Destiny Of Darkness

After they left the diner, the rain let up. The faint hum of the road had lulled Grace to sleep. Ezra looked at Grace, who was resting her head against the window with her eyes closed. He was still surprised she had agreed to go with him. He thought she would argue about the trip.

As Ezra pulled into his driveway, the wrought-iron gates loomed large, dark, and imposing, like guards watching over a hidden world. Grace stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, her sleepiness clear. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ezra. Did I fall asleep?” Her voice was thick with grogginess.

Ezra’s jaw relaxed, and a sincere warmth softened his features. “Grace, you never need to apologize to me.” He then turned his attention back to the keypad beside the gate. His fingers moved with practiced ease, punching in a series of numbers. A soft click echoed in the night, and the gates swung open, revealing a long, winding drive.

Subtle ground-level lights cast an ethereal glow on the surrounding landscape, illuminating the drive. Tall trees lined each side of the road, forming a dark, almost sacred tunnel. The air grew cooler and fresher as the car moved up the drive, and the scent of pine and damp earth brought Grace a sense of peace and safety. The car cruised along the winding path, its headlights piercing the darkness and revealing glimpses of well-maintained gardens that faded into shadows. They seemed to leave the world behind for a serene, solitary existence. The road appeared to stretch on forever, heightening the sense of anticipation. Grace wondered what kind of house awaited at the end of this secluded drive. She pictured something rustic, maybe a grand old manor with ivy climbing its stone walls. However, what emerged from the darkness took her breath away.

It wasn’t a manor at all. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture, a stark, stunning contrast to the natural landscape around it. The house was a sprawling metal and glass structure, black in color. It was a symphony of sharp angles and clean lines, reflecting moonlight and the surrounding forest in its large windows. It rose from the hilltop, appearing both grounded and floating.

A soft, involuntary “Oh…” escaped Grace’s lips. She felt a profound sense of awe. This was more than just a house; it was a sanctuary, a fortress of understated elegance.

The rain had slowed into a gentle drizzle, leaving a sheen on the glass and metal that amplified the house’s otherworldly glow. Grace couldn’t look away. It was beautiful, almost intimidating. She felt dwarfed, out of place, but also intrigued inside his home. She couldn’t wait to see what was inside.

“Shall we go inside?” Ezra asks, his voice a low rumble that cuts through her reverie.

“Yes,” Grace says, a small smile playing on her lips as she follows him up the steps. Closer inspection reveals a striking house. The moonlight softens its stark, modern lines, giving it an almost ethereal quality.

As they approached the door, Ezra paused and turned to Grace. “Well, I should carry you over the threshold of our home,” he says, taking her hand in his.

“Why would you do that? We are not married,” she says in shock, looking at him as if he’d sprouted wings. The statement hung between them, a small bubble of surprise.

“Not yet,” he says, a playful glint in his eye as he opens the door, revealing a warm, inviting light spilling into the night. Inside, the house’s stark elegance includes unexpected warmth, unlike its exterior. Smelling of sandalwood and something else—something masculine and comforting—wafts out to greet them. The air hums with a quiet energy, a sense of settled peace.

He didn’t try to carry her, thank goodness. Instead, he signaled for her to go inside. “Come on, let’s get you out of the rain.” Grace hesitated, a wave of conflicting emotions swirling inside her. Ezra was… unusual. Intriguing.

She stepped inside, crossing the threshold, and felt the warmth enfold her. The living room exemplified minimalist design. Large, geometric windows offered a sweeping view of the forest outside, now shrouded in velvety darkness. A lively fire crackled in a modern hanging fireplace, casting playful shadows on the polished concrete floor. A soft, cream-colored sofa invited her to sink in, and someone had arranged a collection of art books on a low coffee table.

Grace’s heart skipped a beat. The casual pronouncements, the possessive “our home,” implying a future… it was all a little overwhelming. She had only just met him. Yet, standing here, bathed in the soft light spilling from the doorway, with his hand still holding hers, she couldn’t deny a thrill of anticipation and a nervous excitement that pulsed through her veins. Intrigue and a hint of risk filled the night. She wondered: Was she brave enough to cross that threshold, to change, and see what would happen next?

Stepping over the threshold, Grace discovered a delightful surprise inside—a warm embrace enveloping her. The cold, sterile aesthetic she’d expected was gone. Instead, warm light poured from hidden fixtures, casting a gentle glow across every surface and illuminating the rich tapestries woven with intricate patterns and vibrant colors. The paintings on the walls weren’t the mass-produced prints found in doctors’ offices; these were genuine works of art, full of life and emotion. The furniture exuded comfort and relaxation—plush armchairs and sofas beckoned her, promising relief from the outside world. Their inviting appearance eased her daily stress. Then, her gaze fell upon the bookcases, overflowing and stacked high with volumes ranging from leather-bound classics to dog-eared paperbacks. Surrounded by warmth, Grace felt a single thought: home. It was a sanctuary.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” said Ezra, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Make yourself at home,” he added, closing the door behind her. He moved, shedding his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. He looked so relaxed here.

