The penthouse was quiet, almost oppressively so. Lydia Hart sat at the sleek dining table, staring blankly at her untouched breakfast. Her body ached from yesterday's disasters, her mind replayed the kitchen catastrophe, and her nerves were stretched tighter than a violin string.
It was then that Alexander Vale appeared in the doorway, impeccably dressed, arms folded, his expression as unreadable and cold as ever.
"Miss Hart," he said flatly. "Today, we will address your deficiencies."
"Deficiencies?" Lydia echoed, already feeling her stomach twist. "I'm… I survived a gala, a boardroom, and a… cooking… incident. What more is there?"
Alexander's gaze didn't waver. "You are under contract, Miss Hart. Survival is not sufficient. Competence is required. Obedience is required. Compliance is mandatory. You will receive a private lesson to ensure you understand the expectations of your role."
---
The lesson began in the living room. Alexander had prepared a schedule, meticulously structured: etiquette, social protocols, corporate behavior, wardrobe management, and—most terrifying to Lydia—personal conduct training.
"First," he said, gesturing to a chair, "you will learn how to present yourself at public functions. Posture, speech, and hand placement are critical. Mistakes are costly."
Lydia nodded cautiously, already dreading the entire process.
Alexander observed silently as she attempted to follow his instructions. Stand tall. Chin up. Shoulders back. Speak clearly. Avoid unnecessary gestures. Avoid mistakes.
And naturally, Lydia failed spectacularly.
---
The first trial: a simple greeting exercise.
"Good morning, Mr. Vale," Lydia said, voice cracking slightly. She attempted to bow gracefully, but her foot caught the rug. She stumbled forward, arms flailing like a desperate bird, and nearly collided with the coffee table.
Alexander's eyes narrowed, expression deadly calm. "Miss Hart," he said slowly, "your gestures are chaotic. This is not a playground. Do it again."
"Yes… sir." Lydia's face burned. She tried again, this time managing a slightly less disastrous bow, though her legs trembled with tension.
"Still insufficient," Alexander remarked, crossing his arms. "Observe the correct form."
---
Lesson two: conversational skills at high-profile events. Alexander positioned her across from him, forcing her to respond to questions about trivial topics as if they were matters of utmost importance.
"So," he said in his flat, icy tone, "what do you think about the recent charity initiative?"
"I… think it's… wonderful?" Lydia ventured, voice unsure.
Alexander's eyebrow twitched. "Explain why. And keep it concise. Professional. No hesitation."
"I… um… because… it helps people?" she stammered, her hands curling nervously in her lap.
"Incorrect. Use facts. Data. Confidence. Do not appear naive. Do not appear uncertain. Try again."
Lydia groaned inwardly. I thought this was supposed to be a "private lesson," not a personal humiliation session.
---
The day continued in similar fashion: posture drills, etiquette exercises, mock interviews, and wardrobe lessons. Lydia's internal commentary added comedic relief, though Alexander remained completely unamused:
Why is a bow so complicated?
Do people really notice the exact tilt of my hand at every handshake?
Is it possible to combust from embarrassment alone?
Hours passed. Lydia stumbled, fumbled, mispronounced, and tripped, each mistake cataloged silently by Alexander.
---
The most dreaded moment arrived: role-playing a public confrontation with a socialite. Alexander assigned Lydia the part of the socialite to practice responding to insults, gossip, and veiled mockery.
"Respond with composure," he instructed. "Do not flinch. Do not speak before thinking. Deflect criticism gracefully. Humor is permitted only when appropriate."
Lydia's heart pounded. She rehearsed her words, but as soon as the "mock socialite" spoke, she panicked, tripping over her own tongue and accidentally flinging a decorative vase across the room. It crashed loudly against the wall.
Alexander's gaze was icy. "Miss Hart."
"Yes… sir," she whispered, mortified.
"You are not permitted to destroy property during training exercises. You will pay for damages if repeated. Focus."
Focus? Lydia thought bitterly. How can I focus when I'm one flailing hand away from humiliation at all times?
---
By the end of the day, Lydia was exhausted. Her muscles ached, her pride was in shreds, and her nerves were raw. Yet, somewhere beneath the fatigue, a small spark of determination remained. She was learning. Slowly. Painfully. But learning nonetheless.
Alexander finally spoke, voice low and precise: "You performed poorly today. But improvement is possible. Compliance will be rewarded. Mistakes will be penalized. Remember: the contract is binding."
"Yes… sir," Lydia whispered, still trying to catch her breath.
He paused, eyes cold, assessing. "Tomorrow will present new challenges. Do not assume today's lessons guarantee survival. You are not yet adequate."
"Yes… sir," she murmured again, sinking into the sofa, her body trembling from exhaustion and tension.
---
That night, as Lydia attempted to rest, she reflected on the day. She realized the private lesson had revealed the truth: survival was only the first step. Competence, control, and strategic thinking were required to navigate the Vale household, the contract, and Alexander Vale himself.
Somewhere in the shadows of the penthouse, Alexander observed from the balcony, a silent and imposing presence. His thoughts were unreadable, his intentions cold and precise.
Lydia's journey had only just begun. The private lesson had reinforced one truth: the contract was not just a document. It was a battlefield, and every misstep had consequences.
---
Cliffhanger: As Lydia drifted into a restless sleep, a soft ping from her phone caught her attention. Another message appeared from an unknown sender:
"Today was only the beginning, Miss Hart. You are underestimating the Vale family. Be prepared."
Lydia's pulse quickened. Danger, scrutiny, and high stakes were closing in on all sides. And she realized that survival would require more than just obedience—it would require cleverness, courage, and perhaps even cunning.