TheRoomWithTwoShadows
The grand gates of the Reeve mansion opened slowly, ushering in the black car like it belonged - like she belonged. But Elara wasn't fooled by the illusion of welcome. The sprawling estate was beautiful,yes, but behind every vine-draped balcony and marble column lay a different kind of suffocation - one wrapped in expectations, judgment, and eyes that never blinked.
Her bags were already there. The staff had moved them earlier under Mrs. Reeve's instruction. A subtle reminder that this was not her home, but a place she was expected to fit into.
As she stepped out of the car, her heels clicked against the polished stone pathway. Killian was beside her, silent. Their hands didn't touch. Their eyes didn't meet.
Inside, the mansion was quiet - too quiet. It was late in the afternoon, the golden hour bleeding softly into the tall windows. Elara's footsteps echoed faintly as a maid led them upstairs. Up the winding staircase, through long corridors with rich oil paintings and the cold scent of old money, until finally, they stopped in front of the room.
Not rooms.
Room.
Elara's chest tightened slightly.
The maid bowed and left after her work was done.
The room was large - of course it was. A canopied bed dominated the space, elegant in it's simplicity. The furniture was polished dark wood, curtains a deep royal blue. The windows overlooked the west garden. A soft breeze wafted in, carrying the scent of roses.
She didn't move. Not yet.
Killian walked in first, tossing his jacket over the armchair near the fireplace.
"There's a lock on the bathroom door," he said, his tone neutral. "In case you ever want privacy."
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag. "I'm not worried," she replied.
He didn't answer.
She moved to the vanity, brushing her fingers over the smooth surface.
Everything in the room was perfect - curated, controlled, polished. Just like the life they were expected to present.
It was only after she'd begun unpacking that she noticed it - a silver photo frame tucked discreetly on the nightstand. It held a picture of Killian as a boy, sitting beside a woman who must have been his mother. The resemblance was sharp in the curve of the jaw, the poised posture. The woman in the picture wore a cool, regal smile.
Elara wondered if she'd approve of her now that she was officially a Reeve - in name, if nothing else.
That night, dinner was quiet. The family, save for his parents, was absent. No tense exchanges, no probing eyes. Just the quiet clinking of silverware and the ticking of an antique clock on the wall. When they returned to their room, the silence stretched longer.
Elara changed in the bathroom and emerged in a silk robe, her hair tied up.
Killian had taken the armchair by the fireplace, reading some documents.
She hesitated, "you don't have to sleep on the couch," she said finally. "The bed is big enough."
He looked up, surprised. "Are you sure?"
"I'm not here to play petty games, Killian. We're adults. Let's just...coexist."
He studied her for a bit before nodding.
"Alright."
She turned out the lamp on the side of her bed and slipped under the covers, her back to him. It wasn't comfort she felt- not exactly. But there was something softer in the silence between them now. Like two people standing at the edge of a battlefield, not ready to fight - just yet.
When she finally closed her eyes, she felt the mattress shift behind her as Killian settled in. No words. No touch.
But in the dim light, the room no longer felt like just his.
It felt like theirs.