“It’s… beautiful,” Grace breathed, the word feeling inadequate to describe the sheer artistry of the space.

He smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. “Thank you; I am glad you think so.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers, and she felt a strange warmth blossom in her chest. “I want you to feel… good, comfortable, and safe. I’ll recreate that feeling here for you.”

He gestured toward the man who had just arrived. He was an older gentleman dressed in black. His face was a mask of unwavering severity, his eyes staring straight ahead. “This is Pip. Pip, this is Grace; she is now the lady of the house.”

“Ma’am,” Pip said, nodding at Grace. “Whatever you need, Miss Grace, just ask me or anyone on the household staff. I’ll take your bags to your room. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, Pip,” Grace replies, still in awe of her surroundings. She watched, bewildered, as Pip zipped away with her suitcase. She felt like she was reeling from the whirlwind of the past few hours—leaving her home, meeting Ezra, and hearing his astonishing confession that they were soulmates. Trusting him felt like stepping off a cliff, yet a strange, undeniable pull kept her rooted to his side.

“Ezra,” she began softly, "I still don’t get it. I have so many questions. Why me? Why am I here? You said our destinies..." Her voice faded away.

“Let us sit first,” he said, guiding her to a large leather sofa by the crackling fireplace. “Forces beyond our understanding weave complicated, intertwined destinies.” Yes, our paths will meet. I understand it’s a lot to take in. Care for a drink? I have wine, whiskey, or maybe a cup of tea.

“Wine sounds lovely,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. As he turned toward a sleek, hidden bar, she took a tentative step further into the room, letting her fingers trail along the smooth surface of a large, abstract sculpture. He returned with two glasses of deep, ruby red wine. Handing her one, he clinked his glass against hers.

“Now, Grace, please sit down and tell me about yourself.” He says as they sit on the large leather sofa, “I know your name and favorite flowers, but I want to learn all about you.”

Grace took a sip, the rich flavors coating her tongue. ‘Why would you be interested in hearing about me? I’m nobody; I am nothing. No one cares about me. I’m an ugly old frump who no one loves — not even my husband, who swore he loved me.’ She set down her wine, fought back tears, and declared herself a divorced, ugly woman with no future, dropping her head into her hands.

Ezra leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. He stood up and joined her on the sofa, holding her hand. His touch radiated warmth, a comforting heat that spread through her. “Stop, Grace. You are not ugly. I don’t want to hear you say that again.” His gaze was like a laser beam, focused and unwavering. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help lighten the load.”

Grace hesitated. This was crazy—and wild. But something about the warmth in his eyes compelled her to speak. She unraveled the story of her life—a life filled with loneliness and pain. She recounted her parents, who never loved her and saw her as a burden, the cruel taunts of classmates, the dismissive glares of coworkers who only saw her as a gofer, and the constant feeling of invisibility and worthlessness. Then, she described her soul-crushing marriage—the physical pain, emotional manipulation, and feeling owned and broken. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the edges of the luxurious room.

Ezra listened as Grace shared her story. His expression was unreadable, yet compassionate. He didn’t interrupt or offer easy clichés; he listened. After what felt like hours to Grace, she fell silent, with only the crackling fire breaking the quiet. Exhausted, she realized she had poured her entire soul out to a stranger. “I… I don’t know why I told you all that.”

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he grasped her chin and turned her face to meet his gaze. “Because you needed to, and because I wanted to hear it.” His eyes held a strange intensity. “I despise the thought of you being treated that way, Grace. You deserve a better deal than this. Passion and recognition of your brilliance are what you deserve in life. You deserved none of that. Kindness, respect, and a burning love are what you deserve.”

“Love…” she scoffed, with a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “That’s a fairy tale for other people, Ezra. Not for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that.” He grabs her hand, his grip steady but reassuring. “You deserve love, Grace. You’re much stronger than you think.”

“It’s not that simple,” she whispered, pulling her hand back.

“Maybe not,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “But Grace,” Ezra said, his voice steady and sincere, “you, my love, are more than the sum of your past.”

His words unsettled Grace. They made her want to believe all his promises, but she still doubted herself. Something was captivating about Ezra: the vulnerability beneath his confident exterior.

“Grace, I need to tell you something that might be hard to believe.” He began, his voice filled with unsettling seriousness. He looked her in the eyes, his gaze intense and almost burning. “I am a demon.”