The message came the following afternoon.
Suzie read it twice before responding.
Ray would like to see you today. Private study. Four o'clock.
No greeting. No explanation. Just a time and a place.
She arrived ten minutes early, as she had learned was safest. Clara greeted her with the same polite smile as always, efficient and calm, as if Suzie's presence here had already become routine.
"He's expecting you," Clara said, gesturing down the corridor. "I'll bring tea in a bit."
Suzie nodded and followed the familiar path, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The sound echoed slightly against the hushed quiet of the office. It reminded her that even here, in the controlled spaces, she was always on display—just by existing.
Ray's private study was set apart from the rest of the office—no glass walls, no visible assistants, no interruptions. The door was solid wood, understated but heavy, the kind that suggested decisions were made behind it and not questioned afterward.
She paused before knocking. Her hand hovered for a moment, remembering the unspoken rules of respect, then she raised it and did.
"Come in."
His voice was even. Neutral.
Ray was standing by the window when she entered, jacket off, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. The city stretched below him, distant and orderly, each building seemingly aligned as meticulously as he was. He turned when the door closed, studying her with the same careful attention he always did—not personal, not curious. Assessing.
"You're on time," he said.
"Yes."
He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself. "Sit."
It wasn't a command. But it wasn't a suggestion either.
She took the chair across from his desk, folding her hands in her lap the way she'd unconsciously begun doing around him. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable exactly—just deliberate. Each tick of the clock seemed louder than usual. She noticed the faint hum of air conditioning carrying the faintest whiff of polished wood and paper.
Ray finally sat opposite her, resting his forearms on the desk.
"This isn't going to take long," he said. "I wanted to give you some structure before things progress."
Structure. The word settled heavily between them.
"I don't like surprises," he continued. "And I don't want you walking into situations unprepared."
Suzie nodded slowly. "Okay."
He watched her for a moment, then straightened slightly, posture firming, professionalism sliding back into place.
"There are a few guidelines we need to establish," he said.
She just listened, silently.
"First," he said, "public conversations."
He leaned back, fingers loosely interlaced. "You can speak freely about neutral topics. Your work. General interests. Family—within reason."
Suzie's shoulders tightened. Family—within reason. What counts as "within reason"? Her thoughts stuttered but she didn't voice them.
"What's not acceptable," he continued calmly, "is discussion of how we met, timelines, or anything that suggests this arrangement was rushed or influenced."
She swallowed. "So if someone asks—"
"I'll redirect," he said. "If they press, you deflect. Politely."
"How?"
He thought for a second. Just a second too long.
"Say you value privacy," he said. "That some things don't need to be public yet."
She nodded. "Alright."
"Second," Ray went on, "physical presence."
Suzie's fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"In formal settings," he said, "stand to my left. It's customary. If we're seated, allow me to initiate conversation with anyone senior. You don't need to impress them."
He paused, then corrected himself. "Not actively."
Suzie noticed the slip immediately—a small adjustment, but one that mattered.
"Is there any physical interaction I should be aware of?"
"No," he said immediately. Then, more measured, "Not yet. There's no need. Familiarity too soon draws notice."
She nodded again. The rules stacked quietly now. Neatly. Like items placed on a shelf she hadn't known existed.
"There's no ring," he added. "No announcements. No press—for now."
"I wasn't expecting—"
"I know," he said. "I just want to be clear."
She appreciated that more than she expected. The firmness was easier to read than any apology.
Ray shifted slightly, gaze lowering to the desk before lifting back to her face. "Third. Consistency."
He said it like it mattered more than the others.
"People notice patterns," he continued. "Inconsistencies invite speculation. If you say you prefer something once, you prefer it always. If you react a certain way, you maintain it."
Suzie frowned faintly. "That sounds… exhausting."
"It can be," he said.
There was a knock at the door before either of them could speak again.
Clara entered moments later, carrying a tray with tea and two cups. The aroma of steeped leaves floated lightly into the room, a faint contrast to the sharp formality of the office. The cups sat neatly, steam rising in thin spirals, almost ornamental.
Suzie noticed it but didn't move toward it. Tea wasn't meant to be drunk here. Not now. Not in this space where every word and movement had weight. She folded her hands tighter in her lap, eyes shifting slightly to the city beyond the window.
Clara set it down smoothly, then gave a small nod before leaving. Her efficiency reminded Suzie of the machinery behind this world—everything calibrated, everyone in their place.
When she left, the door clicked shut behind her, and the silence returned—denser now, filled with unspoken expectations.
Ray leaned forward. "That's the foundation. We'll refine things as needed."
She hesitated. "And if I make a mistake?"
"We correct it. Quietly."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"Understand?"
"Yes."
The answer came easily. Too easily.
Ray nodded once, satisfied. He gathered a few papers on his desk, signaling the meeting's end.
Clara reappeared at the door, as if waiting. "Your driver will be ready shortly."
Suzie stood.
Ray rose, hands resting briefly on the desk. "We'll be in touch."
She nodded.
As she turned to leave, something struck her—not sharply, not painfully. Just clearly.
No one had asked her how she felt.
Not Ray, focused on outcomes.
Not Clara, absorbed in logistics.
Not even herself.
She stepped into the corridor, the door closing softly behind her, and walked toward the waiting elevator with measured steps. The rules were clear. The structure was set.
And somewhere between understanding and acceptance, Suzie realized something else:
This wasn't about cruelty.
It was control that didn't need to announce itself.
And that, somehow, made it harder to resist.