<b>Chapter </b><b>39 </b>


    -HUNTER’S POV-


    Dinner was quiet, just the way I preferred it. No chatter, no distractions. The roast was cooked perfectly–tender, rich, seasoned just right.


    I barely looked up from my te as I muttered, “This is good.”


    The head maid, standing off to the side, offered a small smile. “Celine prepared the meal tonight, sir.”


    My hand froze mid–cut. Knife and fork clinked softly against the porcin as I set them down. My eyes shifted to my right.


    Celine.


    She was already beside me, delicate hands steadying a silver jug as she poured water into my empty ss. Her scent hit me first- subtle, <b>sweet</b>, and warm like honey and jasmine.


    Too close.


    I leaned back slightly, needing space, needing to breathe.


    Then–fuck


    She slipped. Just a little, barely a tremor, but enough that cold water spilled onto my hand. Her gasp was soft but sharp, and she scrambled to fix it.


    “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–she fumbled for <b>a </b>napkin, panic in her voice.


    The head maid stepped in immediately. “Celine, don’t touch-”


    But it was toote.


    Her hand was already on mine. Small, warm, trembling as she dabbed at the water like her life depended on it. The spot was dry. Bone dry. But she kept touching, brushing her fingers over my skin, and I couldn’t think.


    My heart thudded loudly in my chest.


    And my dick.


    Hard. Stiff beneath the table like it had a mind of its own.


    I watched her side profile–lips slightly parted, brows furrowed in worry,shes fluttering as she focused on wiping a non–existent spill. Every detail burned into me.


    I snapped.


    I yanked my <b>hand </b>away, more forceful than I meant to. “Leave it. Go.”


    She flinched, stunned, eyes lifting to mine, lips parting like she wanted to say something


    “Now, Celine,” I growled.


    She turned to the head maid, who nodded once. Celine bit her lip–a nervous habit–and <b>whispered</b>, “Sorry, before hurrying <b>away </b>


    1201


    like a kicked puppy.


    The head maid apologized. “She’s been under pressuretely


    talk to her.<b>” </b>


    I didn’t respond. My eyes were still fixed on the hand she’d touched. I could still smell her. Still feel her.


    And I was still hard.


    “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, running a hand down my face. I needed a cold shower. Or a drink. Or both.


    The hallway was dim, shadows stretching across the walls as I walked toward my office. The day should’ve been over by now. My


    mind <b>should’ve </b>moved on.


    But it hadn’t. Then I saw her.


    Celine.


    Carrying a stack of folded linens, head down like she didn’t want to be seen. She didn’t expect me to stop. She didn’t expect what came out of my mouth.


    “Good work today.” <fn9c0e> ???s ??????? ?s ?????? ?? find?novel</fn9c0e>


    She paused. Started. And I kept walking, fast, before I could say anything else. Behind me, I could feel her eyes burning into my back–confused, searching for meaning in a moment I couldn’t exin myself.


    -CELINE’S POV-


    Today was tense–tense enough that for a second, I truly thought I was going to get fired.


    The head maid had pulled me aside, her voice sharp with disappointment as she scolded me. But after the reprimand, she’d softened just enough to assure me that Mr. Reid wouldn’t take it any further.


    That was a relict


    Still, something felt off.


    He’d been acting strangetely. Not just the <b>usual </b>cold nces and clipped responses. There was something different in the way he looked at me… like he <b>was </b>holding back something he didn’t want me to see.


    Or maybe I was overthinking. Again.


    The wind screamed like something wild, hurling sheets of rain against the windows in waves that sounded almost angry.


    I had tucked Caesar in earlier than usual, lighting the small candle by his bedside table, whispering <b>a </b><b>soft </b>luby until his little fingers <b>rxed </b>in mine.


    He never liked storms. Neither did L


    But this house. it felt more alive when it stormed. Like the walls <b>had </b>secrets they only shared with the wind.


    I stood by the window in my room, watching the trees twist outside. The sky split <b>open </b>with another sh of lightning, <b>and </b>something in me twitched.


    3


    The main building


    I still had to check the far west window. It hadn’t locked properly earlier, and I knew if I waited, water would seep through the wooden frame and stain the paneling.


    Sol pulled on my slippers, threw a thin shawl around my shoulders, and stepped into the night.


    Rain soaked me instantly. It was colder than I expected–sharp, biting, and relentless.


    My shawl clung to my skin uselessly, and by the time I pushed open the side door to the main house, my teeth were already chattering,


    I hurried down the corridor, barefoot and dripping. I could hear the <b>creak </b>of the loose window before I saw it. It banged open, wind wing through the crack like fingers desperate to get in.


    I reached for it.


    The wind pushed back.


    I used both hands, straining against it, but my palms slipped and the window banged shut just as I lost my grip


    “Move,” a voice said behind me. Deep, Gruff.


    <b>I </b>gasped and turned.


    Hunter.


    His shirt sleeves were rolled up, rain misting his dark hair. I hadn’t even heard hime in. He stepped beside me, his hand brushing mine as he reached for the window.


    Together, silently, we forced it shut.


    His palm pressed over mine for a second too long. Thetch clicked into ce. And still, neither of us moved.


    “You shoulde <b>inside</b><b>,” </b>he said, voice quieter now. <b>Less </b><b>sharp</b>. “Before you catch a cold.”


    <b>I </b>swallowed, backing up a step, though my heart hadn’t quite caught up with me. “I’m fine.”


    Another shiver betrayed me. Violent. Unavoidable.


    He noticed. Of course, he did.


    With a sigh that sounded like it came from somewhere deep, he picks up his jacket, which he had tossed earlier. Without asking, he draped it <b>over </b>my shoulders.


    Warmth. Hunter’s warmth.


    The scent of him hit me instantly–woodsy, clean, and something else. Something expensive.


    I blinked up at him, stunned. The rain still thrashed the windows behind us. He looked down at <b>me </b>like he didn’t know why he was doing it either.


    “Why are you being nice?” I whispered.


    My voice cracked on thest word. He didn’t answer. Not with words.


    Instead, his hand came up slowly. Hesitant. Fingers brushing against the edge of my jaw. He tilted my face toward him, my thumb resting just beneath my chin.


    His eyes searched mine–like he was looking for something. Like he already <b>knew </b>he wouldn’t find it. And then–just as suddenly <b>as </b>he touched me <b>he </b>stepped back.


    The warmth vanished. His expression shuttered.


    Like a door mming closed.


    “Get some sleep,” he muttered, turning before I could say anything else.


    I stood there, his jacket heavy on my shoulders, rain still dripping from the ends of my hair, my heart pounding in a rhythm I didn’t understand.