Three days had passed since the access card changed hands.
Claire asked nothing. She didn't check if Elliot had actually used it or simply kept it as a token. She didn't question Henri or Emilia. She behaved as usual—cold, punctual, entirely focused on her business.
But reality began to tell a different story.
Every night, before the garden lights automatically switched off at eleven, Claire started noticing faint footsteps behind the house. Not sneaking, not intrusive. Just present enough to be heard by someone accustomed to solitude.
The first night, she stayed silent.
The second night, she heard plates being clumsily washed in the kitchen.
The third night, she went downstairs to find her drinking glass moved.
That morning, she discovered a pair of worn black school shoes neatly placed at the base of the back staircase.
Claire said nothing. She didn't call Henri. Didn't ask Emilia. But as she sat in the living room reviewing Basilan branch's financial reports, light footsteps approached.
Elliot.
He wore his school uniform—though the shirt looked too small for his lanky frame. His hair was damp, his face slightly fresher than usual.
"Morning," he said without hesitation.
Claire didn't look up. "Did you eat?"
"Yeah. Emilia told me to finish before you woke up."
Claire turned a page. "I wake at five."
Elliot sat on the floor, not the sofa. "Then before I was brave enough to show myself."
Claire finally set down the documents and studied him. "Why do you keep coming here?"
"It's warm."
"A very simple answer."
"But honest."
Claire didn't argue. She refocused on the papers, yet Elliot's presence lingered.
"Why don't you just kick me out?" he asked, not looking at her. "If it bothers you."
Claire answered quietly, "Because I'm waiting for a strong enough reason to."
Elliot leaned against the wall. "What if I never give you one?"
Claire didn't reply immediately. But in that silence, she realized this boy—who came uninvited, stayed without agreement, and spoke without boundaries—was carving a space into her daily rhythm.
And that rhythm... didn't feel disrupted yet.
---
That evening, returning from a store inspection, Claire found Elliot asleep on the study's sofa, a thin book on his chest. Not from the guest shelf—her personal collection.
A poetry book.
Claire stood still, watching him. His chest rose and fell evenly, his hair messy but his face far more peaceful than when they'd first met in the rain.
That boy had come again. And this time, he hadn't just arrived—he'd stayed.
For how long, she didn't know.
The night breeze swayed the study's long curtains. The dim chandelier light cast shadows over Elliot's sleeping face. Claire lingered in the doorway, observing the unfamiliar sight—someone resting in her space. Not staff. Not a business associate. No one of consequence.
Yet somehow, no longer a stranger either.
She stepped closer, silent. Her fingers brushed the book's edge. A classic Walthamshire poet. She didn't know when he'd started reading, or why, of all books, he'd chosen this one.
As she lifted it, Elliot stirred. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light.
Claire moved to retreat, but his drowsy voice stopped her.
"I'm not dreaming, am I?"
She froze. Elliot gazed up through half-lidded eyes, his tone tired yet carrying that usual teasing lilt.
"Why are you sleeping here?" Claire finally asked.
"Because no one stopped me," he murmured. "And this place... feels safe."
Claire turned slightly, retreating into cool detachment. "Studies aren't for sleeping."
Elliot smiled faintly. "But the books here make me want to stay."
She took the book and straightened. "If you stay, learn the rules. This house isn't for idle rest."
"Am I a guest?" Elliot sat up slowly, eyes unwavering.
"You're not."
"Then what am I?"
Claire paused. One second. Two.
"You're... someone whose role I haven't decided yet."
The answer hung between them—uncertain, yet unchallenged. Claire turned and left without another word.
---
That night, Claire sat in her bedroom, the lamp casting soft light. She opened her private journal—a book she only wrote in when thoughts grew too loud to silence.
And tonight, she penned something she never expected:
*"That boy unsettles me. He's unlike the others. But perhaps that's precisely why he remains."*
Meanwhile, in the study, Elliot sat with the poetry book still in hand. He turned to the last page and read silently:
*"Sometimes shadows don't come to haunt you... Sometimes they arrive because you've refused the light too long."*
He closed the book gently. Lay back on the sofa, facing the garden-view window. A light rain began to fall.
And in the quiet of that night, two hearts from different worlds slowly learned to acknowledge each other's presence.