Chapter 3 Between Fire And Lies

The halls of Blackwood Manor were darker than Amelia remembered. The grand chandeliers cast weak pools of light, leaving shadows lurking at every corner. The air felt charged, thick with something unseen but undeniably present.

And she wasn't the only one who felt it.

Ethan walked beside her, his movements controlled, his sharp gray eyes flicking toward every darkened doorway. He hadn't spoken much since dragging her from her bedroom after they'd heard someone in the hall.

They were being watched.

And now, standing in front of Vivian Sinclair's private study, Amelia's pulse thrummed with anticipation.

"We shouldn't be here," she murmured.

Ethan smirked, gripping the doorknob. "That never stopped you before."

A click.

The door swung open.

Inside, the study smelled of old books, expensive perfume, and something faintly metallic. The walls were lined with mahogany shelves, their spines filled with law books, ledgers, and-more importantly-secrets.

Amelia stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. "We have five minutes, maybe less."

Ethan nodded, already moving toward his mother's desk. He rifled through drawers with controlled urgency, his jaw clenched.

Then-a sharp intake of breath.

Amelia turned. "What?"

He held up a letter, his fingers tightening around the paper. "It's addressed to my father. Dated one week before his death."

Amelia grabbed it, scanning the handwriting. The words were precise, almost clinical.

Robert, The walls are closing in. If you don't act soon, it will be too late. You know what she's capable of. You always have.

No signature.

Amelia's blood ran cold. "Who is 'she'?"

Ethan exhaled. "My mother."

Her stomach twisted. "You think Vivian-?"

A sound outside the door made them both freeze.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Measured.

Ethan grabbed Amelia's wrist, pulling her toward the bookcase. He reached behind a row of books, pressing against the wood. A panel clicked open-a hidden passage.

Amelia didn't have time to ask questions. He yanked her inside just as the study door creaked open.

Through the narrow gap, Amelia saw Sebastian Sinclair step inside. His sharp gaze swept the room, his mouth set in a hard line.

He wasn't looking for books.

He was looking for them.

---

Trapped in the Dark

The passageway was narrow, lined with cold stone walls that smelled of damp wood and dust. Ethan didn't let go of Amelia's wrist as they moved deeper inside, their footsteps silent.

Amelia's breath came fast, heart pounding from their near miss. "That was your uncle."

"I know." Ethan's voice was tight. "And he wasn't just passing by."

They stopped at a dead end. Amelia turned, only to realize just how close they were standing.

Ethan's body was pressed near hers, the small space forcing them together. His scent-woodsy, laced with whiskey-wrapped around her, making it impossible to ignore the fact that they were alone, hidden, and cornered.

His fingers were still around her wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. His gaze dropped to her lips for a second-just a second-but the air between them shifted.

Amelia swallowed. "You need to let go."

Ethan didn't move. His thumb brushed against the inside of her wrist, slow, deliberate. "Do I?"

Her breath hitched.

She hated that he could do this to her. That even now, even in the middle of danger, her body responded to him.

"Ethan," she warned.

But he only smirked, tilting his head. "You're blushing."

"Shut up," she muttered, trying to pull away.

He didn't stop her, but his smirk deepened. "Still stubborn."

"And you're still impossible."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The heat between them was palpable, thick with unspoken things. It had always been this way with them-a constant push and pull, a fire that neither of them had ever put out.

Then-a sudden noise from the study.

They both stiffened.

Ethan's playful expression vanished. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need to move."

Amelia nodded, her pulse still racing-though she wasn't sure anymore if it was from the danger or from him.

---

The First Kiss

They found another exit through the passageway, slipping into a dimly lit corridor. The moment they stepped out, Ethan turned to her.

"We need to be more careful."

Amelia crossed her arms. "You're the one who pulled me into a hidden passage."

He took a step closer, invading her space again. "You liked it."

She glared. "I tolerated it."

Ethan chuckled. "Liar."

She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, he grabbed her hand, pulling her against him.

The movement was sudden, unexpected-but she didn't resist.

His hands found her waist, his touch warm, steady. She felt the firm press of his body against hers, the heat radiating between them.

"Ethan," she breathed, but there was no real protest in her voice.

He tilted his head, his lips hovering just above hers. "Tell me to stop."

She should.

She really, really should.

But instead-she kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft.

It was desperate, needy, the kind of kiss that made her forget where they were, forget the danger, forget everything except the way he felt against her.

Ethan groaned, deepening it, his hands sliding up her back. His body pressed her against the cold stone wall, trapping her in the best way possible.

His tongue teased the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart, and she let him, let herself fall into the heat, the hunger, the undeniable pull of him.

It was reckless. It was stupid.

But God, it felt so right.

When they finally broke apart, Amelia was breathless, her lips swollen.

Ethan smirked, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. "You're definitely blushing now."

She scowled. "Shut up."

He laughed, but there was something darker in his eyes now-something dangerous. "We should go before someone finds us."

Amelia nodded, forcing herself to focus. But as they slipped away, she knew one thing for certain-

They were in deep trouble.

Because kissing Ethan Sinclair was more dangerous than any secret in this house.

---