Hazel never meant to snoop.
Honestly, she was just looking for snacks.
After three days of pretending to be an elegant heiress, she cracked. The mansion's kitchen had foie gras and lobster tails but no potato chips. So, like a true warrior, she launched a mission: Operation Snack Search.
Which led her… to the wrong door.
She opened a drawer in Adrian's study thinking it was a minibar.
Instead, she found letters.
Dozens of them.
Neatly stacked. All unopened. All addressed to "Erin Lancaster."
Her brows furrowed.
They were written in the same handwriting. Strong. Precise. A little too neat, like the writer had practiced every word.
She pulled one out. It was dated a year ago.
Hazel hesitated, then unfolded it.
Erin,
I don't know if you'll ever read this.
Maybe you'll throw it away. Maybe you'll laugh.
But I just… wanted to say things I can't say out loud.
Today, you smiled at me. For a second.
It was small. Tired.
But it felt like sunrise after a hundred nights of rain.
I wanted to say thank you.
But I couldn't.
So I wrote it here instead.
– A.
Hazel's breath caught in her throat.
She sat down slowly, heart thudding.
She opened another one. This one was six months ago.
Erin,
You were angry today. You yelled.
I know you didn't mean it.
You cry when no one's looking.
I see the tissues hidden under the bed.
I wanted to say, "It's okay."
That I'm not leaving.
But I couldn't.
– A.
Another. Four months ago.
Erin,
You looked tired.
I bought your favorite cake. Left it in the fridge.
You didn't eat it.
It's okay.
I'll try again tomorrow.
– A.
Hazel's vision blurred.
She hadn't even realized she was crying until a teardrop hit the paper.
Adrian—this man she thought was cold, distant, unreadable—had been writing love letters to his wife. Letters he never sent. Words he never said.
He watched. He remembered. He cared.
Every emotion Hazel thought was absent… had been there all along.
Just silent.
Painfully silent.
⸻
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She lay on the enormous bed, hugging one of the letters to her chest.
"You idiot," she whispered into the darkness. "You've been trying all along, haven't you?"
She blinked up at the ceiling.
"I swear, if I ever hear you say one word, I'll cry so hard I might explode."
A pause.
"…And I'll probably kiss you."
The silence answered back.
But it felt… warmer.
⸻
The next morning, she did something old-Erin never would've done.
She walked into the dining room, barefoot, in a hoodie and pajama shorts, holding a cup of instant coffee in one hand and a banana in the other.
Adrian was already seated at the end of the long table, reading a document.
She plopped down across from him.
He glanced up.
She grinned. "Morning, Ice Prince."
No reaction.
She leaned forward.
"I found your secret letters," she whispered.
His hand paused mid-page.
She saw the faintest twitch in his brow.
"Don't worry. I didn't laugh," she said softly. "I cried. And… I'm really glad you wrote them."
She took a bite of the banana.
"You're not alone anymore, okay?"
He looked at her. Eyes dark. Still unreadable.
But there was a shift.
A flicker.
A single second where Hazel saw it—
A storm behind his silence.
And maybe, just maybe…
She could be the one to calm it.