Page 51 of Lured By Shadows

Every lingering glance from him, every quiet touch, every moment that had felt personal suddenly looked different through this new lens. The realization settled heavily in my chest, sharp enough to make swallowing difficult.

Culver must have sensed the shift because the hand at my back tightened slightly before sliding higher in a slow, soothing motion that might have comforted me earlier. Now it felt rehearsed. Even with the anger and confusion crashing through me, his touch still sent warmth spreading beneath my skin, and that only frustrated me more. His palm drifted lower again, settling at my hip with quiet possession that made me tremble despite every instinct warning me to pull away.

I hated that my reactions to him hadn’t changed.

Even now, some reckless part of me still leaned toward him instinctively, as though he’d become something impossible to stop wanting. Worse, I hated wondering whether he secretly enjoyed how easily I still responded to him.

He was probably thinking, And she actually thought I liked her? Cute.

I squeezed my eyes shut briefly and forced the thought away before it poisoned my mood further. I had to stay composed. I had to remain the polite daughter before I ruined whatever arrangement my mother had with these people. I couldn’t embarrass her, even if this entire evening felt like betrayal dressed in candlelight and polished silver.

When we reached the long dining table, the three figures seated at the head turned toward us together. Culver’s parents carried the same uncanny pallor, their skin almost marble-like beneath the soft lighting. The man’s features were regal: blond hair swept back with immaculate precision and amber eyes sweeping across the room with quiet authority. The woman beside him looked equally formidable, auburn hair falling in controlled waves around a face so elegant it seemed sculpted rather than born.

Their attention settled on me carefully, not judgmental exactly but observant enough to make me feel pinned beneath glass.

Still, my focus refused to leave my ma. She smiled gently, as though this weren’t the most surreal moment of my life.

Without waiting for permission, I slid into the empty seat beside her. The carved chair scraped softly against the marble floor while irritation simmered beneath my ribs. Leaning toward her, I kept my voice sharp and low.

“What the heck, ma?”

Apparently emotional damage was the soup du jour.

My mother didn’t flinch. She stayed perfectly composed, graceful in the way she only became during professional situations. She didn’t even look at me when she answered in clipped French.

“Do not speak to me like that in front of my employer, young lady.”

The warning in her voice scraped hard across my nerves. Of all moments to suddenly care about etiquette, she picked this one?

I bit the inside of my cheek, glaring at her. I barely even registered the absurd luxury surrounding us or the fractured chandelier light spilling across the silverware. The only thing keeping me steady was the frustration tightening through my chest.

I leaned closer again, switching fully into French. “Thanks for looping me into your little secret,” I hissed. “A warning would’ve been nice before tossing me into this.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And what exactly is the problem with this surprise?” she replied dismissively. “You two seem to be getting along just fine.”

A strained laugh scraped its way up my throat. “What makes you think we’re getting along?” I shot back. Everything about this night felt orchestrated down to the smallest detail.

She hummed softly, smirking in a way that reminded me far too much of Culver. “He is a handsome young man, is he not?”

Oh my God. My mother was trying to diplomatically pimp me out.

My eyebrows shot upward. “Yeah,” I snapped, “and what about it? Even if he were the perfect man, that doesn’t mean I have to get along with him.” Heat rushed into my face. “And it doesn’t mean he has to get along with me either.”

My mother exhaled through her nose, irritation finally slipping through her composure. “Enough. We are ruining the dinner,” she murmured before straightening again, effectively ending the conversation.

“Fine,” I muttered in English, sinking back into my seat while embarrassment burned along my neck. It was already obvious enough that tension hung between us. Even Culver, sitting there with effortless composure as though the room belonged to him, looked entertained. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth while his eyes gleamed with private amusement.

My stomach tightened. He didn’t know what we’d said… right?

That smirk felt far too knowing.

I quickly grabbed the nearest glass and took a long sip, desperate for anything to distract myself.

Instant regret.

The liquid hit my tongue, rich and floral, before burning warmly down my throat. Wine. Expensive wine. I swallowed hard to avoid coughing across the table like a child.