Chapter 3
Dinner was a silent, suffocating affair.
Lily sat at one end of a long, polished marble table that could seat twenty. Alexander sat at the other, a vast chasm of polished stone between them. A woman, whom Lily assumed was his housekeeper, had served them both a perfectly plated piece of seared salmon with a side of asparagus. The food was delicious, but Lily felt too on edge to truly taste it.
The only sound was the delicate clink of her fork against the porcelain plate. Alexander ate with a quiet, efficient precision, his gaze fixed on the cityscape outside the window. He never looked at her, never spoke. It was as if she were a ghost, a figment of his imagination he wished would disappear.
The silence was a weight, pressing down on her. It was a silence that spoke of his disdain and her unwanted presence. She missed the easy noise of her old life—the rumble of the TV, the quiet hum of the refrigerator, and the soft, steady rhythm of her grandfather's breathing.
"Why me?" Lily asked, the question escaping her before she could stop it.
Alexander's fork paused halfway to his mouth. He placed it down deliberately, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable.
"Your grandfather," he began, his voice low. "He was a good man. When my father was just starting out, he was helped by your grandfather. A small loan, some advice, a hand up when no one else would give him one. My father always said he never forgot that kindness. It was a promise, a debt of honor. He made me promise, if the time ever came, that I would return the favor."
Lily's anger, the fire that had fueled her defiance, began to flicker and die. The story wasn't what she'd expected. It wasn't a charity case, but a debt. A promise passed down through generations. She was a living IOU.
"So this isn't for me," she said, her voice small. "This is for your father."
"This is for the memory of two men who kept their word," he corrected, his eyes sharp. "And since you are now my responsibility, you will honor that. You will not embarrass me. You will finish your education. You will do what I ask. And then, when you are settled, you will be on your own."
He picked up his fork and resumed eating, the conversation, in his mind, over. But for Lily, it was just beginning. He saw their arrangement as a transaction—a debt to be paid. But she saw it as something far more complicated. She was not a memory, a favor, or a promise. She was a person, and she was trapped.
She didn't know what his rules were for, or what his expectations were, but she knew one thing for sure: She wouldn't just be a silent, well-behaved ghost in his perfect, sterile home. She would find a way to make her presence known, not as an inconvenience, but as a person with her own needs and her own life to live.
The dinner ended in the same silence it began in. As she was leaving, she saw him standing by the window, the city lights reflecting in his empty gaze. For a fleeting moment, he didn't look like a powerful CEO, but just a man—a man utterly alone in a room that was far too big for him.