The next day, my skin still burned where Caden’s lips had touched mine. It was a phantom heat, a sickening reminder of how little control I had. I wanted to scrub my face raw, but I couldn't. I just had to pretend everything was normal, especially for Mom.
"Are you feeling alright, sweetie?" Mom asked that morning, her brow furrowed. She was coughing again, a deep, wet sound that rattled through her chest. "You're very quiet." "Just tired, Ma," I mumbled, pushing my cereal around the bowl. "Long day at school yesterday." Jasper, my little brother, thankfully didn't notice anything. He was already buzzing with energy, talking about a new game he wanted to play at Mrs. Ani's. "Can we go early today, Maeve? Please?" he begged. "Maybe," I said, forcing a smile for him. I needed to get him out of the house, away from me. Away from the cloud hanging over me. Later, at the Dovewood mansion, the familiar lemon polish smell felt less comforting and more like a suffocating blanket. Every shadow felt like Caden. Every quiet sound made me jump. I followed Mom from room to room, doing the lighter tasks she gave me, wiping dust from shelves, polishing glass tables. My stomach was a tight knot of dread. When would he show up? What would he want? I was in the grand living room, carefully polishing a silver tray, when I heard his voice. It was coming from the doorway. "Maeve." I froze, the polishing cloth slipping from my fingers. I didn't turn around right away. I couldn't. My heart was pounding like a drum. "Don't ignore me," Caden said, his voice closer now. "I hate being ignored." I slowly turned. He was standing a few feet away, leaning against the door frame. He looked relaxed, almost bored. Like yesterday hadn't even happened. Like he hadn't just taken everything from me. "Good morning, Mr. Caden," I forced out, my voice flat. He pushed off the door frame and walked closer. He wore a dark blue shirt that made his eyes seem even darker. "Drop the 'Mr.' Maeve. We're past that, aren't we?" He stopped right in front of me, making me feel small and exposed. "From now on, it's just 'Caden.' You can manage that, can't you?" My teeth clenched. "Yes, Mr. Ca— Caden." The name felt wrong, like something I shouldn't be saying to him. Like it gave him more power. He smirked. "Good. Today, I have a new job for you. My history paper. It's due tomorrow, and I haven't even started." My jaw dropped. "You want me to write your paper?" "Not write it, no," he said, a glint in his eye. "You're going to help me. I'll tell you what I want to say, and you'll put it into perfect sentences. You're good at that, aren't you? Smart girl." He walked over to a nearby desk and picked up a thick history book, then tossed it onto the polished table between us. It landed with a heavy thump. "I can't," I whispered. "I have my own work. My mom needs me." "Your mom is busy in the west wing," he replied, as if he knew her schedule by heart. "She won't even notice. And besides, I thought you wanted to protect her job? This is part of it. My rules." He leaned over the table, his face close to mine. "Or do you want me to tell her about 'Eve' now? I can do that. It would only take a phone call." The threat hung heavy in the air. I shook my head quickly. "No. No, I'll help." "Smart choice," he said, pulling back with that same chilling smirk. "Come to the study. Now." He turned and walked away, leaving me to gather my thoughts, or what was left of them. My hands were shaking as I put the polishing cloth down. This was worse than just cleaning his room. This was forcing me into his world, deeper, where he could control every little thing. In the study, he was already sprawled on the leather chaise, just like I'd seen him before. He pointed to the chair opposite him. "Sit." I sat, my back stiff. He didn't look at me right away, just flipped open the history book to a random page. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken power. I hated him so much, but part of me, a small, shameful part, was also terrified of him. And there was something else, something I couldn't name, a confusing pull I fought against. "Okay," he finally said, looking up. His eyes were direct, unwavering. "The topic is the French Revolution. I need to argue that it was inevitable, that the monarchy brought it on themselves." For the next hour, he gave me rough ideas, half-formed thoughts. I would try to turn them into proper paragraphs, using facts from the book. He'd interrupt, correct me, or sometimes just stare, making me feel like my words weren't good enough. "No, that's too weak, Maeve," he'd say. "Make it sound stronger. More... commanding." My mind was split. Half of it was focused on history, trying to write sentences that sounded like Caden, and the other half was screaming inside. Every time he leaned forward, or his hand moved too close to mine on the table, I tensed. He seemed to enjoy my discomfort. He showed no sign that he felt anything but bored amusement. "Good enough, for now," Caden finally said, closing the book. He stretched, and I quickly gathered my notes, ready to escape. But he didn't let me. As I stood up, he stood too, blocking my path to the door. "Not so fast," he murmured. My breath caught. "What do you want, Caden?" He didn't answer. His eyes dropped to my lips. My heart sped up, a sickening drum against my ribs. I knew what was coming. I couldn't stop it. His hand reached out, gently, almost too