Chapter Six
The penthouse was quiet that morning, but not peaceful.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, scattering across the polished floors and reflecting off every surface that gleamed almost too perfectly.
Elena moved through the living area, straightening a pillow here, aligning a vase there, smoothing the edge of a rug that had shifted slightly.
It was instinct. She had always needed to bring order where chaos threatened to creep in. To make cold places feel warm.
She didn't notice Adrian at first standing at the far end of the room, arms crossed, watching.
"You're touching things," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the quiet like glass.
Elena froze. Heat crept up her neck.
"I... I was just—"
"Straightening," he finished for her. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"
She hesitated. "Because it was out of place. I thought it looked better that way."
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Better? For whom?"
She opened her mouth, then stopped. He wasn't asking to understand—he was testing her.
"For the room," she said quietly.
Adrian shook his head, disappointed but not surprised. "This isn't your home, Miss Moore. You're a guest here. Everything has its place and its purpose. Your personal interpretation isn't required."
The words stung more than they should have. She'd done everything right since she arrived—followed the rules, stayed quiet, avoided mistakes—and still, somehow, it wasn't enough.
"I wasn't trying to overstep," she murmured. "I just—"
"Stop." The word was firm, not cruel—but it left no space for argument.
"This isn't about intent. It's about boundaries. You live here under contract. You don't decide what's better. You follow instructions. That's all."
Elena's jaw tightened. Her instinct was to fight back, to remind him she was still a person—not a checklist. But the contract echoed in her mind like a warning: no interference, no emotion.
"I understand," she whispered. Her voice carried a trace of rebellion she couldn't quite hide.
Adrian's eyes lingered on her for a beat too long—something flickering there, gone too fast to name—before he turned and walked toward the kitchen. His absence somehow made the room feel smaller.
---
The rest of the morning passed in quiet precision. She followed the instructions exactly—organizing, tidying, preparing—but no matter how careful she was, she could still feel the echo of his disapproval in the air.
Around noon, the soft chime of the service elevator signaled lunch. Adrian appeared at the dining table without preamble, gray eyes sweeping the room before settling on her.
"You prepared lunch?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, keeping her voice steady.
"Did you follow the instructions exactly?"
"I did," she said.
He studied her for several seconds before giving a single nod. "Good. Efficiency is necessary. Personal touches are not."
Elena bit back a retort. Warmth, care—those things weren't unnecessary. They were what made life human. But she said nothing. She served the meal, careful not to let the plate clatter.
They ate in silence. Adrian read through a file, occasionally glancing at the window, then back at the pages. He ate methodically, never rushed, never casual. Elena's appetite vanished halfway through.
When she cleared the plates, Adrian watched. "You're doing it wrong," he said suddenly.
Her heart flipped. "I followed the instructions," she said, unsure what she'd missed.
He set a plate on the drying rack and showed her—stacking, aligning, wiping—each motion careful and exact. "Instructions aren't suggestions. Watch carefully."
She copied his movements, trying to steady her hands. It wasn't the task that made her hands shake; it was the way he looked at her. The control. The quiet authority.
When she finished, he inspected the counter and then nodded. "Better."
No warmth. No praise. Just that word—better—and a return to silence.
---
By mid-afternoon, the hush of the apartment pressed in on her. Adrian had gone to his office; the rooms seemed to hold their breath. Elena found she couldn't stand the quiet anymore. She reached for her phone and dialed the name that still sounded like home.
"Ellie?" Lila answered on the second ring, cheerful and anxious all at once. "Where have you been? It's been forever!"
Elena sank into a chair, relieved to hear a familiar voice. "I know. I—haven't had much time."
"Not had time? You vanished after Mr. Daniels was here, then nothing. I was freaking out."
Elena glanced down the hallway, as if the house might be listening. "It's been... complicated," she said.
"Complicated how?" Lila pressed. "Talk to me."
She took a breath. "I signed a contract. With Adrian Blackwood."
There was a stunned silence. "Wait—what? The Adrian Blackwood? The one everyone talks about?"
"Yeah. That one." Her words were small in the empty room.
"Please tell me you didn't—" Lila started, then softened. "Why would you—"
"It's for my mom," Elena cut in. "There was no other option. It's temporary—one year. He clears the debts if I agree to—" she stopped, the rest already written in memory. "It's a contract."
Lila made a small, sharp sound. "Oh, Lena. That's… huge. Are you okay? Are you safe?"
Elena let out a little laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "Physically—yes. Emotionally—no. It's... strange. Everything's so controlled. He's precise. Even the house feels like it follows his rules."
"Promise me you'll call," Lila said, voice soft. "Don't cut me out. If you need anything—if it gets worse—call me. I'll come."
"I promise," Elena said. "I don't want to worry you."
"You already worried me." Lila paused. "Just—be careful, Ellie. Don't let him make you forget who you are."
She swallowed. "I won't. Thanks for calling."
They talked for a few more minutes—small things, safe things—before Elena said goodbye. When she hung up, the apartment felt a touch less empty.
---
Evening came. She prepared dinner according to the binder, then sat to wait.
Adrian arrived on schedule, composed and unreadable. They ate the way they had all week—careful, precise, distant. Finally, he set his fork down.
"Miss Moore," he said, "you'll follow the house rules completely. Any deviation, intentional or not, will have consequences. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she replied, voice small.
He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, then rose. "Good."
He left without another word.
Elena sat there for a long time after he was gone, Lila's voice still in her ears. The city lights blinked beyond the glass. The silence returned, heavy and absolute.
She thought of her mother, of the contract, of the debt tucked behind every decision. And she thought of Adrian—the way he commanded a room without raising his voice, the slow authority in his hands.
Beneath the cold and the rules, she could feel something else—pull, curiosity, a danger she didn't know how to name.
She realized then, with an ache she tried to hide, that being under his roof wouldn't break her all at once. It would unravel her slowly—one rule, one small concession, one heartbeat at a time.
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