2- A House Without Welcome

The car door closed behind Elena with a heavy click.

She glanced at the black leather seats, then at Kaysen, who sat beside her as if bringing a stranger home at nearly midnight were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Do you always move people into your house without giving them time to prepare?”

Kaysen didn’t look up from his phone.

“Only when they sign contracts that begin immediately.”

“I signed a contract to work for you. I didn’t agree to be kidnapped.”

“Kidnapping usually involves someone refusing to get into the car.”

Elena turned toward him.

“Give me five minutes. I’ll gladly demonstrate.”

The driver coughed quietly, suspiciously close to a laugh.

Kaysen finally lifted his eyes from the screen.

“Something amusing, Thomas?”

“No, sir.”

“Then focus on the road.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elena pressed her lips together, determined not to laugh. She wasn’t going to give Kaysen the satisfaction of knowing he had amused her.

Outside, the city lights passed across the windows. Elena watched them in silence, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

Her family was safe. The house was safe.

But she had just signed away six months of her life to a man who seemed to believe that asking a question was a personal insult.

And she was about to live under his roof.

Wonderful.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“You seem determined to ask questions whether I allow it or not.”

“Why did you choose me?”

This time, Kaysen put his phone away.

“Your family needed a solution. You needed money. The arrangement benefits both sides.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It answers the only part that matters.”

Elena studied his profile. “You could have offered this contract to someone else.”

“I could have.”

“Then why me?”

His expression didn’t change.

“Your qualifications matched the position.”

“My qualifications?” She almost laughed. “You didn’t even ask me a single question about my experience.”

“I reviewed your records.”

“My records?”

“Your education, previous employment, references, and financial circumstances.”

She stared at him.

“You investigated me?”

“I made a business decision.”

“I’m a person, Mr. Vance. Not a company you’re considering buying.”

“Then you should be relieved I took the time to learn who I was hiring.”

“That would be more convincing if you hadn’t used my family’s debt to make sure I couldn’t refuse.”

For the first time, his silence lasted long enough to feel like an answer.

Then he turned toward the window.

“Your family will keep their house. That was your priority, wasn’t it?”

Elena looked away.

“Yes.”

“Then the agreement has achieved its purpose.”

She wanted to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He had saved her family from losing everything. That didn’t make him kind, and it certainly didn’t make him right about everything.

But it made the situation more complicated than she wanted it to be.

The car slowed.

Elena looked outside—and forgot her next argument.

The Vance estate stood behind tall iron gates, its enormous house illuminated against the dark sky. The building was beautiful in a cold, intimidating way, with wide windows, pale stone walls, and a long driveway bordered by carefully trimmed trees.

It looked less like a home and more like a place where people learned to keep their voices down.

The gates opened.

The car rolled toward the entrance and stopped beneath a covered doorway.

Before Elena could reach for the handle, Kaysen was already outside.

He opened her door himself.

She blinked at him.

“I can open a car door.”

“I noticed.”

“Then why did you—”

“Because we’re standing in the rain, Miss Hayes.”

She looked up.

Rain had begun to fall, lightly at first, then harder against the driveway.

Elena stepped out, clutching her bag. Kaysen closed the door and led the way inside without waiting to see whether she followed.

She followed, mostly because she had no idea where else to go.

The entrance hall was enormous. A staircase curved toward the upper floor, and soft lights reflected off the polished marble. Everything was spotless, elegant, and painfully quiet.

A woman in her late fifties approached them. Her dark dress was simple, her grey hair neatly arranged.

“Mr. Vance. You’re back earlier than expected.”

“Plans changed, Eleanor.”

Her gaze moved to Elena, taking in the damp sleeves of her coat and the bag in her hand.

“This is Miss Hayes,” Kaysen said. “She’ll be staying here for the next six months.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she recovered at once.

“Of course, sir. Welcome, Miss Hayes.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

Elena glanced at Kaysen.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“You’ll see me at breakfast.”

“Is that an invitation or another order?”

“Consider it useful information.”

He handed Eleanor a slim folder.

“Her schedule and the contract details are inside. Make sure she has everything she needs.”

“I will, sir.”

Kaysen turned to leave.

“Mr. Vance?”

He stopped.

Elena crossed her arms.

“Where exactly am I supposed to find you if I have questions about the contract?”

“You’ll know where my office is.”

“And if you’re not there?”

“Then you can leave a message.”

She stared at him.

“Your warmth is overwhelming.”

“I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

He walked away before she could answer.

Elena watched him disappear down the corridor.

“Does he always speak like that?” she asked.

Eleanor’s mouth twitched.

“Like what, Miss Hayes?”

“Like every conversation is a business transaction.”

“Not every conversation.”

Elena looked hopeful.

Eleanor added, “Sometimes he simply doesn’t speak.”

Elena let out a small laugh.

For the first time that evening, the house felt slightly less intimidating.

Eleanor led her upstairs and along a quiet corridor. She opened a door to reveal a spacious bedroom with cream-colored walls, a large bed, a sitting area, and windows overlooking the gardens.

A suitcase stood near the wardrobe.

Elena stopped at the doorway.

“What’s that?”

“Mr. Vance had your belongings collected from your family home this afternoon.”

Elena turned slowly.

“He sent someone to my house?”

“He arranged for your things to be brought here. Your parents were informed that you would be staying at the estate while working for his company.”

Elena walked toward the suitcase but didn’t open it.

“He didn’t tell me he was doing that.”

“Mr. Vance tends to handle practical matters before discussing them.”

“That sounds like a polite way of saying he does whatever he wants.”

Eleanor gave her a careful smile.

“You’ll find that living here requires patience.”

“I don’t have much of that.”

“Then you’ll have an opportunity to develop some.”

Elena laughed under her breath.

Eleanor showed her the bathroom, explained where she could find clean towels, and pointed out the telephone on the bedside table.

“If you need anything during the night, you can call me.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. You’ve been very kind.”

“It’s my job, dear. And between you and me, a little kindness never hurts in this house.”

After Eleanor left, Elena closed the door and leaned against it.

Silence.

No angry voices. No desperate calls from her parents. No letters warning that they might lose their home.

For the first time in weeks, she could breathe.

She walked to the window. The gardens stretched beneath the rain, the trees moving gently in the wind.

Then she noticed something on the bedside table.

A white envelope.

Her name was written across the front in neat black letters.

Miss Elena Hayes.

She frowned and opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Breakfast is at seven.

Your workday begins at eight.

Punctuality is expected.

— Kaysen Vance

Elena stared at the note.

Then she laughed—not because it was funny, but because she couldn’t believe the man had sent her a written schedule before she’d even unpacked.

She took the pen from the bedside drawer and turned the paper over.

In the empty space, she wrote:

Good evening to you, too.

— Elena Hayes

She placed the note back in the envelope and set it on the table.

Tomorrow, she would face Kaysen Vance again.

And she had every intention of making sure he understood one thing.

She might be living in his house.

She might be working under his supervision.

But she had not surrendered her voice.

Not yet.