After Ethan left, the silence in the dining room transformed into something heavier, more oppressive. Elena sat frozen in her chair for several minutes, the sound of Ethan's departing car like a death knell for the last remnants of her freedom. The maids moved around her almost soundlessly, clearing plates with robotic efficiency, their eyes carefully avoiding her gaze. She felt like a ghost in her own home.
Finally, she forced herself to rise. If this was to be her prison, she should at least know the layout of her cell. She began to explore the first floor of the mansion. Every room she entered felt like a museum diorama. A formal living room with large, ivory-colored sofas that looked as if they had never been sat on. A two-story library filled with thousands of leather-bound books that appeared to have never been opened, the air smelling of old paper and loneliness. A private movie theater with twelve red velvet seats facing a giant black screen.
Everything was perfect. Everything was expensive. Everything was cold and lifeless. There were no family photos on the walls, no stacks of magazines on the coffee tables, not a single trace of messy, warm life. This wasn't a home; it was a showcase for Ethan Riels's wealth.
Feeling increasingly suffocated, Elena pulled out her phone, her fingers automatically dialing Nathan's number. She needed to hear his voice. She needed a reminder that another world existed beyond these sterile walls.
"El?" Nathan's voice came through, but there was an unusual hesitation in his tone.
"Nathan," Elena sighed, relieved. "This morning... I'm so sorry. Ethan had no right to speak to you like that."
There was a brief silence on the other end. "It's okay, El. I... I shouldn't have come over so early. It's his house, I get it."
Elena's heart plummeted. This wasn't the Nathan she knew. The Nathan she knew would have laughed it off and called his brother possessive. "But he has no right—"
"El, listen," Nathan cut in, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "Maybe... maybe we should keep our distance for a bit. Just for a while, until things cool down. Ethan... he didn't look happy. I don't want to make trouble for you."
Every word felt like a slap in the face. I don't want to make trouble for you. Since when did Nathan care about "trouble"? The man who had always encouraged her to rebel was now telling her to be compliant. Ethan's cold authority at the breakfast table apparently had a much longer reach than she had ever imagined.
"I understand," Elena replied, her voice hoarse. She ended the call without saying goodbye.
The phone in her hand now felt cold and useless. The only escape route she had was just sealed from the outside.
Feeling hollow, she continued her exploration, her steps now aimless. At the end of a dimly lit corridor, she found an oak door that looked different from the others—older, more solid. She tried the handle. Locked. This was strange. Every other door in this house was open. This had to be Ethan's private space, the only place in this entire showcase that had a soul. And she was locked out.
Elena leaned against the cold door, staring down the long, empty corridor before her. The silence of the mansion no longer felt peaceful, but menacing. It was the sound of her luxurious prison.
For the first time, she realized just how utterly alone she was.
And a terrifying thought crept into her mind.
Even Nathan was afraid of him.