Ch 20: The Obsession is Growing - Part 1

The idea of Fenrir betraying his master to join her was intoxicating. Together, they could achieve what she alone could not. She had tasted failure once, and it had cost her dearly—her soul marked by the angel's curse. But with Fenrir's cunning and power, perhaps she could rewrite her fate.

Her lips curled into a faint smile as she envisioned the possibilities. A partnership forged in ambition and strength. Or perhaps more—an alliance of kindred spirits who understood the weight of rejection and the hunger for greatness.

Yet, doubt persisted, gnawing at her like a restless specter. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of her chair, staring into the fire.

"If he desires me," she mused, "why hide behind riddles? And if he means to use me... how far will he go?"

The crackling of the fire offered no answers, only the echo of her own uncertainty. Fenrir had left her with more questions than answers, and in the stillness of the night, she realized that she was both captivated and unsettled by him.

So, it was time to test the man who claimed to want to help her out.

Lady Fourie, determined to test Fenrir's true intentions, arranged a private meeting under the guise of discussing estate matters. She chose a secluded chamber filled with rich tapestries and the scent of aged wood, creating an atmosphere of intimacy. Mary Ann, notably absent from this meeting, had been instructed to rest after their "long journey."

Lady Fourie's plan was simple: gauge Fenrir's loyalty by drawing his attention away from his mistress. If he truly harbored feelings for her—or if he sought to align himself with her ambitions—it would be revealed in his behavior.

______

Fenrir arrived promptly, his pale features composed and unreadable as ever. Lady Fourie greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes softening to convey a hint of vulnerability.

"Thank you for coming," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "I've been meaning to speak with you alone."

Fenrir inclined his head. "Of course, my lady. How may I assist you?"

Lady Fourie leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "I find myself in need of counsel, Fenrir. Someone of your intelligence and... discretion."

Fenrir's gaze flickered with faint amusement. "I am honored by your trust."

As the conversation progressed, Lady Fourie steered it toward personal matters. She spoke of her struggles, her desires for greatness, and the burdens of managing the estate. She allowed her voice to waver at times, her expressions carefully curated to evoke sympathy.

Fenrir responded with measured words, his tone always courteous but never crossing the boundary of familiarity. Yet, he allowed moments of silence to linger—moments where Lady Fourie could imagine hidden meanings in his gaze.

As the meeting continued, the door creaked open, and Mary Ann stepped inside. Her presence was like a cold gust of wind, her expression calm but her eyes betraying a flicker of displeasure.

"Fenrir," she said softly, her voice devoid of warmth, "I was looking for you."

Fenrir turned to her, his expression unchanged. "My lady, I was merely assisting Lady Fourie with a pressing matter."

Mary Ann's lips pressed into a thin line. "It seems you have been quite occupied."

Lady Fourie watched the exchange with interest. Mary Ann's icy demeanor suggested discontent, and for a moment, she entertained the possibility that Fenrir truly valued her above his mistress.

Fenrir, sensing Lady Fourie's intent, subtly shifted his demeanor. He rose from his chair, his movements deliberate as he stepped closer to Lady Fourie. "If you require further assistance, my lady, I am at your disposal."

Mary Ann's eyes darkened, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. "Fenrir, we have other matters to attend to."

He turned to her with a faint smile, his voice smooth. "Of course, my lady. I serve at your pleasure."

The tension in the room thickened as Mary Ann's displeasure became more evident. Lady Fourie, emboldened by the apparent rift, pressed forward.

"I appreciate your dedication, Fenrir," she said warmly, her gaze lingering on him.

After Fenrir departed with Mary Ann, Lady Fourie sat alone, her heart racing with the thrill of the exchange. She was convinced that Fenrir's loyalty to Mary Ann was wavering, and perhaps, with time, she could draw him fully to her side.

Meanwhile, as Fenrir wheeled himself alongside Mary Ann down the hallway, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "She's taken the bait," he murmured.

Mary Ann glanced at him, her voice cold but tinged with amusement, but also jealousy. "You're enjoying this far too much."

