The mansion was too quiet.
Hours had slipped by since Selene left me with my things. I couldn't stay in the room any longer; the walls pressed in on me, reminding me of the truth I was trying to push away. So I forced myself to stand, smoothed my blue silk dress, and opened the door.
The hallway stretched wide and endless, lined with intricate molding and polished floors that gleamed under the soft glow of wall sconces. Portraits of unfamiliar men and women stared down from golden frames, their painted eyes following me as though judging my every step.
I trailed my fingers along the railing as I descended the staircase. The air was cooler downstairs, tinged faintly with polish and flowers. Every sound I made echoed, reminding me I was intruding in a space that didn't belong to me.
The living room was just as I remembered from the night before. Sprawling, pristine, with chandeliers that sparkled even in daylight. Large windows stretched floor-to-ceiling, casting sunlight over furniture arranged with unnerving precision. Everything looked untouched, like a showroom no one dared to truly live in.
I wandered further, passing through archways that opened into new rooms. An office with walls of books and a massive desk that screamed authority, a lounge with deep leather chairs, and finally a dining room that stretched longer than I'd ever seen, the table gleaming like a mirror.
Every room whispered the same thing: power. This wasn't just a home. It was a fortress of wealth and control.
I paused near the window in the lounge, pressing my forehead lightly to the cool glass. Beyond the manicured gardens and tall walls, the city sprawled in the distance. Freedom looked so close and yet impossibly far. My chest tightened.
A sound cut through the silence.
The distinct slam of a car door.
My breath caught as I rushed back toward the entryway. Through the tall windows near the staircase, I saw it: the same sleek black car from last night pulling away after dropping him at the front steps.
He had returned.
The front doors opened, and he stepped inside with the same presence that had unsettled me from the first moment. Tall, broad-shouldered, suit perfectly fitted as though it were made for him alone. His dark eyes swept across the room, landing on me immediately.
I froze, hands gripping the banister, my heart pounding.
"You've been exploring," he said, voice low but carrying effortlessly across the space.
I swallowed hard, unable to look away. "I… I didn't want to stay in the room all day."
His mouth curved slightly not quite a smile, not quite mockery. "Good. You should know your surroundings."
He walked toward me, each step deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. The air seemed heavier with every inch he closed between us. When he finally stopped just in front of me, I could smell that faint mix of leather and spice again, a scent that made my stomach twist in ways I didn't want to examine.
"This house," he said, gesturing faintly around us, "is yours as much as mine now. But don't mistake freedom of movement for freedom itself. You are still here on my terms."
His words struck me like a blade. Sharp and deliberate. I tightened my grip on the railing, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I never asked for any of this."
"No," he agreed calmly, "you didn't. But asking isn't always required."
His eyes held me captive. Unblinking. Searching. As if he was peeling away every fragile layer I was trying to protect.
The silence between us stretched, tense and suffocating. Finally, he stepped back, loosening the air just enough for me to breathe again.
"Dinner will be at eight," he said, turning toward the staircase as though nothing more needed to be said. "Don't be late."
And just like that, he was gone. Disappearing into the depths of the mansion, leaving me trembling on the stairs.
The house suddenly felt different, no longer merely a place I was trapped in, but a stage where every move mattered. It felt suffocating. He was the audience, the judge, and the executioner all in one.
And tonight, at eight, I would be facing him again.
My mind drifted to my family. I missed home. Although they barely acknowledged my presence and treated me like another piece of furniture, I still had a place of my own where I could be myself. Now in his home—the home of the man my dearest father had given me to, as a settlement of his debt—I felt like a bird trapped in a cage.