Page 39 of His Dark Cravings

Lila snorts, the sound sharp and sudden. “Oh, honey, you really don’t get it, do you?”

Winter finally turns her head, her gaze cool as she looks at me. “There's no need to force conversation. You're only embarrassing yourself.”

Sable mutters something under her breath, the words indistinguishable but the tone unmistakable.

My cheeks flush, but I try to keep my tone steady. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Everly,” Sable says, cutting me off. “Save that chipper sunshine act for your charity.”

I blink, my smile faltering. “I... I just wanted to say good morning.”

Lila rolls her eyes, shoving a piece of toast into her mouth. Winter says nothing, her attention returning to the window as if I’d already ceased to exist.

I take a bite of my cereal. The milk tastes sweet, but it doesn't ease the bitterness gathering in my throat. I’d thought that after the past two nights, maybe things would feel different. Maybe the dolls wouldn’t all look at me with this distance in their eyes. But nothing feels different. If anything, it feels worse. They’re as guarded as ever, their expressions unreadable masks that leave me scrambling to find my footing.

The realization creeps in, slow and uncomfortable, like a cold draft seeping under the door. Xavier isn’t here to mediate, to guide me through the labyrinth of their dynamics. And without him, I’m just... alone. A stranger in a room full of people who don’t want me there.

I focus on my cereal, the spoon clinking against the bowl in a steady, hollow rhythm. I don’t try to speak again. The dolls seem grateful for the silence, which only makes me feel stupid for thinking things might be different.

One by one, the dolls eventually leave the kitchen, not saying anything to me or each other. The echoes of their departure linger, each wordless step amplifying my sense of isolation. My cereal sits congealed in the bowl, the sweetness now cloying on my tongue.

I try to push myself up, to force some semblance of routine, but my body feels unresponsive. The thought of going to work, of pretending to be the Everly everyone expects, is suffocating. I let my hands drop, defeat seeping into my bones like the cold from the marble floor.

Then, the air shifts. A presence fills the room. I turn, my heart quickening as Xavier stands in the doorway, his frame dominating the space. His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, it's like the world stops. His usual intensity is there, but softened, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes.

"Everly," he says, his voice low and smooth, a sound that wraps around me like a blanket. "Get dressed. We're going out."

His words are a command, no room for argument, yet there's an unexpected gentleness in his tone. I feel a spark of hope, a flurry of excitement I try to quash. I don't want to show how much him being here means, how much I crave this escape.

"Why? Where are we going?" I manage tentatively.

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "You don't need reasons. You just need to be ready in 20 minutes."

I nod, the decision made before I realize it. The thought of leaving, of escaping this oppressive atmosphere, is a lifeline. I rise, my legs finding strength now, and move toward the door.

As I pass him, his hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that sends shivers up my arm. I don't look back, but I can feel his eyes on me. I don't know where we're going, but I haven't seen him since our last session together, and I don't want to pass up an opportunity with him.

I stand in front of the closet, flipping through the hangers with a steady hum of doubt in my chest. What does one wear for a mysterious outing with Xavier Ravenwood? I settle on a floral sundress that skims my knees, the fabric flowing and light, paired with a cream cardigan to cover my shoulders. It’s modest, like me, but there’s something about the way the flowers dance across the fabric that feels alive. I pair it with simple flats, the toes painted a soft coral that matches the flush rising to my cheeks.

My hair, though, is a battle. I brush it until it shines, but the waves refuse to be tamed. I twist it into a loose bun, only to yank out the pins in frustration. The dolls make it look effortless, their styles fitting them like gloves. Lila’s curls cascade like velvet, Winter’s bob is sharp as a knife, and Sable’s fiery mane seems to have a life of its own. I, on the other hand, look like I stuck my finger in a socket. I settle for a braid, the end trailing clumsily over my shoulder, and call it good enough.

Nervous energy hums in my veins as I head upstairs to the main floor. What if this is just another contract? A transaction? A way for Xavier to remind me of my place? The thought stings, but I try to push it aside.

Xavier is waiting in the living room, his back to me as he stares out the window. The sunlight catches the sharp lines of his profile, softening them just enough to make my breath catch. He turns when he hears me, his green eyes narrowing as he takes in my appearance. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You look lovely, Everly.”

The compliment surprises me, warming something deep in my chest. “Thank you,” I murmur, smoothing my dress.

He gestures toward the door, and I follow him. The car is already waiting, and he opens the door for me before sliding in behind the wheel. The engine purrs to life, smooth and powerful, as he pulls away from the house.

The city soon fades into rolling hills and dense trees, the air thickening with the scent of pine and earth. It’s peaceful, so different when compared to the usual buzz of life at Xavier’s. He drives in silence, his hands steady on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the winding road ahead. I don’t ask questions. I don’t want to break the fragile calm between us.

Twenty minutes later, we turn onto a gravel driveway, the tires crunching softly. The trees part, and the estate comes into view. It’s nothing like Xavier’s home. There’s no glass and steel, no sharp lines or brutal modernity. Instead, the house is old, its stone façade weathered and warm, with ivy crawling up the walls. The roof is pitched, the windows framed by heavy wooden shutters painted a deep blue that matches the sky. A garden spills out to one side, full of wildflowers and towering roses, their colors vivid against the muted tones of the house.

The driveway circles in front of the house, stopping beneath a wide awning. Xavier kills the engine, and the sudden silence is almost deafening. He exits the car and soon opens my door.

“We’re here,” he says, his voice low, almost gentle.

I step out, my eyes drinking in the details. It’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels like a hug. No city noise, no distant traffic noise. Just the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of bees in the garden. It’s intimate, personal, the complete opposite of the grand, chilly spaces Xavier usually inhabits.

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