Page 108 of The Bleak Beginning

I hesitate, torn between the urge to flee and the knowledge that every move I make is being scrutinized. “I…I need some air. I’ll be right back.”

Before Aubrey can protest, I weave through the throng of masked figures, my blood rushing my veins. The weight of unseen eyes follows my every step as I make my way to a set of French doors leading out to a balcony.

The night air hits my face as I step outside, and I inhale deeply, trying to calm my now twisted insides. The grounds below are shrouded in darkness, punctuated by the soft glow of lamps along the winding cobblestone paths.

“You seem distressed,” a deep voice says behind me.

I whirl around to find my shadow standing there, his green eyes piercing through the darkness of his mask.

“Bishop,” I breathe. “I…I… Did you follow me?” I ask, already knowing the answer. He’s my shadow, of course he did.

“I did,” he confirms. “I told you it was my job to keep an eye on you.”

I swallow hard. “And what exactly does that entail? Watching me have a panic attack at a party?” I’m filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and upset, while he…well, he has a way of being incredibly, calmly irritating.

A hint of amusement creeps into his tone. “Among other things.”

“Well, stop it!” I demand, not wanting anyone around me right now. Especially him.

“Why should I? Just because you asked?” he says with growing amusement. “And why should I listen to you?”

“Because I’m asking nicely,” I say through gritted teeth, though my tone is anything but nice. “And because I need a moment alone.”

“Alone? In this place? You’ll never have solitude here.”

The way he says this is so confident, so ominous. I’m not sure what to think of it. “Leave me alone, Bishop.”

But does he listen? No. The asshole takes a step closer, his tall figure casting a shadow over me in the night. “You’re nothaving a panic attack, Prescott. You’re processing information and adapting to it.”

I scowl at him. He could just walk away, leave me to settle in peace.

“You have a thing for plants, right?” His eyes were now fixed on theRosa Setigeragrowing behind me. I never would have guessed he was capable of gentleness as he strokes one of the lush petals.

Why did he have to be so close?

“You know, only fake flowers are perfect,” he muses softly. “Real beauty isn’t afraid of flaws. Something may be tainted and scarred, but it should embrace its imperfections.”

A lump forms in my throat, unsure of how to respond to his sudden shift in demeanor. His words resonate within me. And for a moment, I forget my current dilemma, captivated by the gentle way his fingers caress the pinkish-white petals.

“What’s your point?”

Bishop’s eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by the intensity in his gaze. “My point, troublemaker, is that you’re trying too hard to fight what you really are, instead of embracing it. You’re rebelling against your own nature, and that’s what’s causing your distress.”

I want to argue, to prove him wrong, but I’m rendered speechless, because he’s right. All my life, I did what my mother asked of me simply because it was her will, not mine. But as I stand next to him, I feel a pull toward him, my gaze fixed on the flower that he still holds so delicately in his hand. He leans closer, his mask just inches away from my face. “These games are meant to test us,” he says. “They force us to confront our imperfections instead of hiding them. And in doing so, we triumph over all that we have survived.”

“Why are you out here, really? Shouldn’t you be happy? I thought it was your goal to scare me off and get me to leaveAltair,” I say, hoping to shift the conversation. It all feels too raw and intense.

His eyes are intense and unreadable. “Who say’s I’m not happy?”

I feel a jolt of surprise at his words, unsure if he’s being sincere or if this is just another mind game. With Bishop, it’s impossible to tell.

“What game are you playing?” I ask.

“The same game as you,” he murmurs. “But unlike you, I always win.”

“Do you ever think that your confidence borders on arrogance?”

“Have you considered that it’s your lack of self-assurance that holds you back?” he retorts, his expression serious and unwavering.

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