The next morning, the tension was still there, thicker than the steam rising from the fresh coffee pot.
Jemma moved around the breakfast table with her usual grace, setting the plates, pouring the drinks… but she didn't look at him. Not once.
Her expression was polite, distant, the kind reserved for a stranger you had no desire to speak to.
Xavier sat back in his chair, watching her as he stirred his coffee slowly. She's still at it, he thought, amused and irritated all at once.
When she finally sat down with her own plate, he leaned forward.
"You're quiet," he said casually, his voice carrying that low, controlled weight that always hinted at something more.
She didn't answer. Just kept cutting her toast.
He set down his coffee cup with a deliberate clink. "Jemma."
She lifted her gaze then, but only for a second. "Yes?" The word was flat, neutral.
"What is this?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Still sulking?"
"I'm not sulking," she said, still not meeting his eyes for more than a moment. "I just don't have much to say to you."
That was bold — too bold.
Xavier's jaw tightened. "Careful."
She gave a small shrug. "You asked."
The air between them went still. Xavier studied her like a man trying to decide whether to break something fragile or simply hold it tighter.
"You think ignoring me is going to work in your favour?"
"I think it's better than pretending everything's fine," she replied quietly, her knife scraping against the plate.
A slow smirk pulled at his lips, but there was no humorous in it. "You forget, dolcezza, I don't do silence. If you have something to say, say it." (meaning: sweetness)
Her eyes finally met his, steady and unflinching. "Not right now."
For a long moment, he said nothing, just leaned back in his chair, watching her like a predator deciding whether to strike now or wait until the prey wandered closer.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a promise.
"Alright. We'll see how long you can keep that up."
By midday, the atmosphere in the house hadn't improved.
Jemma had perfected her performance, polite when necessary, efficient in the small tasks she still did for him, but not a single extra word. No lingering glances, no accidental brushes of her hand against his. She spoke to the other staff when she needed to. Not him.
Xavier let it go for the morning, but by the time lunch passed without her even looking his way, he knew this wasn't a passing mood. This was deliberate.
He was at his desk in the study when she came in to place a stack of documents on the side table. She turned to leave immediately.
"Stop."
She froze, back still to him.
"Come here," he said.
Slowly, she turned, taking a few steps forward, her expression unreadable.
"You've got a lot of nerve," he said calmly, tapping his pen against the desk. "You think you can freeze me out in my own house?"
"I'm not freezing you out," she replied, voice even. "I'm just… keeping to myself."
He gave a humorless chuckle. "No, cara mia, you're trying to make a point." (meaning:my dear)
She didn't deny it, just stared at him in that same maddeningly calm way.
Xavier stood, coming around the desk to close the space between them. "I can play this game longer than you can. But the thing is—" he reached out, tilting her chin up with two fingers "—you won't win."
Her jaw tightened. "Maybe it's not about winning."
He leaned in, his voice low. "Then tell me what it is about."
She pulled her face from his grip. "You already know."
He straightened slowly, watching her retreat a step. This wasn't just her being stubborn. This was her testing how far she could go before he broke.
"Alright," he said, nodding as if to himself. "We'll do it your way for now. But I'll make you talk, Jemma. One way or another."
Her eyes flickered, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her unsettled, but the way his voice wrapped around that promise told her he meant it.
And Xavier?
He decided right then that he wasn't going to wait for her to crack on her own. He'd apply pressure. Little by little. In ways she wouldn't see coming.
Day One
Xavier didn't push immediately. That would've been too obvious. Instead, he started with small things, the kind that would quietly gnaw at her until she had to react.
He purposely sat in the same rooms she was in. If she read in the lounge, he'd choose the armchair opposite her, leafing through a file with deliberate ease. If she moved to the garden, he followed, phone in hand, pretending to handle business.
No words. No orders. Just his presence.
By midafternoon, she couldn't take a single step without sensing him nearby.
When dinner came, he let her eat in peace, almost.
Halfway through the meal, he slowly reached over with his fork, stole a bite of her food, and ate it without looking at her.
Her fork paused midair.
"Really?" she said, her first word to him all day.
He smiled faintly without meeting her eyes. "Hm."
That was all. But in his head, he marked the crack in her silence.
Day Two
She woke to find the library door locked. That was her favorite hiding spot in the house, the one place she thought he didn't bother with.
Instead, she found Xavier in the music room, idly playing a few notes on the piano.
"You're up late," he said without looking up. "I thought maybe you'd want breakfast here today."
"I'm not hungry," she said coolly.
"I didn't ask if you were," he replied, patting the seat next to him. "Sit."
She hesitated, but the unblinking way he looked at her made it clear this wasn't optional. She sat, tense, while he played something soft and wordless. He didn't speak to her again for the next half hour, just kept her there beside him until she was fidgeting.
He didn't force conversation. He didn't have to. He was showing her he could reach her without words if he wanted.
Day Three
In the afternoon, she found the kitchen stocked with her favorite pastries. She ignored them all day, certain he'd arranged it to bait her.
By evening, she finally went to the kitchen for water… and found him there leaning against the counter, sipping espresso.
"Hungry?" he asked casually.
"No."
He picked up one of the pastries, tore off a bite, and hummed in mock appreciation. "Shame. They're fresh."
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
"I can do this forever, Jemma," he said quietly. "You'll break before I do."
Her hand tightened on the glass she held. She didn't reply.
Day Four
At breakfast, he pulled out her chair for her. Not like the arrogant captor she liked to paint him as, but like a gentleman at some quiet, expensive restaurant.
She sat stiffly, refusing to meet his eyes.
Midway through the meal, he spoke without looking up from his plate.
"Do you know what you sound like, not speaking to me?"
She glanced at him reluctantly.
"Like a child holding her breath to win an argument."
That made her slam her fork down. "You don't know what I'm doing," she snapped.
He smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth curling. "Now that's more like it."
She realized too late, he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.