Alexander Sear

An opulent study with silent, dark colours that seeped in and out of his jet-black hair and black dress shirt—that was where I now sat, across his desk with a stiffened figure. The ravishing man was glossing over some documents apathetically before he lifted his gaze to assess me.

"You said your name is...Selena Fawkner and you're 20 years old," he said. He said my (false)name as though it were a riddle he needed to solve, and he gazed at me as though I was a mystery he needed to uncover lest I slip from his grasp like grains of sand. His gaze fell to my palms as I nodded quietly. He smiled amusedly.

"Calm down. I'm not going to eat you," he uttered nonchalantly, but those suggestive words merely induced a shiver down my spine.

"Uh, Mr...?" I began, looking up at him cautiously for a name.

"Sear. Mr. Sear," he answered, his grey eyes looking so deeply into my soul that I hoped he would not discover my warming core from how carefully he assessed me. "Alexander Sear," he added suddenly in a lower tone, and my brow quickly rose from the familiar name. Was it a coincidence? Or could there possibly be two people in England with the exact same name?

"Right," I smiled despite my growing doubts. "Mr. Sear, I apologize for intruding in your home so abruptly. I honestly do not bear any ill will. I was only hoping to find somewhere to stay while I pursue my career. I could even accept some part-time work here, to compensate," I explained clearly, hoping he'd be at least willing to negotiate with me. Unfortunately, could not reside with Lillian Michelson, my best friend, as she was a glittering blue ocean away in America.

An apartment would also fail to suffice as I barely possessed a stable income. From a certain perspective, a beggar and I were no different. Alexander's gaze fell. I imagined he was considering my words and actions carefully. He hummed after a brief, quiet pause. His grey eyes lifted towards me and a small smile had replaced his frown.

"Your circumstances are quite peculiar. I would be lying if I claimed to trust you," he began, "However, Isolde's power doesn't accept falsehoods. My daughter can see through people in a way, and she likes you. In fact, I think she might run away from here again if I don't accept you." His manner of speech left many blanks for me to fill.

He didn't trust me but he couldn't deny his daughter something she wanted. I smiled slightly, even though my flesh was still set aflame by his presence. I felt a scorching sensation whenever his intense gaze flickered to me. It was a daring feeling that made me clench my thighs beneath the desk, with my palms clasped together. Why was I reacting to him like this, and to a married man with a child even?

I couldn't deny my felicity when he sighed - revealing a jaded emotion I quickly recognized as resignation - and said, "Your sudden entrance is quite fortunate, for yourself and Isolde. I have no choice but to let you stay." It was all I could wish for, and yet pangs of guilt snaked into my conscience. 'I had lied to them yet they had chosen to temporarily set aside their doubts and let me stay. But what for?'

My eyes drooped with melancholy and I failed to notice his studious gaze that had now changed. "You said that you want to pursue your career while you're here. Does this mean you won't be available during the daytime?" He asked.

"I'm taking my first steps in acting and recently got signed to a major company. I think I will be available only after, say...3 pm," I replied.

"That's good. I'll be needing you to take care of Isolde as her babysitter. She is being homeschooled until 3 pm on every weekday. How is your schedule on weekends?" He asked.

My eyes widened at his offer - in fact, it wasn't even an offer. He sounded as though the matter was long settled. Maybe because Isolde liked me?

"I'm free on weekends, except when I'll be taking auditions," I responded, my eyes glittering with more alacrity that before. This was great. I could do this. Maybe I could even avoid this man's fiery presence by occupying myself with acting and taking care of Isolde. Who knew? That castle was so enormous I would probably never cross paths with him.

"If your schedule ever fails to coincide with Isolde's, please relay that in advance to Bernard so that he can make adequate preparations for Isolde to be taken care of. Your meals and lodging will also be adequate. You'll be having breakfast and supper here, I assume. Bernard will guide you to your room later," he expounded clearly while putting something down on his notepad and tearing off the paper. He extended his large palm in which lay the note. "My contact is the first one. Bernard's contact is the bottom one," he said.

I flinched as I took the note from his hand. A crooked smile took over my lips. "I'm sorry. Do you have a charger?" I asked.

He paused. It seemed, for a moment, that a muscle in his jaw had twitched, perhaps to stifle a laugh. "No need to apologize. There will be enough supplies in your room. While we're on the topic, what is your favourite colour?" He asked, amusement colouring his divinely charming features. His face was a flawless blend between hot and cold. It was so peculiar it entranced me even further. It seemed as though he, the bringer of the winter season, had been birthed in the summer.

There was a flutter-inducing, icy darkness in his grey eyes - a voidness that made me squeamish. And yet his smile was so warm and gentle that it seemed to drip with honey. His deep voice was so resonant and husky; it made me dreamily envision how it would feel like to have him whisper sultry promises in my ear as his full, kissable lips descended on my neck.

"Red. My favourite colour is red," I said, amid a sudden daze, my eyes floating over his smiling lips that were vaguely rosy. I hadn't even questioned the reason for his odd query. He might have noticed my growing endearment, or not, but he nodded and said, "Then I suppose you would prefer a room with that theme colour as well as clothes. What about white?"

I hadn't realized he would be so considerate of me - to even discuss with me about such trifles. My heart warmed as I met his equally-warm gaze that resonated with the nearly-palpable emotions in my heart. "Mmm. White would be good too...and black maybe," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. It was just a room and clothes, and yet I felt as though I was ten years younger, receiving my first love letter and having my first crush.

We gazed at each other for a moment longer than it actually was, before he lowered his gaze awkwardly to his notepad. "Well then, don't keep Bernard waiting. He has incredible hearing. I am sure he heard more than he wanted of our conversation," he said.

I stood up and thanked him. There was a quiver to my stride out of his study because I could feel his searing gaze on my back, burning off my flimsy, white dress and devouring my naked self in the midst of wildly-dancing flames.

Once the door was shut behind me and I encountered Bernard's knowing visage, the breath - I had been unknowingly holding - was vehemently released.