Episode 5
The first week under Zavian Lennox's roof was a lesson in sustained mental warfare. Ella quickly understood that Zavian's entire existence was managed by a strict, inflexible schedule, and she and Lily were now forced to orbit it. Lily's new itinerary—from "Structured Reading Time" at 7:30 AM to "Lights Out" at 8:00 PM—was adhered to with terrifying precision by Mrs. Diaz, the silent, efficient housekeeper, who treated the schedule as Scripture.
Ella, dressed every day in a fresh, severe suit, maintained her own rigid routine. She locked herself in the state-of-the-art office every morning, focusing on her complex Data Analyst work. It was her sanctuary and her proof that she was not just an appendage to Zavian's wealth. She successfully ignored Zavian for hours at a time, finding professional detachment the only way to survive the crushing proximity.
The house, however, was not conducive to silence. Lily's fiery red hair was a constant visual disruption against the cool, neutral tones of the mansion. Her presence manifested as sticky fingerprints on glass surfaces, spontaneous bursts of off-key singing, and the constant, unnerving feeling of life in a house designed for stillness.
The only time Zavian and Ella were consistently forced together was during the required, silent dinners—and one mandatory family lunch required by the trust's legal terms to prove cohesion.
The lunch began with Zavian asking Ella a cold, formal question about Lily's school readiness, treating her like a consultant presenting findings.
"Lily is academically prepared," Ella reported, her voice low. "But she requires engagement, not just instruction. I have located a private, personalized tutor that respects both the curriculum and her natural enthusiasm."
"A financial waste," Zavian instantly dismissed, without looking up from his tablet. "Use the public system. It's efficient."
"It is cheap, Mr. Lennox," Ella countered, laying down her fork. "And statistically, it results in a lower long-term engagement rate for children with above-average curiosity. This is not about efficiency; it's about investment."
Before Zavian could retaliate with a financial retort, a small crisis erupted. Lily, bored by the adult conversation, had decided to use her ice cream to create a detailed, three-dimensional topographical map of the dining table, complete with a tiny chocolate chip 'mountain range.'
Zavian's reaction was swift and terrifying. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden stillness he exuded was a physical threat. Ella saw his dark eyes narrow—not in anger, but in sheer disgust at the violation of order.
Ella acted instantly, not defensively, but strategically. She grabbed a napkin and started cleaning up the mess, positioning her body between Lily and Zavian's rage. "She is eight," Ella said to Zavian, her voice laced with sharp sarcasm. "The cleanup cost is negligible. Your reaction, however, confirms her need for emotional space, which your current schedule does not provide."
Zavian, frustrated by the lack of a quantifiable target, merely pushed his plate back. He was used to subordinates apologizing; he was not used to a subordinate delivering a logical critique while cleaning up ice cream mess. He finally gave a low, reluctant assent: "Fine. Provide the tutor's contract for review. And keep the chaos confined."
The tension culminated on Friday, when the contract demanded their first public appearance: a required dinner with Zavian's legal counsel and his main investment partner at a high-profile Boston restaurant. This was Rule 2: The Public Display in action.
Ella arrived downstairs wearing a perfectly tailored cocktail dress that was neutral but stunning. She found Zavian waiting, looking formidable in a custom suit.
"Remember the terms, Ella," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over her with a calculated assessment that felt both invasive and insulting. "We are newly engaged. I require affection, sincerity, and a convincing display of mutual interest."
"Duly noted," Ella replied, her gray eyes flashing with defiance. "I've reviewed the script. Try not to break character when I accidentally touch you."
As they walked out, Zavian placed his hand on the small of Ella's back—a formal, possessive gesture that instantly sent a controlled shock through her. It was the first time they had truly touched since the pen brush during the contract signing. The contact was purely business, yet the dark, electric awareness that flared between them was not.
Inside the car, Ella was rigid, analyzing the sensation. She was supposed to hate him—and she did. But she also found herself calculating the statistical probability of that unexpected, intrusive heat being purely a psychological consequence of coercion, and not something else entirely. The numbers were inconclusive.