Chapter 7 Elle
Elle
After the day out, my mind feels different, cleared somehow, like something inside me finally let go.
The mansion glows in the late evening light, quiet and still, as if it’s waiting for me to step back inside. When I do, I see it differently now. It feels more like home.
I stare at the grand staircase. It curves upward with its polished steps catching the chandelier’s shimmer. The railing is intricate, like twisted vines.
I drift forward slowly, the hall stretching ahead.
Every door looks the same. The whole place feels suspended, yet the silence wraps around me like a familiar kind of hush.
There are paintings. Portraits in golden frames, landscapes tucked into corners, all arranged perfectly.
The faces inside them don’t smile. Their eyes don’t blink.
But I still feel them watching as I pass.
Some are beautiful. Others make me stop and stare. They all have a signature of a cursive J on the bottom left, hardly noticeable.
Then I hear footsteps behind me. It’s Stan. He parked the bike while I walked ahead. Now, his presence moves in behind me.
“You’re not about to disappear on me now, are you?” His voice carries across the hallway, sounding amused.
I turn, and I see him fully, with that smile of his, casual and crooked.
His mouth curves into a smirk. “Like what you see, Elle?”
I blink. “I—” My voice catches. I clear my throat. “I was just—”
“Checking me out?” His smirk widens.
I don’t deny it. Can’t, really. Heat blooms across my cheeks. He steps a little closer.
“I was hoping,” he says, “you’d stick by my side a little longer.”
My fingers curl against the fabric of my shirt. I glance past him, but only for a second, thinking I’ve seen a shadow. Then I look back at him.
Stan tilts his head back, studying me like I’m something he’s half-solved, when I haven’t even figured out what’s going on with me. “You like movies?” he asks.
I nod, unsure where this is going. But I feel flustered under his gaze again.
“Perfect. Watch one with me.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Why not? I don’t want the night to end yet.” Then he leans in. “Do you?”
My lips part. I try to answer, but nothing comes out. I should say no. I should be more cautious. Clo might be back soon, and Stan has been flirting with me all day. But he’s watching me now like he already knows I’ll say yes. And the strange thing is…I want to.
I try to keep my voice steady. “What kind of movie?”
He taps his chin in thought. “Something thrilling. Y’know, so I have an excuse to check on you if you get scared. Maybe even hold your hand.”
A short laugh escapes before I can catch it. “That’s…shameless.”
“And you’re adorable when you blush.”
I don’t know what to say to that. My face is already warm.
“Come on, Elle,” he says, coaxing. “Just one movie.”
Before I can decide, before I can overthink it, his fingers brush my wrist, light but sure, and then I’m moving, following him.
We take the stairs up, and at the landing, the butler appears, his posture perfectly trained.
“Good evening, Miss Elle. Mister Stanley. Madam Clo sends her regrets. She won’t be joining you tonight.
Urgent matters to attend.” Then he disappears, walking down the opposite way.
Stan barely hides the smile tugging at his mouth. He turns to me, eyes alight. “Well,” he says. “Would you look at that? Just the two of us tonight.”
My fingers curl slightly. “I…guess so.”
He winks. “Guess that means we can get up to all sorts of trouble.”
The words are playful. But the look he gives me is warm and wicked. Stan leads me down a quiet hallway, fingers still brushing my wrist. His pace is relaxed, but soon, he stops at a door. We’re on the bedroom floor for the family. Mine is down below in the guest suite.
“So…are we still watching that movie?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Stan turns. His grin softens. “Course we are. Can’t wait to show you the setup. It’s perfect.”
The door swings open. And it truly is incredible, big and bold. Definitely not a guest room like mine. He’s already settling onto the edge of the bed. I hover in the doorway for a second too long.
“You’re the youngest. You probably get the nicest room,” I say before I can stop myself. I wince immediately, pressing my lips together. That was supposed to stay in my head, but Stan’s presence made it so easy to slip out of me.
He smirks, smug. “Hell, yeah, I do. But I earn it.” He pats the space next to him. “C’mere, Elle.”
I raise a brow but before I can decide, he presses a button. A projector whirs to life. Lights dim. A screen unfurls from the ceiling.
“See?” he says. “Perfect. Now get over here before I start thinking you’re intimidated by how hot I am.”
I try not to smile, failing completely. “You really think that…?”
He shrugs, abs just barely peeking as he adjusts. “You don’t?”
He leans back like he owns the world, and maybe, for a second, it feels like I’m part of it.
“Alright,” he says. “You pick the movie.”
I blink. “Me?”
“Only rule is it has to be something scary. No boring stuff. I want jump scares, suspense, and excuses.” He grins. “To pull you closer.”
