Elara couldn't stay in that room. The walls felt like they were closing in despite how large the space was.
She opened the door carefully, peering into the hallway. Empty. The corridor stretched in both directions, lined with more portraits and ornate sconces. Everything gleamed.
She stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.
Her footsteps were too loud on the marble. She tried walking more softly, but it didn't help. Every sound echoed.
She passed door after door, all of them closed. Some had names on small plaques. Library. Morning Room. Music Room. Rooms for specific purposes, like life here needed that much organization.
At the end of the hall, a staircase curved downward. Different from the grand one she'd come up. Narrower. Simpler.
Servant stairs, probably.
She descended slowly, one hand on the railing. Voices drifted up from below. Staff, talking in hushed tones. She couldn't make out the words, but she heard laughter. Real laughter, not the practiced kind.
The stairs opened into a smaller hallway. Elara followed it, drawn by curiosity and the need to understand this place.
She turned a corner and nearly walked into someone.
"Oh!" A woman in a cook's apron jumped back, nearly dropping the basket she was carrying. "Miss! I'm sorry, I didn't see you."
"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."
The cook looked flustered, her cheeks red. "You shouldn't be down here, miss. This is the service wing."
"I was just… I wanted to see the house."
"Of course." The cook shifted the basket to her other hip. "But Mrs. Linton would prefer if you stayed in the main areas. For your comfort."
For her comfort. Or to keep her away from the staff. Away from people who might tell her things the family didn't want her to know.
"I understand," Elara said.
The cook nodded, already moving past her. "Ring if you need anything, miss. We're here to help."
Then she was gone, disappearing through a doorway that led to what smelled like the kitchens.
Elara stood there, feeling more out of place than ever. Even exploring felt wrong. Like she was trespassing in a house that was supposed to be her home.
She turned back toward the stairs, but a voice stopped her.
"Lost?"
She spun around. A man stood at the other end of the hallway. Young, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair and sharp eyes. He wore casual clothes, expensive but comfortable. His stance was relaxed, but something was assessing in the way he looked at her.
"I was just… looking around," Elara said carefully.
"Looking around." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You must be the new arrival. Elara, right?"
"Yes."
"I'm Jason. Adrian's cousin." He walked closer, hands in his pockets. "Welcome to the family circus."
"Circus?"
"That's what this place is. All performance, all the time." He stopped a few feet away, studying her. "You look terrified."
"I'm not."
"You should be."
The words hung between them, half joking, half serious.
"Why?" Elara asked.
Jason's smile widened. "Because this family eats people like you for breakfast." He tilted his head. "No offense."
"People like me?"
"Outsiders. People who don't understand how things work here." He glanced down the hallway, then back at her. "Word of advice? Don't trust anyone. Not the staff. Not the family. Especially not Adrian's mother."
"Why are you telling me this?"
He shrugged. "Call it a courtesy. Or entertainment. I haven't decided yet." He started to walk past her, then paused. "Oh, and stay out of the west wing. Adrian doesn't like people poking around his space."
"I wasn't—"
"Sure you weren't." He threw her a casual wave. "See you at dinner, new girl."
Then he was gone, his footsteps fading down another corridor.
Elara stood frozen, her heart racing.
Don't trust anyone.
As if she needed the warning.
She hurried back toward the main staircase, suddenly desperate to get back to her room. Back to the one space that was supposed to be hers, even if it felt like a cage.
She climbed quickly, trying to remember which turns she'd taken. The house was a maze. Too many hallways, too many identical doors.
She turned a corner and stopped.
A man stood at the end of the hall, leaning against the doorframe of what looked like a study. He was tall, with dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead. His clothes were simple but clearly expensive. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He held a glass of something amber colored.
And he was watching her.
Their eyes met. His were cold. Calculating. The kind of eyes that saw everything and gave nothing back.
Elara's breath caught.
She knew, somehow, even before he spoke.
This was him.
Adrian Dalton.
He straightened slowly, taking a sip from his glass. "You're early."
"I was just…" Her voice came out too quietly. She tried again. "I was exploring."
"Exploring." He said the word like it amused him. "Find anything interesting?"
"No."
"Good." He set the glass down on a nearby table. "Mrs. Linton was supposed to bring you to me at six. It's barely four."
"I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He walked toward her, his footsteps deliberate. "It makes you sound weak."
She forced herself to stand still as he approached. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes studied her like she was something to be evaluated.
"You're younger than I expected," he said.
"I'm eighteen."
"I know." His gaze traveled over her, not in a way that felt flattering. More like an inspection. "Small. Quiet. Is that an act, or are you really this timid?"
Heat rushed to her face. "I'm not timid."
"No?" One corner of his mouth lifted. Not quite a smile. "Then why are you shaking?"
She wasn't. Or she hadn't been. But now that he'd said it, she felt the tremor in her hands.
"I'm not afraid of you," she said, lifting her chin.
"You should be."
The words were quiet. Matter of fact. Like he was stating something obvious.
Elara's pulse hammered. "Why?"
He leaned in slightly, just enough that she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. "Because I own you now. Your father made sure of that." His voice was soft, almost gentle. It made the words worse somehow. "Everything you are, everything you'll be, belongs to me."
"I'm not property."
"Aren't you?" He stepped back, picking up his glass again. "Ten million won says otherwise."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream. To run. To do anything but stand there and take it.
But she couldn't move.
Adrian took another sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. "Go back to your room. Clean yourself up. Wear something appropriate." His eyes flicked over her worn clothes. "Mrs. Linton will come for you at six. Don't be late."
"I don't take orders from you."
He laughed. Actually laughed. It was a cold sound, empty of real humor. "Yes, you do. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
He turned and walked back toward the study, dismissing her like she was nothing.
Elara stood there, fists clenched, her whole body vibrating with rage and helplessness.
She wanted to say something cutting. Something that would wipe that smug certainty off his face.
But nothing came.
So she turned and walked away, her footsteps quick and uneven. She found her room more by luck than memory, shoving the door open and closing it hard behind her.
Her bag still sat where she'd left it. The blue dress still lay on the bed.
And on the table, a note from his mother.
He has a good heart.
Elara picked it up and tore it in half.