Fenrir chuckled softly. "And you play the role of the scorned mistress so convincingly."

"She is too arrogant to see through us," Mary Ann replied. "But her downfall is inevitable."

The two shared a moment of quiet understanding, their bond unshaken by the charade they had woven.

______

Lady Fourie was not one to accept uncertainty. The previous night's encounter with Fenrir had left her more intrigued—and frustrated—than ever. His behavior was ambiguous, his every word and gesture deliberate yet inscrutable. If she was to uncover his true intentions, she would need to escalate her game.

She arranged a series of encounters, each more intimate than the last, designed to test his resolve and loyalty.

The following morning, Lady Fourie invited Fenrir to join her for a stroll in the estate's sprawling garden, a sanctuary of sculpted hedges, vibrant blooms, and winding paths. Mary Ann was conspicuously absent, left behind with the excuse of needing to rest.

"You seem to enjoy these gardens, Fenrir," Lady Fourie said as they wandered. Her voice was light, but her gaze searched his face for any sign of weakness. "Tell me, do you ever dream of a life beyond servitude?"

Fenrir chuckled softly. "Dreams are luxuries, my lady. I find satisfaction in my duties."

"Even under such... trying circumstances?" she pressed, her voice tinged with sympathy.

"Especially so," Fenrir replied, his tone unreadable.

Her frustration mounted. No matter how she framed her questions, he evaded her traps with the precision of a practiced chess player

Determined to unsettle him, Lady Fourie leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "It must be exhausting, always putting her needs before your own. A man like you deserves more than blind servitude."

Fenrir's pale eyes flickered with a hint of amusement. "I am merely fulfilling my purpose, my lady."

Lady Fourie's lips curved into a sly smile. "But what if your purpose could change? What if there was someone who truly saw your potential and valued you for who you are?

Before Fenrir could respond, the sound of rustling leaves announced Mary Ann's arrival. She emerged from the shadows of a nearby trellis, her expression carefully blank but her eyes blazing with quiet fury.

"Fenrir," she said, her voice sharp, "I was wondering where you had gone."

Fenrir inclined his head. "My apologies, my lady. Lady Fourie was kind enough to invite me for a walk."

Mary Ann's gaze shifted to Lady Fourie, her lips tightening. "How thoughtful of you, sister. Though I wonder if it was entirely necessary."

Lady Fourie met her sister's gaze with feigned innocence. "You mustn't keep him all to yourself, Mary Ann. A servant should be allowed some leisure."

The tension between the two women crackled like a summer storm, and Fenrir stood silently in its center, his expression neutral.

Lady Fourie's confidence grew. The rift she sought to widen between Mary Ann and her enigmatic servant seemed to be forming. Yet, despite her apparent progress, she couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that she was playing directly into Fenrir's hands.

As they returned to the estate, Fenrir glanced at Lady Fourie, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Your hospitality is most generous, my lady."

Her heart quickened at his words, and for a moment, she allowed herself to believe that she was winning this dangerous game.

______

Lady Fourie paced the length of her chamber, her silk gown brushing the floor with every agitated step. The flickering light of the candelabra cast restless shadows on the walls, mirroring the turmoil in her mind. Fenrir had slipped into her thoughts like a thief in the night, stealing her focus and unsettling her in ways she had not anticipated.

She paused at the vanity, her reflection staring back at her. Beautiful, poised, and commanding—she had always wielded her looks and wit to bend others to her will. But Fenrir... Fenrir was different. He was a puzzle she couldn't solve, a fire she couldn't extinguish.

Lady Fourie let out a frustrated sigh and sat at her desk, drumming her fingers against its polished surface. Why had she become so fixated on him? Was it his enigmatic charm, his calm defiance, or the way he seemed to slip through her fingers no matter how carefully she laid her traps?

She recalled the way he had looked at her during their walk—the faint smile that lingered on his lips, the glimmer of amusement in his pale eyes. It was maddening. He gave her just enough attention to keep her intrigued but never enough to satisfy her curiosity.

Is he drawn to me? she wondered. Or is he simply playing a game I have yet to understand?