Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
The hours pass slowly, the house growing quieter with each passing minute. I try to sleep, but my mind refuses to rest. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face—pale, wet, and trembling. By the time exhaustion finally drags me under, it’s well past three in the morning.
A soft knock at my door jerks me awake.
I sit up abruptly, the blanket I’d thrown over myself slipping to the floor. My heart races as my mind snaps to Raven, panic surging through me.
“It’s me, Mr. Jackson,” someone says through the door.
“Nora?” I call out, my voice hoarse.
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. It’s Nora.” Her voice is muffled, but there’s an urgency in her tone that sends a cold wave of dread washing over me.
I’m on my feet and crossing the room in a few quick strides. I throw the door open, and Nora stands there, her expression tight with worry.
“What is it?” I demand, my voice sharp. “What’s wrong?”
Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, the knuckles white. “It’s Mrs. Jackson, Sir,” she says in a frightened voice. “I think she’s taken quite ill, Sir. I noticed last night she wasn’t herself, but I thought the rest and warmth would do her good. Now… now, it’s past her usual hour to awaken, and she still hasn’t gotten out of bed. She won’t eat anything. She insists she’s fine, but …” Nora hesitates, her gaze flicking to the floor before meeting mine again. “I think she’s running a temperature too.”
I stare at her, my chest tightening. Raven unwell? How? Raven doesn’t get sick. She runs headlong into storms, thrives in chaos, and pushes through everything, even when she shouldn’t. The idea of her being ill feels foreign. Impossible.
I glance down the hallway toward her room, a knot forming in my gut. My instinct is to go to her, but I hesitate. Nora is overreacting to a fever. Raven is healthy, young, and in her prime, she just needs a little time.
“She’ll be fine,” I say, my voice more dismissive than I intended. “It’s the morning after the big dance. She deserves a lazy Sunday.” I hear the words, but even as they leave my mouth, they feel hollow.
Nora doesn’t move right away. For a brief moment, her gaze sharpens, her usually deferential demeanor cracking just enough to reveal something close to disapproval. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it irritates me.
“Is there anything else?” I ask, my tone hardening.
“No, Mr. Jackson, Sir,” she replies. She turns to leave, her steps brisk and purposeful.
“Let me know how she’s doing by dinnertime,” I call after her.
“Yes, Sir,” she says over her shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
The tension in the air lingers even after she’s gone. I stand there for a moment, rooted in place, my eyes fixed on Raven’s door. Every fiber of me wants to go to her, to see for myself that she’s fine, but something stops me. Pride, maybe. Or fear. Now that I know I don’t want to see her suffer anymore, I have become more vulnerable. I can let her know that I’m defenseless to her charms and wiles again.
She’ll be fine, I tell myself again, but the unease gnaws at me, refusing to let go.
I go into my study and pour myself a glass of whiskey. It’s far too early for it, but fuck it. The burn of it down my throat does little to settle the anxiety in my chest. I pace, the glass in my hand forgotten as I run over every interaction from the night before. The words I threw at her, the coldness in her eyes when she left the car, the way she stood in the rain like she wanted to dissolve into it.
I should have handled things differently. I know that. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.
By lunchtime, the restlessness becomes unbearable. I head back upstairs and loiter outside her door. My hand hovers over the handle, but I can’t bring myself to knock. Instead, I linger there pathetically for a few minutes longer before retreating, frustrated and thoroughly irritated with myself.
Dinner comes and goes, and I hear nothing from Nora. The house is quieter than usual, the silence pressing in on me from all sides. It feels wrong, oppressively wrong.
Finally, I give in. I stride down the hallway to Raven’s door and knock firmly. There’s no answer. My chest tightens, and without waiting, I twist the handle and push the door open.
The room is dim, the curtains drawn. Raven is curled up on the bed, her back to me, the duvet pulled up to her shoulders. Her breathing is steady but shallow, and the faint flush on her cheeks makes my heart skip. I step closer, the creak of the floorboards breaking the silence.
“Raven,” I say softly, but there’s no response.