Chapter 4
Evelyne sat rigid at the dining table, absently pushing her eggs around her plate, her appetite nowhere to be found.
The morning sun poured through the tall windows, its warmth doing little to thaw the icy tension in the room.
Across from her, her mother sipped tea indifferently while her father and sister sat silently.
Cillian’s absence loomed over them, but no one spoke of it. The events of the previous night still echoed in Evelyne’s mind: the shattering glass, the blood on his hands, and his dazed, haunted expression. The healers had whispered among themselves through the night, but no answers had come.
Finally, her mother broke the silence. “Evelyne,” she began, her tone far too casual, “you left the ball early last night. How do you expect to find a husband behaving so… erratically?”
Evelyne’s fork clattered against her plate. “Cillian smashed through a glass door last night, Mother. He’s ill again, and no one knows why. And this is what you want to talk about?”
Her mother’s jaw tightened, but her expression didn’t falter. “Relax, dear. Boys his age often go through strange phases. What he needs is rest.” She paused. “And what you need is to start thinking about your future.”
“My future?” Evelyne’s voice rose, her hands trembling with frustration. “How can you sit there pretending nothing’s wrong while your son—”
“That’s enough!” her mother hissed. “You will not raise your voice at me. I care about Cillian, but he is being looked after. Meanwhile, you have responsibilities. Lord Ivan Bavrick spoke with me last night, you know.” She paused again. “He has asked for your hand in marriage.”
Aurelia gasped, her eyes widening as she looked from their mother to Evelyne in disbelief. “Mother… no,” she whispered, the words barely audible but laden with shock.
Evelyne’s heart sank as nausea churned in her stomach. “Lord Bavrick?” she managed to choke out. “You can’t be serious.”
“He’s a respected man,” her mother replied smoothly, setting her teacup down. “Wealthy, influential, and eager to unite our families. You should consider yourself lucky.”
“Lucky?” Evelyne’s voice broke, her anger spilling over. “He’s repulsive! You’re trying to sell me off like some—”
“This ends now, Evelyne,” her mother interrupted again, her eyes narrowing. “You will not embarrass this family. If you continue this childish behavior, I will have no choice but to take Lord Bavrick’s offer more seriously.”
Evelyne rose abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the polished floor as she pushed it back. Her gaze, full of disbelief, settled upon her father.
“And what are your thoughts on the matter?”
He did not immediately respond. Instead, he continued his meal as though her question were of little consequence before lifting his eyes to meet hers.
With a shrug, he said, “I believe it is high time you secured a husband. And if Bavrick is the only gentleman to have sought your hand by the season’s end, you would do well to consider his proposal. ”
Evelyne scoffed. The mere thought of binding herself to that man was unthinkable… laughable, even. But she knew well enough that further protest would be met with the same unyielding stance.
She drew a steady breath, schooling her expression. “Perhaps we might revisit this conversation when both of you have regained your senses.” With that, she turned, ready to step away before her temper overtook her.
“Where do you think you’re going?” her mother demanded. “I did not excuse you.”
“I’m going out,” Evelyne snapped, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
“Don’t even think about going on one of your reckless runs. A noble lady should not behave in such a manner,” her mother warned.
Evelyne laughed and shook her head as she turned away. She left the dining room without another word.
***
The darkness was endless, like a heavy, suffocating void. Cillian stood barefoot on a slick, glassy surface that reflected nothing but shadows. The air was full of whispers, words curling around him like smoke. Then, a sweet, silky voice cut through the haze.
“My, my… look at you,” it purred, dripping with dangerous seduction. “So strong now. So handsome. And yet… still invisible.”
A pale figure emerged from the dark, her icy white hair catching the faintest light, her silver eyes gleaming with an unnatural fire.
Her beauty was eerie and irresistible, drawing both admiration and fear as she glided in a slow circle around him.
Her cool fingers began grazing his arm. The touch sent a shiver deep into his bones, warning of her power and the danger she embodied.
“They don’t see you, do they?” she murmured. “Not truly. A shadow at the edge of their perfect little world. No one believes you could ever be good enough. A lord? You? Oh, how they laugh at the thought.”
Cillian’s fists clenched. “That’s not true,” he managed, though his voice wavered.
“Isn’t it?” she teased, leaning close, her breath warm against his ear. “Your dear sisters, both beautiful. Admired. Loved. While you… What are you, Cillian? A burden? Even they know it. Your father knows it, too.”
“Stop,” he growled, but doubt gnawed at him.
The world tilted, and suddenly he found himself in the manor’s glass-walled foyer, facing the stone patio beyond. The doors loomed tall, glittering faintly in the gloom. Her laughter echoed around him, filling his head.
“Prove them wrong,” she said. “Show them how strong you really are. Go on… make them look. Make them see you.”
“Leave me alone,” he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. “This isn’t real. It’s just a dream.” He clung to the words like a lifeline.
“Oh?” Her voice curled around him. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?”
He moved without thought, like something else controlled his movements.
His hands slammed into the glass. The shattering sound was deafening, and shards of glass rained like jagged stars.
He stared at his bloodstained hands while the warm crimson flowed freely and pooled at his feet.
The sharp metallic scent quickly invaded his senses, yet no pain registered.
Only a numb detachment as the blood traced slow, intricate paths down his skin.
“Cillian!”
Evelyne’s panicked voice broke through. Dark, inky mist coiled from his thoughts, clinging stubbornly, like it had burrowed too deep to ever truly let go.
Then the trance shattered, and reality came crashing back.
Evelyne was there, her voice trembling as she called his name, but all Cillian could do was stare at the blood—his blood—pooling beneath him.
***
The morning sun crept into the room as Cillian’s eyes fluttered open.
His breaths came in short, uneven bursts.
The nightmare clung to him, and his mind reeled with the woman’s words.
He looked down at his bandaged hands, the dull ache a cruel reminder of what had happened.
Beside him lay a tray of untouched food and a tonic on the nightstand. He turned away, his throat tightening.
The hallucinations had started a week ago, creeping into his mind with whispers that slithered like venom through his thoughts.
He had tried to push them away, desperate not to worry Evelyne or cast a shadow over her season.
But last night, they had twisted into something far worse.
It felt like something was festering inside him, an infection with teeth.
A parasite that writhed beneath his skin, feeding and waiting.
Like something not entirely his own… something demonic.
He’d caught the way Evelyne watched him in the library yesterday, her eyes full of concern as he struggled to mask his vacant stares. She had seen it. And he knew the truth wouldn’t stay hidden from her much longer. Frustration curled hot in his chest. Why am I such a burden?
Pain flared through his arms as he slowly pushed himself upright. “It’s not real,” he muttered. He drew in a shaky breath and whispered it again, desperately this time. “It’s not real.”