice is the silence. It feels almost oppressive, like the calm before a storm. Like the few quiet seconds before an argument erupts.

I carefully close the door and stare at it.

Something about the way the door just opened is odd. It’s almost like someone opened it for me from inside.

Footsteps echo down the corridor.

I wait with bated breath.

“Yes, the gardeners are scheduled to arrive early tomorrow morning.” It’s Helena, and it sounds like she’s talking on the phone with someone.

“And if Suarez comes back, don’t let him in.

I caught him loitering near Klaus’s study last week.

I fired him immediately, but he claims he’s innocent and wasn’t trying to steal anything. ”

There’s a pause.

“Yes, I need a replacement. Someone who can mind their own business would be best.”

Her voice fades into the background as she walks out of my hearing range.

I place my hand against my chest, feeling the loud thumping of my heart. My eyes have gotten used to the darkness in here, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

Moonlight from an open window spills across the floorboards. The shadows on the walls appear to be moving.The logical part of my brain tells me that it’s just the shadow of the billowing curtain, but it feels like something else is in this room with me.

A faint perfume lingers in the air—warm vanilla and nutmeg.

My eyes sweep around the rest of the room.The opposite wall is a towering built-in bookshelf, packed with thousands of books—enough to rival a small library.Their spines are a riot of faded colors.They call to me, but I resist the temptation.

A canopy bed stands in the center of the room, draped by heavy, moth-eaten curtains. Beside it, a vanity table rests, its mirror clouded with age.

I walk toward the table with my heart hammering in my chest.

This is someone’s old bedroom. And I have a feeling I know exactly who it belonged to.

The vanity still holds traces of its past owner—a collection of lipsticks, a compact mirror, and an empty perfume bottle. There’s a velvet armchair in front of it, turned at an angle, like someone left it that way and never came back.

As my eyes adjust to the dark, I start making out the shadows on the walls. Some of them aren’t shadows but paintings.

My heart stops when I see the giant portrait. There are cobwebs around the edge of the frame. I hold my breath as the details show themselves to me.

It’s of a younger Klaus with his sister.

I thought Klaus had striking features, but his sister has an almost otherworldly beauty. She’s ethereal with raven hair, porcelain skin, and striking blue-gray eyes.

She also looks familiar. It dawns on me that Rosalie is the spitting image of her.

It makes more sense now why I got the impression that Klaus was avoiding the kids. They look so much like the sister he lost. Maybe it’s hard for him to look at them without thinking of her.

I startle when I hear something behind me. It sounded like it came from inside the room. Fear keeps me frozen to the spot.

I hear the scream again.

Only this time, it’s not muffled.

I glance at the open window. What I heard was only the sound of the wind howling outside. It rises to a shrill scream before dipping into a low, mournful wail, as if the sky itself is crying out.

I should close the windows and leave this room before someone finds me in here.

Just as I move toward the window, my hip bumps against the edge of the dressing table.

A drawer slides open, revealing a leather-bound book inside. It’s wrapped shut with a leather cord. A chill passes down my spine as I stare at it.

I feel an inexplicable pull toward the book. As though it’s calling to me.

The air is heavy with anticipation, and it doesn’t feel like it’s my own.

I’m being watched.

I shake that intrusive thought away before I give myself a heart attack.

I stare at the book.I really shouldn’t. It’s crossing every boundary. It’s completely unprofessional.

But so were the words he whispered in my ear when we were alone. So was the way he wrapped his hand around my neck.

I reach for the book.

It’s not like I have any bad intentions. I’m not going to sell his family secrets to the media. I’m just curious about Mr. Sinclair.

I hold the book up in front of me.

Moonlight falls on the surface. The pages look worn like they’ve been touched often. I know that this isn’t just any book. It’s someone’s diary.

Just as I tug at the leather cord, I hear a creaking noise on the other side of the door.

I hide the book inside my cardigan seconds before the door slams open.

Light tumbles into the room, nearly blinding me. A dark shadow looms in the doorway.

“Explain yourself,” he growls.

My mouth dries up instantly. I have no words to defend myself with.

“I’ll only ask you this once,” he says. “What the hell are you doing inside this room, Emma?”

“I was just...”

He steps inside, and I feel that tug in my belly again. The intensity of my desire nearly sweeps me off my feet.

“Just what?” he asks. “Looking for something you can pawn off for extra cash?”

“What?” The meaning of his words sinks in. “I would never.”

“Then what were you doing in here?”

The wind outside howls even louder than before, making the noise echo in the room.

“I heard that noise,” I say. “It sounded like a wounded animal, so I came in to investigate.”

He watches me through slitted eyes.

“And where did you find the key to open the room?” he questions.

“It was already open when I came in,” I reply.

“Was it now?” He studies me through slitted, untrusting eyes.

If he stares at me for long enough, I’m afraid he might see right through me.

“I should probably get going,” I say softly.

“I didn’t dismiss you yet,” he says, moving closer toward me.