12. Chapter Twelve - Silent Yearning #3
Last night, curiosity had gotten the better of me.
I’d searched his name impulsively, half-serious and driven by Kiera’s warnings along with my own restless need to know more.
Culver Scarbrough wasn’t just another name on a university roster.
He existed somewhere high above ordinary society, a reclusive figure occasionally caught in expensive settings while tabloid cameras snapped blurry glimpses of him as if he were some kind of ghost in designer clothing.
There were articles. Hundreds of them. Every click led to five more, all packed with speculation about his sexuality, his preferences, and the way he dressed.
The obsession behind it made my skin crawl.
Yet for all the digging people had done, nothing truly dark surfaced.
No mentions of violence. No scandals. No broken wrists.
Nothing that hinted at the man I’d just watched snap without hesitation.
He came across like some phantom prince, flawless and completely out of reach.
The only thing that stood out as strange was his family.
Rupert appeared in vague, unclear contexts more often than not, and then there was Soroush, always mentioned but never shown, reduced to sparse references and polished blurbs with no photos or interviews attached.
It felt less like privacy and more like someone had scrubbed the internet clean of anything genuine.
Then there were the women. Rumored flings with blurred-out faces and breathless quotes from supposed ex-lovers calling him intense, demanding, dominant, unforgettable.
I’d tried to dismiss it all as trashy gossip stitched together for clicks, but I still read every article I found, searching for confirmation of something I didn’t fully want to admit.
Maybe it wasn’t that I doubted the tabloids.
Maybe part of me believed them.
The car slowed, and I glanced toward Culver just as we approached a wrought-iron gate so ornate it stole the air from my lungs.
Gold glinted along the curling designs, intricate and imposing, as though the gate existed less to keep people out and more to remind them they didn’t belong there in the first place.
Off to the side sat a small booth, jewel-box perfect, staffed by a uniformed attendant carrying himself with unsettling composure.
He noticed us instantly.
Two fingers lifted in acknowledgment, a subtle smile crossing his face. The gate opened without hesitation, gliding apart in heavy, silent sections.
It felt less like entering a home and more like being granted access.
As we passed through, the atmosphere changed. The air felt quieter somehow, heavier. Massive oaks and sycamores lined the drive, their branches arching overhead into a cathedral of leaves. Dappled shadows moved across pale stone while the road stretched endlessly ahead.
Then the trees parted.
The sight stole the breath from my chest. Acres of flawless green spread in every direction, manicured beyond reason.
Classical sculptures dotted the landscape in perfect symmetry, alabaster and onyx figures frozen mid-motion beneath warm golden light.
Stone paths curved outward through the grounds like carefully hidden secrets.
But my attention locked onto the fountain.
A massive tiered structure stood at the center of the drive, crowned with a marble cherub caught in joyous abandon.
Water burst around it in glittering arcs, the sound echoing softly through the estate.
The smile carved into its face looked innocent at first glance, yet something about it still felt unsettling.
Then the estate itself came into view.
"Estate" wasn’t even the right word.
This wasn’t a house or a mansion. It looked more like a monument built from generations of wealth and power.
The kind of place where mystery novels absolutely ended in murder.
Stone walls stretched impossibly wide, and the towering windows gleamed like stained glass despite being perfectly clear.
Twin staircases curved toward an entrance large enough to swallow entire crowds whole.
I sat there in stunned silence, unable to tell whether the tightness in my chest came from awe or dread.
Culver didn’t even look at it.
Instead, he guided the car down a sloping side drive, and at the last second, an underground entrance revealed itself seamlessly within the landscape. Heavy steel doors opened automatically as we approached. The air cooled around us as we descended, and the second we entered, I stared in disbelief.
The garage wasn’t just a garage. It looked like a private showroom, all polished concrete and soft recessed lighting, with rows of vehicles stretching farther than I expected.
Sleek sports cars, vintage classics, blacked-out sedans, and custom builds I couldn’t even name lined the space. Every surface gleamed untouched.
When Culver eased the car into place, the engine gave one final quiet purr before falling silent. I reached automatically for the door handle, my fingers barely brushing it—
Then his hand settled against my cheek, drawing me gently closer. A cool tingling spread across my skin, stark against my warmth. I turned toward him, and one look from him dissolved every coherent thought in my head.