For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

4.Not My Day.

Secrets.

Four years ago, when I asked Ashley about him—the mysterious guy with the intense gaze and an even more intense tendency to vanish—she gave me nothing.

Just shrugs and dodgy half-smiles, like she'd trained for a lifetime in the art of evasion.

Eventually, I stopped asking. But I never stopped wondering.

There was something about him—magnetic, in a way I didn't want to admit. Like he was a puzzle with missing pieces I couldn't stop searching for.

I told myself it didn't matter. That whatever secrets Ash was keeping were hers to hold.

But being here now—trapped in a fog-drenched mountain house full of side glances and whispered warnings—I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd stepped into something much bigger than I was prepared for.

And he was right at the center of it.

The stranger wordlessly gestured toward the staircase.

I hesitated. I wanted him in front of me where I could see him—assess him.

But when he didn't move, I gave in and climbed the stairs, hyper-aware of his silent presence behind me.

He didn't say a word.

But I heard him.

A soft, repeated inhale.

Was he... sniffing me?

Okay, what was with this house and everyone acting like well-groomed bloodhounds?

Then came his voice—low, serious, and far too close to my back.

"You're bleeding. Are you hurt?"

I froze mid-step, hand clutching the railing as my brain screamed Abort. Abort. Abort.

Damn it.

My dress. Was it already stained?

I tried craning my neck backward to check, but failed miserably. If only evolution had blessed us with rear-view eyes.

I shifted uncomfortably, panic twisting in my gut.

He followed my movement—and, of course, that meant his eyes followed too.

And lingered.

Seriously?

His gaze locked on my backside like he was solving a math problem written across it.

He bit his lower lip, and I swear—swear—his damn eyes twinkled.

That was it.

I spun around and leveled him with a death glare.

"Enjoying the view?"

To his credit, he blinked and actually looked sheepish, clearing his throat in what I hoped was embarrassment.

"I just meant... you're bleeding. I thought you were injured," he said, his voice softer now, almost tentative—but his gaze still searched my face like he was trying to read a story I hadn't given him permission to open.

"No," I snapped, heat rushing to my face. "I'm not hurt."

He frowned, clearly not convinced.

His eyes did another quick scan, and—oh joy—he sniffed again.

The way his nose twitched like he was trying to place a scent made me feel like prey in some bizarre, sexy National Geographic special.

"I'm not hurt," I emphasized again, leveling him with a glare. "But if you don't rein in those wandering eyes—and that nose—you'll be the one who's hurt. Got it?"