“Shameless…” I murmur, but I take the remote anyway.
“Oh, you love it.”
I pretend not to notice him stretching even more, his shirt riding up. I definitely don’t stare.
“Elle?” He sounds so amused.
“I’m picking,” I say quickly, randomly choosing the first horror title.
When our eyes meet again, his gaze dips. “You scare easy, Elle?”
My throat feels tight. I don’t answer.
He slides closer. “If something gets to you, lean on me, yeah?”
I nod.
He smiles, patting the pillow beside him. “Come on. Just in case.”
I sit, not too close, but close enough. The screen flickers, casting a cold blue light across the dim room.
The movie plays. Shadows stretch with every jump scare.
The eerie soundtrack hums low, tension building on screen.
But I can’t seem to focus on it. Stan sits beside me, relaxed, arm slung across the headboard, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, even without touching.
“You okay there, Elle?” he murmurs, still sounding amused.
I quickly face forward. “I’m fine.”
“Mm-hmm.” He hums. “You looked like you were about to jump on my lap.”
I scoff softly. “I did not.”
He chuckles. It’s warm. He’s warm. “Liar. But hey, I wouldn’t mind if you needed to hold on to me again.”
His grin is playful, and I can’t help but smile a little.
A shriek bursts from the speakers. I startle, and my hand grabs his thick arm. He stills, then leans into the touch, flexing ever so slightly. “See?” he teases.
Heat floods my face. I try to pull away, but his fingers curl around mine, light and easy. He doesn’t let go.
“You don’t have to,” he says softly, less teasing now.
His thumb brushes the back of my hand. Slow, steady, and for once, so is my heart. So I don’t pull away.
His touch stays warm and gentle. “This feels right,” he says with a light sigh.
I don’t know what to say.
He smiles. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I can wait.”
I glance down at our hands, entwined now. I look back up. He’s just watching, as if merely being here is enough.
We settle back into the movie, and Stan doesn’t miss a beat, turning every scene of horror into a joke.
“Their scary guy is a sniper?” he mocks. “He’s holding his gun like a baguette. He’s gonna shoot his own damn face.”
I snort silently. What makes him the expert?
“Now the hero’s running like he’s got bricks in his shoes,” he mutters, and I laugh. When the final girl screams, he throws up his hands. “There it is! That’s the right reaction to finding out your boyfriend’s a zombie.”
I shake my head, barely biting back a smile. “You’re ruining the tension.”
“I’m enhancing it.” He gasps, mock-offended. “You need joy with your terror, Elle. It’s called balance.”
By the time the credits roll, I feel lighter. I forgot how good it feels to just laugh.
Stan stretches, stands, then offers me his hand. “C’mon, I’ll walk ya.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I wanna.”
I let him help me up, his hand warm around mine as we step out into the quiet hallway, then the stairs going down. We walk in step as he follows me to my room.
When we reach my door, he stops. “Well,” he says, “this is where I dramatically exit.”
I smile. “Thanks for today.”
He watches me for a while, then nods. “Anytime.”
He steps back, hesitates for a second, then turns, walking into the dark.
I stay there, unmoving. My fingers still tingle where he held them.
When I enter my room, everything’s been prepared. Fresh flowers leave a scent in the air, a cup of tea waiting on a plugged mug warmer, and a folded note from Clo on my nightstand.
I open it. Her handwriting is perfect in looping, careful cursive.
My apologies for not being able to accompany you tonight. I hope Stanley treated you well. Good night, darling girl.
I blink, rereading it. Why couldn’t she join me?
It’s strange. I don’t remember much these days, but Clo’s always been close by. Always beside me. That’s never changed…has it?
A quiet ache grips my chest. My breath catches. It feels tight, too tight. Did I do something wrong?
Her voice isn’t in the room, but her words are. I reach for them like rope, hoping the threads haven’t frayed.
But I’m being silly. A bit paranoid. Yes, perhaps I’m being a bit paranoid.
I glance at the tea. I know what to do. I should drink the tea. Like I always do. Like I’m supposed to. I like tea. I love tea. Clo said so. She knows me best. And I trust her more than I trust myself.
An ache curls in my chest, like I’ve almost remembered something important, but it slips away.
I lift the cup and take a sip. It’s bitter at first. Then sweet, much sweeter as I reach the honey at the bottom. Warmth spreads through me, lethargic and heavy. My limbs relax. The weight in my chest slips away. The tea makes everything better.
I set the empty cup down, crawl into the sheets, and let my eyes close. Sleep pulls me under before I can wonder why my thoughts feel so light and easy.