As she reached the stairway, she heard a faint rustling sound coming from the Living room below.
Tilda tensed up, becoming hyper-alert.
She had read countless stories about how the New Year period saw a spike in burglaries.
Though the security here was usually tight, the villaâs remote location made it an easy target.
Biting her red lips, Tilda descended the stairs quietly, grabbing a crystal ornament as a makeshift weapon.
The late-night sky was clear, the moon casting a faint glow through the windows.
In the dim light, she saw a figure bent over, seemingly searching for something.
Tilda knew she had to act quickly.
Swallowing hard, she raised the crystal ornament, ready to strike, and shouted, âThief!â
The figure reacted swiftly, dodging her attack.
The crystal ornament grazed his arm.
The âthiefâ frowned and then grabbed Tildaâs wrist, pulling her into a firm hold.
âItâs me.
â
Hearing the familiar voice, Tilda stopped struggling.
âLyndon?â
He nodded, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
âYes, itâs me.
Did you really think I was a thief?â
Tilda smiled awkwardly.
âWhy didnât you turn on the light if you were coming downstairs in the middle of the night?â
Lyndon paused for a moment before replying, âYou didnât either.
â
Tilda was momentarily speechless.
He had a point.
She hadnât turned on the light because she had heard noises.
As she processed this, Tilda realized she was still in Lyndonâs arms.
In the dim moonlight, now she could make out his handsome face and bright eyes.
Tildaâs heart raced, thumping wildly against her chest.
She raised her head, staring up at him.
His scent, a mix of mint and something uniquely his, made her mouth dry.
She swallowed hard, her breath catching.