Chapter 2 - The Crystal Glass and the Midnight WarningThe east wing suite was magnificent, filled with velvet-draped antique furniture, a massive four-poster mahogany bed, and a private balcony overlooking the dark, swirling waters of a private lake.
Claire had spent an hour unpacking her modest two suitcases, her mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions. Who was Ethan Caldwell really? Why did he pretend to be an invalid? And what kind of dangerous game was being played behind the iron gates of this desolate estate?
At 11:47 p.m., exhaustion finally overtook her. She walked over to the antique marble side table to pour a glass of water from a heavy crystal pitcher.
Her hand brushed the edge of the tray.
The crystal glass slipped.
It tipped over the edge, plummeting toward the hard marble floor in a fraction of a second—a disaster that would have shattered the glass into a thousand glittering pieces.
And then, a hand appeared out of the darkness.
Ethan caught the glass inches from the floor.
He caught it with one smooth, lightning-fast motion, without turning his head, without hesitation.
Claire froze, the water pitcher trembling in her grip.
Ethan slowly straightened up, his movements controlled and deliberate. He placed the intact glass back down on the tray.
Then he lifted his dark glasses toward her, revealing for one fleeting second the piercing, crystalline blue eyes beneath them—eyes that were tracking her movements with razor-sharp, unobstructed clarity.
"You should lock your bedroom door tonight," Ethan said quietly.
A cold chill traveled down Claire’s spine, freezing her blood.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Because someone in this house is going to realize you saw that," Ethan replied.
Before Claire could demand an explanation, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway outside her suite. Ethan instantly slipped his dark glasses back over his eyes, his posture shifting back into the rigid, guarded stance of the blind recluse.
Without another word, he turned and vanished into the shadows of the corridor just as the door at the end of the hall creaked open.
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Claire backed away slowly, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She rushed to the heavy oak door, turned the iron key in the lock with a trembling hand, and slid the heavy brass bolt into place.
Whatever game the heir of Caldwell House was playing, she had just been dragged onto the board. And she was entirely unarmed.
