The house was unusually quiet that morning. Damian had stepped out to run errands, leaving Isla and Seraphina alone. Isla was in the garden, tending to a few flowers she'd found growing wild near the fence. The sun warmed her skin, and for a moment, she felt at peace.
Then came the sound of a car pulling up.
Seraphina peeked through the window. "Oh no," she muttered. "He's here."
Isla turned as a tall man stepped out of the car—broad-shouldered, with a confident stride and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He looked like Damian, but older, sharper, more unpredictable.
"Alaric Ludwig," he said, extending a hand to Isla. "And you must be the mysterious Isla."
Isla shook his hand, unsure. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," he said, his gaze lingering a little too long. "Damian's told me... very little. But I can see why he's keeping you close."
Seraphina rolled her eyes. "Alaric, don't start."
Damian returned shortly after, surprised but pleased to see his brother already settled in. "Alaric, you're early."
"I couldn't wait," Alaric said, clapping his brother on the back. "Besides, I wanted to meet your guest."
Over the next few days, Alaric made himself comfortable—too comfortable. He was charming, witty, and always seemed to find a way to be near Isla. Whether it was helping her in the kitchen, joining her in the garden, or offering to teach her chess, his attention was constant.
Damian began to notice.
One evening, as Isla sat reading in the living room, Alaric entered with two cups of tea. "Chamomile," he said. "Good for the nerves."
"Thank you," Isla said, accepting it.
"You know," Alaric began, "I've traveled a lot. Met many people. But you... you're different."
Isla looked up, startled. "Different how?"
"Just... refreshing," he said, his voice softer now. "There's something about you."
Before Isla could respond, Damian walked in. He paused, sensing the tension.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Perfect," Alaric said, standing. "Just getting to know your guest."
Damian nodded, but his eyes lingered on Isla. Later that night, he sat alone in the study, troubled. Something was shifting—and he wasn't sure how to stop it.