Eleanor didn’t mean to snoop. Really, she didn’t. But here she was, standing in Dorian’s private library, fingers brushing over the spines of the old, leather-bound books, curiosity burning in her chest.
She had only intended to sit by his bedside, to make sure he was okay—to be close in case he needed more blood. After what had happened, she wasn’t taking any chances.
Yet, as Dorian slept, his breathing steady, she found herself wandering.
His room was grand but not ostentatious, draped in dark colors, the faint scent of cedarwood and something undeniably him lingering in the air. The large bookshelf in the corner caught her attention first. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling, filled with books that looked older than her entire existence.
Her fingers hovered over the bindings. Titles in languages she couldn’t read. Ancient scripts. Some books were tattered, the pages worn from years of use. Others were pristine, as if they had never been touched.
She swallowed.
Would he mind?
Her fingertips traced the golden lettering of a book under the Myths section. A part of her ached to pull it out and flip through the pages, but she knew better.
This was Dorian’s. Whatever secrets these books held, she had no right to uncover them. Her fingers lingered on the shelf for a moment longer, and with a resigned sigh, she readied herself to step away—
Thud.
A book tumbled from the shelf, its fall breaking the stillness of the room. The sound was sharp, loud in the silence, and it seemed to echo in her chest.
Eleanor’s heart leapt into her throat, a jolt of panic flooding through her. She froze, her breath catching in her lungs.
She glanced over at the bed—Dorian hadn’t stirred. His body was still, the quiet rhythm of his breathing the only indication he was still asleep. But her nerves were on edge, the tension of the moment creeping into her every muscle.
Of all the books in this library, this was the one that fell?
Swallowing hard, she opened it.
The first page held an old, faded picture. The moment she laid eyes on it, she froze.
It was Silas.
No—wait.
Eleanor’s breath caught as she read the name below the picture.
Lucas Valerian.
Not Silas.
Her fingers tightened around the book.
The resemblance was uncanny. The sharp jawline, the piercing eyes, the expression that screamed authority. But there were slight differences—the tilt of his lips, the way his hair curled near his ears.
Eleanor turned the page, her hands trembling slightly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Each page felt heavier than the last, the anticipation gnawing at her. Her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the next picture.
Lucien.
No—her eyes darted to the name written under the photo: Matthias Valerian.
A cold shiver ran through her as she flipped to the next page. Her heartbeat quickened, the rhythmic thumping in her chest almost deafening as she turned each one. The images were unmistakable—each face, eerily familiar, a mirror image of the men she knew so well.
Lucien. Cassius. Viktor. Dorian. Silas.
But they weren’t the men she knew. They were older, their faces frozen in time, and yet, the resemblance was undeniable.
Her stomach twisted, a sickening feeling creeping up her throat. Her mind raced, questions swirling with no clear answers.
Who were these men?
The question echoed in her mind, louder with each turn of the page. And more importantly—what did it all mean?
A shiver crawled up her spine as the pieces began to fall into place, but they didn’t make sense. Were these men, these ancestors, somehow connected to the Valerian brothers? But no—this wasn’t a mere family resemblance. The likeness was too striking, too precise.
Her fingers hesitated over the final image, the last one in the book. She let out a quiet breath before she slowly lifted it to the light.
The photo was worn, faded with time, but it was still clear enough for her to see.
It was Silas. No—Lucas Valerian.
She inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat.
Silas was the exact replica of him. The same sharp features, the same haunting gaze. It was impossible. But there was no denying it.
Her mind spun, thoughts colliding, racing in a thousand directions. Were the brothers… reincarnations of these men? Were they cursed to live again, over and over, locked in a cycle they couldn’t escape?
Her head felt heavy, her thoughts chaotic, when suddenly—
A knock.
The sound resonated through the room, sharp and sudden, breaking through the silence with a force that nearly made her jump out of her skin.
“Shit!”
She had been going through Dorian’s things without permission.
Quickly, she snapped the book shut, shoving it back into its place on the shelf.
Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her hands down her dress and hurried to the door.
When she pulled it open, she was met with two maids standing outside, each carrying a tray of food.
The taller of the two smiled politely. “Lady Eleanor, we’ve brought your meal.”
Eleanor blinked. “Oh. I—” She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
The other maid shifted her weight. “Master Silas instructed us to bring you food. You haven’t eaten in hours.”
Eleanor hesitated. Her stomach was empty, but how could she eat right now? Not with the way her mind was spinning, not after what she had just seen—
"Bring the food in." A voice muttered behind her.
Eleanor’s entire body stiffened. Slowly, she turned her head. Dorian was awake. Lying in bed, his golden eyes locked onto her, his voice deep and smooth despite the exhaustion lining his features.
He had been watching her. Had he seen what she was doing? Had he seen the book? Eleanor swallowed hard, gripping the door handle tighter.
The maids immediately bowed. “Master Dorian, shall we bring the food in?”
He didn’t take his eyes off Eleanor. “Yes. Set it down.”
They nodded, stepping inside to place the trays on a nearby table. Eleanor’s mind raced. Had he seen the book? Had he noticed anything? When the maids left, silence filled the room.
Dorian slowly sat up, his gaze still pinned on her.
"Eleanor."
Her fingers curled into her palms. "Yes?"
His lips quirked. "Did you find what you were looking for?"