Under the Heiress' Facade

Upon returning to the mansion, Bernard and others were met with darkness. The living room was illuminated only by the flickering glow of candles. Douglas was on the phone.

"What happened?" Bernard asked.

"The electric transformer is out. I'm getting it fixed," Douglas replied, surprised by their early return. His gaze fell on Hera, who was cradled in Bernard's arms.

Samantha started to offer them a place to stay, but Bernard was already turning to leave.

"No need, we're going home," he said firmly.

It was then that Douglas noticed Hera's unusual state. Normally radiant and aloof, she now seemed small and fragile as she clung to Bernard's back. He pushed aside the troubling questions, quickly gathering Tiramisu and snuffing out the candles before heading to the car.

Once aboard the plane, Bernard settled Hera into the bedroom.

Her face was a canvas of pallor, her eyes vacant—a stark reminder of the fear that had consumed her.

He summoned the flight attendant for a first aid kit, his deft fingers tending to the scrapes on her hands and knees with practiced care.

"Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" he asked, wiping away the lingering traces of sand with a damp cloth.

Hera shook her head numbly.

Her fragility pierced his heart, a bittersweet ache blooming within him. "Then rest well. We'll be home before you know it."

Hera obeyed and sank into the softness of the bed. As Bernard tucked a blanket around her and turned to fetch her a glass of water, her slender fingers curled around his wrist.

"Don't leave me..." Her voice was a mere breath, her tear-filled eyes glistening like moonlit pools, reflecting her utter vulnerability.

Bernard's heart melted. "I won't leave."

...

The following morning, the gnawing pangs of hunger roused Hera from her slumber.

She opened her eyes to find Bernard still asleep, one arm draped possessively across her waist and the other cradling her head.

Hera's mind went blank. What had happened last night?

A quick inspection confirmed their clothes were still intact, much to her relief. Gradually, fragments of the previous night's events returned her panicked escape, Bernard carrying her back, her crippling fear of the dark....

She carefully slipped out of bed, only to discover that they were still on the plane, though it had landed. The closed window blinds obscured the time of day.

Just as she was about to leave, a voice husky with sleep called out, "Sweetie, planning a morning-after escape?"

Hera froze, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. "Last night never happened."

Bernard watched her go, a wry smile playing on his lips. He found the vulnerable, frightened girl from the night before far more endearing.

Hera freshened up and requested food from the flight attendant to quell her hunger. She then procured a first aid kit and returned to the room.

Bernard emerged from the bathroom, his damp hair tousled. He had a loose black bathrobe draped around his body.