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The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the narrow lanes of the suburb outside Derrick Brown's estate. The neighborhood was picturesque—manicured lawns, wrought‑iron gates, and quiet side streets with old elm trees offering dappled shade. But for Adeline, walking these streets felt like she was chained to her uncertainty.
She had been out for hours, dragging a list of rental signs across her phone screen, driving past "For Rent" placards, calling numbers, visiting office buildings. Every door she tested seemed locked—not just the apartment doors, but the doors of possibility she was trying to open.
She passed another "For Rent" board—smaller, tucked behind bushes, offering a studio flat "10 minutes from Westcliff Drive". She took the steps up, knocked at the door; a friendly voice said "Just got taken this morning." She left, shoulders heavy, phone buzzing again—another listing she'd already seen.
The sunset bled gold across the valley as she returned to her car, parked on the shady side street. The engine started, quiet, comforting. For a moment she sat, letting the heat of the interior wrap around her like a buffer from her doubts. She'd been through week after week of pressing deadlines, uneasy sleeps, shadowy threats. The job offer from Derrick—yes, that was meant to take her away from all that.
But she wanted her own home. A place where she could breathe without fear.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Derrick: *"Still apartment hunting?"*
Her thumb hovered over "Reply". She raised her head and looked at the rear‑view mirror. The trees behind her, the quiet street—they felt safe, but she knew safety was illusion.
She typed: *"Yes. Found a few. No luck. Everything close seems gone."*
Almost immediately his call came through.
"Adeline?" he said when she answered. His voice—calm, precise—made her pulse slow.
"Hi... yes. I'm still looking." Her voice wavered.
She paused at a corner lot—a neat two‑bedroom flat advertised as "Close to elite suburb / Perfect for professional assistant / Immediate occupancy." The price was high but still within reason. She stepped onto the grass, her heels soft in the bright afternoon light. The building was warm‑colored brick, ivy crawling over one side, the front porch sheltered by an old oak. It looked like something she could breathe in.
She dialled the number. A sheaf of polite answers followed: "It was just leased today." "Sorry, it's no longer available." Her chest tightened. She thanked the agent and hung up.
Opening the umbrella of her coat to balance the sun's last tilt, she scanned the street. Ahead was Derrick's estate gate gleaming in soft bronze, the stone pillars taller than she remembered. She'd been offered a job today—something she couldn't fully grasp yet—but it felt like the right pivot out of chaos.
Despite her promise to herself to find her own place, she admitted to herself now that the search was ending in circles.
"I can save you the trouble," he said, quiet. "Why keep hunting when I have rooms you could stay in?"
She bristled, but only slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, in the estate," he said. "Guest wing. Entire corridor. Easily separate entrance. Since you are going to be my personal assistant, I'd prefer you be nearby. I'm offering you one of the rooms."
She paused, one hand on the steering wheel. She exhaled slowly and looked at the gate ahead—the gates to his estate, closed now but always watching.
"I appreciate the offer," she said. "But I want my own place."
"Which is fine," his voice patient. "But at least until you settle—take the room. Helps keep you safe. Helps me know you're okay."
Silence stretched. She considered the thousands of steps, the apartment showings, the threat still humming in her ear. She remembered the smashed place she left behind after the robbery. Maybe this option wasn't perfect—but it offered *distance*, protection.
"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll take it. For now."
"Good," his voice held relief. "I'll have Aria prepare the suite. When you're ready, come by—tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning," she echoed.
They hung up. The phone felt heavy in her hand.
She turned the ignition off, sat blank‑eyed for a minute, then exhaled and got out of the car.
Walking past Derrick's gate, she felt a curious hesitation. This estate wasn't just a backdrop for her job—it was the next chapter. Was she stepping into freedom or a golden cage?
She paused at the gate, looking up at the stone pillars and the security cameras blinking quiet red. The hush of the place swallowed her. She pressed the button on the intercom out of habit. No response yet—she wasn't expected at the moment.
She looked back at the neighborhood behind her—quiet houses, lamps turning on one by one, families settling in. Normal life. And she wondered if she could ever return to *just* normal.
Her heart pounded soft but steady as she walked away. She felt both relief and weight. Relief that she didn't have to keep searching, didn't have to keep looking over her shoulder so much. Weight that she was beginning something she didn't fully understand.
Later, in her small rental car driving back through curving lanes, she kept glancing at her phone. What did accepting mean? Was she still running?
A week ago she'd been kidnapped. Mostly rescued by a stranger. Her job had become more dangerous than she'd ever imagined. Now she was accepting a position where she'd be working for that same stranger, living close to him.
She pulled into her usual parking spot at her old apartment building, walked through the lobby that still smelled like stale air and cheap carpet. The elevator ride felt longer than usual. She stepped into her unit, flipped on the lights, and the walls felt too quiet, too hollow now.
She walked through her place, looking at the white walls, the small balcony, the trace of burnt‑coffee smell still lingering from her earlier nights of breakdown. The apartment that once felt like security now felt smaller, lesser.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the contract in her bag still unopened. She pulled it out now and smoothed out the crease. The words seemed stark: "Personal Communications Assistant to Derrick Brown – Compensation, Privacy, Term… etc." She ran her fingers over the signature line.
What have I done? she thought.
But the thought was quickly replaced by something else.
*I chose this.*
She rubbed her eyes and placed the contract beside her. She didn't sign it tonight. She would wait—overnight. Sleep. Decide. But for the first time, she felt a sense of direction.
She would move to the guest wing of the estate. She would start a job where she might feel safe. She would rebuild.
But as she stood and walked to the window, she pulled aside the curtain and looked out at the city lights glimmering like promises. The wind pressed against the pane, whispering. She watched for a long time until the lights blurred.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it—a new life.
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