In the Fire's Shadow

Prologue

 The floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she made her way back downstairs. She felt no relief, despite the fact she was finally home. All she kept thinking about was how they had left things.

It wasn't fair of her to be so rigid.

What he wanted wasn't unreasonable. It was just more than she could give, right now...

Well, she thought, I'll fix it tomorrow.

The sound of movement stopped her on the last step. It was coming from the den. She stepped carefully over the noisy floorboards and down to the first floor.

"It's just me. No need to enter stealth mode," the unwelcome voice called from the den.

She felt a shiver run down her spine but ignored it and continued down the hall.

He was seated in front of the fireplace. Heat flooded her as she stood on the opposite side of the room; watching him.

"Why are you here?" She was unable to mask the fear seeping through her words, and he was unable to stop the grin splitting his face, because of it.

"Well, I figured it was about time we spoke." He stood, walked over to the serving cart, poured another drink then lifted it to her in a silent offering. She shook her head so he placed it on the mantle.

His ego filled the room as he moved around with all the grace of a predator. She waited for him to say something to break the tense silence, but he remained quiet.

"We don't have anything to discuss, so you really can just go."

He lifted an eyebrow at her response and turned his lips down in mock disappointment.

"Is that so," he said on a sigh.

He lifted the drink to his lips, took a long sip then leaned his arm over the mantle. The way the fire cast shadows over his face made her uneasy.

"You know," he began nonchalantly, "I've always hated this room." He glanced at the walls. "The wallpaper is dated, the furniture is old, the carpets are faded and the onslaught of pictures and portraits are," he paused "full of lies. Don't you think?"

"What do you want?" 

Something wasn't right, she could feel it.

"I mean, you didn't even like them, right?" He ignored her question and walked towards the wall holding the oldest images.

In the middle hung a painting of her great-great-great-grandparents, on their wedding day. They were the ones who had built Gusman House in the late 1800s.

The strained relationship she had with her family wasn't news to him. She had always had a large distaste for her heritage. She came from liars, schemers and old money that wasn't earned honestly. She had surprised herself when she finally decided to keep Gusman House after her grandmother's death.

But none of that had anything to do with him.  

"Why are you-?"

"I mean," he interjected, cutting her off, "Didn't you hate them? Your grandparents." His eyes were empty now. She knew what he was doing. His question was impossible to answer. But she knew he never asked a question he didn't already have the answer to.

"Why did you stay? Why are you still here?" He asked.

She'd been too young and too afraid to disappoint her family, so she had married him. But just as her marriage to this snake had expired, so had whatever misplaced loyalty she had to her grandparents.