The grand white mansion loomed over me like a silent monster, its beauty doing little to calm the storm raging in my chest. I followed Eric up the marble stairs, my footsteps trembling, echoing against the stone like tiny betrayals. The heavy doors swung open, and I stepped inside.
The interior was no less intimidating—chandeliers dripping with crystals, polished marble floors reflecting golden lights, paintings of stern ancestors staring down from the walls. Everything screamed of power, wealth, and coldness.
Eric walked ahead, his tall figure dominating the vast hall. I trailed behind, clutching the hem of my gown, my breaths shallow.
"You'll stay here now," he said, his voice firm. "No running. No screaming. No foolishness."
I swallowed hard, nodding quickly.
But as we passed through the corridor, something made me freeze. A painting—massive, bold—hung at the end of the hallway. It wasn't like the others. This one showed a young man kneeling, his head bowed, while another man, faceless, stood behind him with a gun pointed at his skull.
I stopped dead, my eyes glued to it. My blood ran cold.
Eric noticed and turned. His eyes darkened, a shadow falling across his sharp features. "That painting," he said slowly, "was inspired by something that happened years ago. My family ordered it."
My throat tightened. "What happened?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He didn't look away. His jaw flexed. "A boy my age. Seventeen then. He tried to betray my family… he was caught. I was the one forced to pull the trigger."
I staggered back a step, my breath catching. The room suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in. He killed… at seventeen?
Eric's eyes pierced through me, daring me to flinch. "So don't test me, Kiki. I don't make empty threats. When I say six months, I mean six months. You step out of line, I won't hesitate."
I nodded quickly, terrified. My stomach churned, the memory of his words already searing into me like fire.
That night, I lay in the enormous bedroom he had ordered the maids to prepare for me. The bed was soft, the sheets scented with lavender, the room glowing with golden lamps—but none of it brought me peace. My mind kept replaying his story, his voice, his eyes. The monster he had been forced to become.
I curled under the blanket, pulling it up to my chin, silently praying for morning.
Meanwhile, across the hall, Eric stood by his window, staring out into the night sky. His glass of whiskey sat untouched on the table. His thoughts were not on business, nor on his enemies. They were on her—on the trembling girl with fire in her eyes that she tried so hard to hide.
He clenched his fist. He had taken her for convenience, for control. Yet something inside him stirred whenever she looked at him—something dangerous, something he couldn't admit.
Morning came softly, but Kiki hardly felt its gentleness. She opened her eyes to find the sun spilling into the vast room, its golden rays dancing on the silk curtains. The mansion was quiet, almost too quiet, until the gentle knock of a maid stirred her fully awake.
"Miss Azalea is waiting downstairs. She's been instructed by Master Eric to accompany you to the university," the maid said politely.
Kiki blinked. Azalea? That was the name of the woman who had been assigned to her—a graceful, elegant personal attendant. She sat at the edge of the bed, realizing Eric had already arranged her first day back as though her entire life had been slotted into his control.
With Azalea's help, she dressed. Not in the simple clothes she was used to, but in a fitted, elegant dress Eric had ordered for her. The soft fabric hugged her figure perfectly, and the delicate jewelry matched the dress like it had been designed only for her. When she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself.
Descending the staircase, she caught sight of Eric seated at the head of the long dining table. He wasn't reading or eating—his eyes were fixed on her.
For the first time since she had met him, his usually cold gaze seemed… struck. His eyes widened slightly, as though he hadn't expected the transformation. For a brief moment, Kiki swore she saw admiration flicker across his features.
She noticed it—but quickly shook the thought away.
At the table, her steps slowed. She froze when she saw the spread before her. Her favorite foods, every single one of them, lined up like an offering. From the spicy chicken she always craved, to the warm, buttery pancakes she thought only her mother knew how to make, to the exact fruit juice she loved—it was all there.
Her heart stumbled in her chest. How did he know?
Her eyes flicked to him. He didn't speak, just motioned for her to sit.
She forced a small smile, whispering silently in her thoughts: Your guards needs to go.
And almost as if he heard it, Eric signaled his guards—who had been sitting stiffly at the far end of the table. The older man stood, nodded once, and left.
Now, it was only the two of them.
Eric leaned forward and, with his own hands, began serving her plate. She stiffened as he placed each dish carefully before her, like he had done it a thousand times. The gentleness of the act contrasted sharply with the fierce man who had once tied her in the middle of nowhere.
Her eyes lingered on him. In a way… he's handsome, she thought. His sharp jawline, the way his sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly tousled like he hadn't cared enough to tame it this morning. Handsome, yes… but still terrifying.
She ate quickly, not daring to linger in the strange comfort of the moment. After a few bites, she wrapped up some food hurriedly. "I'll be late—I need to catch the bus," she muttered.
But by the time she rushed out of the massive gates, her worst fear was confirmed. The bus had already passed.
"Damn it!" she cursed under her breath, pacing in frustration. The thought of trekking in heels made her groan.
Behind her, Eric's phone rang sharply. He answered with his usual curt tone, but she caught enough to know—something bad had happened at his company. He hung up quickly, striding toward his car, his jaw tight.
But then he saw her, standing by the roadside, cussing under her breath, helpless and angry that the bus had gone.
Something flickered in his eyes. Annoyance? Pity? Or something else?
"Get in," he said simply.
She hesitated, but with no other choice, she climbed into his car. The leather seats felt like heaven against her back, the interior smelling faintly of expensive cologne. The silence between them was thick, filled only by the purr of the powerful engine.
When they arrived at the university, every head turned. Conversations stopped. Eyes followed the sleek, luxurious car as it rolled to a halt at the gates.
The moment Kiki stepped out, whispers exploded.
"Is that… Kiki?"
"She looks so different!"
"Where did she get that dress?"
"Wait—that's Eric Reigns' car!"
Her cheeks burned as the crowd gawked. Then, out of nowhere, a familiar voice called her name.
"Kiki!"
She turned just in time to be engulfed in a hug by a guy from her department. A close friend—someone who clearly hadn't seen her in days and rushed over, concerned and relieved.
Eric, already behind the wheel, should have driven away. Instead, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His jaw ticked. He rolled down the window slightly and looked back one more time.
The sight of her laughing softly in another man's arms sent a sharp, unfamiliar sting through his chest.
Was it the stress from his company… or was it jealousy?