Chapter 25: The Wall Between Us
The grandfather clock in the hall struck seven.
Downstairs, the scent of garlic and rosemary lingered from the evening stew Mamita had prepared. Amber heard her name echo gently from the base of the staircase—Mamita's voice, calling her to dinner.
She stepped lightly down the carpeted stairs, her hand gliding across the polished banister. As she descended, her gaze fell on the half-closed door to Zachary's study. Voices echoed faintly from within—firm, controlled, low-pitched. It was Zach, speaking with Bri. No doubt discussing business again.
It had become routine these past few days. Zach would lock himself in that study until late at night, papers scattered, decisions made in silence. He would often skip dinner entirely, offering no excuse. Amber couldn't help but notice. She couldn't help but care.
She walked past without pausing and entered the dining room. The table was already set for three, though only she was present. The candlelight flickered in the crystal glassware, casting soft shadows across the white linens. She sat down quietly, her thoughts keeping her company more than anyone else.
Ten minutes passed. Then, the creak of a door. Bri entered first, his face lighting up with a familiar grin as he spotted her.
"Evening," he said cheerfully, nudging her shoulder as he took the seat beside her.
Amber smiled, comforted by his easy nature.
Then he arrived.
Zachary Artesian entered the room without a word, the smooth echo of his footsteps reverberating against the marble floor. He still wore his tailored business suit—the dark charcoal fabric sharp against his pale skin, the collar pressed perfectly, his tie untouched. The faint glint of silver from his cufflinks shimmered briefly in the candlelight.
He didn't look at her at first. Not directly. But when their eyes did meet, Amber felt something shift.
It was subtle. Fleeting. Yet there.
His blue eyes—cold, unreadable, regal—landed on her like a weight she couldn't explain. She found herself slightly breathless, not from fear, but from that strange sensation that had haunted her recently. A feeling of wanting to be seen. Of hoping to be understood.
But he gave her nothing. Not a smile, not a word. Just a quiet nod before taking the seat across from her.
Amber sat straighter. She didn't know why she cared so much.
Maybe it was because she hadn't seen him eat with them in days. Or perhaps because every time she passed his study door and didn't hear his voice, she wondered where he'd gone. And sometimes—foolishly, shamefully—at night, she'd peek through the terrace curtains just to see the outline of his figure returning from wherever he had been.
And if she didn't see him, if his window stayed dark... it made her chest tighten for reasons she couldn't name.
She didn't speak of these things. Not even to herself. But the thoughts lingered, soft as whispers.
And Zach—Zach heard them all.
He sat composed, his hands resting lightly on the arms of his chair, his expression stone. But within, he listened. Every thought Amber tried to quiet, every unspoken confession, drifted into him like mist. And it shook him in ways no battle ever had.
Still, he remained motionless.
Bri, sensing the weight in the air, leaned closer to Zach and nudged his shoulder with playful intent. "Relax," he muttered with a smirk, his tone teasing but his eyes warm. "You look like a statue."
Zach didn't reply.
Bri cleared his throat. "By the way, Amber," he said, shifting the subject as if to cut the tension, "tomorrow afternoon, we'll be heading to your old home to finalize the documents for the café. Once they're signed, Luna Café will officially belong to Zach."
Amber's gaze flicked instantly to Zach.
He said nothing.
Not even a flicker of emotion crossed his face. He didn't meet her eyes. He simply reached for the wine glass and took a measured sip, as if the topic was of no consequence.
Amber's heart tightened, though she did not know why. She nodded faintly to Bri, then returned to her plate, forcing herself to focus on the simple act of eating.
Mamita soon entered the room, carrying the last dish—her famous roast chicken with wild herbs. "Come now," she said cheerfully, "it's best when served warm."
The three ate in silence, save for Bri's occasional comments. Zach spoke only when necessary, his mind elsewhere—perhaps too full, or perhaps too burdened.
When the meal concluded, Zach stood abruptly.
Without a word, he turned and left the room, heading back toward his study. Amber watched him go, her eyes filled with quiet confusion.
Why does he always walk away?
"Don't mind him," Bri said gently, breaking her trance. "That's just how he is. Always busy. Always distant."
Amber forced a small smile and nodded. "I understand," she whispered, though part of her wished she didn't have to.
Later, in the kitchen, she helped Mamita clean. The warm light of the hearth flickered gently, casting the room in a golden hue.
"Are you growing restless here, Amber?" Mamita asked, drying a plate.
"A little," she answered honestly, her tone playful but true.
"You should visit Luna Café. See your people. You're not a prisoner, you know."
"Can I?" Her voice held hope.
Mamita chuckled. "Of course. I'll speak to Zach tomorrow. I doubt he'll object."
The idea filled Amber with joy... and unease.
She missed the café deeply. Missed Jam, the warmth of the staff, the scent of cinnamon in the mornings. But what would they say now? If they knew she lived in the mansion of the feared Northern Alpha?
She wasn't sure.
Still, the thought of going back made her heart flutter. Even for a day.
That night, at ten, after helping Mamita finish the dishes, Amber excused herself and returned to her room.
The moon was high, veiled behind a thin mist. A chill hung in the air.
Amber stepped out onto the terrace, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked beyond the treeline. The forest stretched into darkness, mysterious and uninviting.
But it wasn't the forest that unsettled her.
It was the eyes.
Again, she felt them—watching. A pair of glowing crimson eyes, somewhere beyond the tree line, locked onto her.
She couldn't see them clearly, but she knew.
Someone—something—was always watching.
She stepped back, drawing the curtains tightly shut and locking the door behind her.
Her heart pounded.
She lay in bed, wide-eyed, listening to the silence.
It was past eleven. Sleep evaded her, replaced only by questions.
Who were those eyes? Why did they seem to follow her?
And why, despite it all, did she feel safer here than anywhere else?
Even if the one man who made her feel that way wouldn't even look her in the eye.