"Following our recent evaluation, it has been determined that Nix Dean is not yet considered completely stable. However, at this time, he is deemed to be mentally sound." The words echoed in my mind as I read the report for what felt like the hundredth time. My hands trembled, a knot of worry tightening in my chest as I dropped the report onto the table.
Then, I picked up the accompanying letter. "Run! It's either you die at my hands or at the hands of the one you feel the safest with," it ominously warned. A chill ran down my spine, and I unconsciously let the letter slip from my fingers, my heart racing.
I couldn't shake the sense of unease as I stood, suddenly aware of every creak in the house. Making my way towards my bedroom window, I scanned the darkness outside, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of the mysterious messenger. But there was no one, just the quiet of the night.
How had they gotten in? Despite the tight security, my room was a sanctuary high above the ground. It seemed impossible.
"No, it can't be an insider," I muttered to myself, thinking of the fear that seemed to grip everyone in Mr. Dean's presence.
"Carmela! Carmela, come downstairs!" Xavier's voice rang out, a note of urgency piercing through the air. My heart leaped into my throat, and I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I made my way down the stairs.
"Car... oh, there you are," Xavier said, relief evident in his voice as he pulled me towards the couch. His smile was wide, but it did little to ease the tension that coiled within me.
"Do you remember your painting at the art exhibition?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I nodded slowly, unsure of where he was going with this.
"Sponsors from Paris have decided to take the owner of the painting under their care," he explained, still smiling. "They'll sponsor the painter until they've earned their degree and offer them a full-time position."
I blinked, the news sinking in slowly. "You still don't get it?" Xavier teased, but before I could respond, Luna swept into the room, holding a large brown envelope.
"Baby, you're going to Paris," she announced with a grin, tapping my cheek affectionately. It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did, time seemed to stand still around me.
"Ahhh!" I screamed, jumping to my feet as the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Yes, girl, you're about to fly higher," Luna said, enveloping me in a hug. But our celebration was short-lived as Mr. Dean entered the room, his expression dark and stormy.
"N..." Xavier began, but Mr. Dean raised a hand, silencing him as he made his way towards the stairs. A chill swept through the room, and I couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that settled over me.
"He's in a foul mood, someone ruined his car," Ken's voice broke through my thoughts as he entered the room, a smile tugging at his lips. "I heard someone screaming, what's going on?"
Luna rushed to tell him the news, but I found my gaze drawn back to the stairs, wondering what was happening behind the closed door of Mr. Dean's room.
"Congratulations, Carmela, I always knew you were smart," Ken said, pulling me into a warm hug. But my mind was elsewhere, consumed by worry for Mr. Dean.
As we sat down to dinner, my eyes kept flickering towards the stairs, waiting for Mr. Dean to make an appearance.
"He won't come for dinner," Luna said, her voice distant as she focused on her plate. "He never does when he's in a bad mood."
I nodded, my appetite forgotten as I pushed my food around my plate. The worry gnawed at me, growing with each passing minute.
"Carmela, could you please take a glass of milk to Nix when you're done?" Ken asked, breaking the silence. "I would have sent one of the maids, but I doubt they'd be able to get past the door. But I think he'll let you in."
I looked up at him, a question in my eyes.
"I mean, he mentioned something about ice cream," Ken explained, a small smile playing on his lips. "If you were able to convince him to... I mean, never mind if you don't want to."
My cheeks burned at the mention of ice cream, memories flooding back from our time on the yacht. Without a word, I stood and hurried to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of milk before heading towards Mr. Dean's room.
I knocked softly on the partially open door, but there was no response. With a growing sense of unease, I pushed the door open and stepped into the darkened room.
"Mr. Dean?" I called, my voice barely a whisper. Still, there was no response. I fumbled for the light switch, relief flooding through me as the room was bathed in light.
And then I saw him, wrapped tightly in his blankets, shivering uncontrollably. "Mr. Dean," I said, louder this time, reaching out to wake him.
But he didn't stir, lost in a troubled sleep. My heart hammered in my chest as I placed the glass of milk on the bedside table, a sense of dread settling over me.
"What happened to you?" I whispered, the worry and concern weighing heavily on me as I watched him sleep, oblivious to the turmoil that surrounded him.
"Beloved!" His urgent whisper caressed my ear as he swiftly caught hold of my hand, pulling me closer to him. I could feel the warmth of his body as he rested his head on my shoulder, a mixture of romance and worry hanging thick in the air around us.
"I'll..." His voice trailed off, interrupted by a cough that wracked his body. "Just sit like this with me, I'll be fine," he managed to say, his words barely audible yet laced with a plea.
Worry flashed across my face as I glanced up at him, seeing the feverish flush on his cheeks. "Mr. Dean, I don't think..." My protest was cut short as I turned to find him already unconscious, his body limp in my arms. A heavy sigh escaped me, heart pounding with concern.
Not wanting his condition to escalate further, I gently laid him on the bed, the suspense of the moment hanging heavy in the air. With a sense of urgency, I rushed to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of cool water, thankful that no one else was downstairs to witness this scene.
As I nursed Mr. Dean back to consciousness, tenderly wiping his forehead, I couldn't help but wonder what troubles plagued his mind. Tracing the contours of his jawline with my fingertips, a soft smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
Indeed, he was a man of exquisite beauty, a man any woman would go to great lengths to have. But as my grandmother always said, "99% of stories gossiped are lies, and only one percent is the truth."
"What is your truth, Nix Dean?" I whispered softly, my gaze locked on his face, searching for answers in the depths of his features.
"Could the rumors about you be true? Could those scandalous reports truly belong to you?" The questions hung in the air, unanswered, leaving me torn between the romance that enveloped us, the worry for his well-being, and the suspense of the mysteries that surrounded him.
I cupped his hands in mine still wondering what to do about the doubt I had built up but came to the conclusion to neither think nor worry about the rumors
If they we're true then I doubt a man of principles like Mr Dean would go out of him way to break his principles.
I went back to wiping his forehead with the wet towel and unconsciously fell into slumber..
"Carmela" I could hear someone faintly call but I felt too lazy to open my eyes
"Carmela" they called again and I opened my eyes to find Mr Dean staring at me but my eyes felt too heavy for me to keep them open
"How are you feeling?" I managed to ask with my eyes closed not expecting an answer before drift away back to dream land.