gently, to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed over my skin, sending shivers through me. Then, he leaned in. His lips, soft this time, brushed against mine. My eyes fluttered shut. It was quick, a fleeting touch, but it sparked something I hated. Disgust, yes, but also a tiny, unwelcome spark of... something else. He pulled back just enough for his eyes to lock with mine. "You taste good, Maeve," he whispered, his voice rough. And then he kissed me again, harder this time, more demanding. It was a longer kiss, forcing my lips open slightly. I could feel his breath, his warmth. My hands clenched at my sides, wanting to push him away, but frozen by fear and that horrible, confusing pull. He kept kissing me, deep and slow, until my head spun. When he finally pulled away, my lips tingled. My whole body felt like it was humming. He watched my face, seeing the mix of horror and something else in my eyes. He was searching for a reaction, and he found it. "Don't ever forget who owns your secret," he murmured, his thumb still on my cheek. He let go, and my face felt suddenly cold. "Now, you can go. Be ready tomorrow morning. I need you before school, for more of this." He walked past me to his desk, leaving me rooted to the spot, trembling. I hated him. I hated his touch. And I hated myself for the confusing, sickening way my body reacted to him, even for a second. This was my life now. A prisoner in plain sight, with Caden holding the key.The Grand Vista Hotel ballroom glittered, a sea of elegant dresses and sharp suits. Soft music played, mixing with the hum of many conversations. My heels clicked softly as I moved through the crowd, my eyes fixed on Emmet Samuel. He was exactly as Caden described: in his twenties, dark hair, sharp suit, looking ambitious among a group of older, powerful men. He was laughing, a bit too loudly, at something one of them said. My heart thumped, but I pushed down the fear. This was my first real test for Caden. I had to do this, for Mom, for Jasper. I took a deep breath, pasted on a polite smile, and aimed for his group. I paused a few feet away, pretending to admire a nearby art piece, making sure I was close enough to listen, to catch his eye. Emmet glanced over, his eyes lingering for a moment before turning back to his conversation. He noticed me. Good. I waited for a natural pause, then moved closer. "Excuse me," I said, my voice soft, but clear enough to cut through the noise. "I
The heavy main door of Caden's mansion clicked shut behind me. The sound didn't offer freedom; it sealed me into a new kind of prison. The bright afternoon sun felt too harsh, mocking the darkness that had just settled deep inside me. I was outside, yes, but no longer my own. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of the deal. My limbs felt weak, like every bone had turned to water. I had agreed. I had sold myself, not just for money now, but for Caden’s sinister game. The long walk back home was a blur of concrete and green lawns. My mind replayed his cold smile, his cruel words, the way he twisted my love for Jasper and Mom into a chain around my neck. He owned me now, in a way that felt even worse than before. Before, it was about hiding Eve. Now, Eve was his too. I got home just as Mom was waking from her nap. "Maeve, honey? Is that you?" she called, her voice still a little raspy. "It's me, Mom," I said, forcing a cheerful tone I didn't feel. I quickly hid my backpack and
The heavy wooden door opened slowly, revealing a sliver of darkness that widened into the mansion's vast entry hall. My heart hammered against my ribs. Caden stood there, looking impossibly calm. He wore dark pants and a loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up, showing strong forearms. His eyes, dark and sharp, met mine, and a slow, unsettling smile spread across his face. "Right on time, Maeve," he said, his voice a low rumble that filled the huge, echoing space. "Come in. Don't be shy." I stepped inside, the door closing with a soft, heavy thud behind me. The soundproofing was immediate. The world outside, the city noise, all vanished. I was truly trapped. The entry hall was massive, cold marble floors stretching out, leading to wide, curving staircases and more dark, expensive wood. It smelled faintly of old money and something sharp and clean, like polished steel. "This way," Caden said, gesturing with a hand that seemed to command the space. He didn't wait for me, just turne
Saturday morning offered a thin, fragile peace. The wad of cash from Richard was hidden deep in my backpack, a heavy secret, yet a desperate relief. It meant Jasper's hospital bill, that grim monster, could finally be tamed. Mom's cough sounded softer, and Jasper's innocent play filled our small apartment with rare, normal sounds. For a few precious hours, our home felt almost safe. But the calm was a lie. It always was, with Caden Dovewood lurking. He'd known about Eve, a shadow always at my heels. His gaze was a constant, chilling reminder that my carefully built double life was his to expose whenever he chose. I'd lived with his eyes on me for weeks, enduring his presence at school, the forced closeness, the terrifying physical demands. The encounter with Richard, a desperate gamble for cash had only deepened my vulnerability, giving Caden more specific ammunition. My mind kept returning to Richard—a lonely man, yes, but also a symbol of how far I’d gone, how much deeper into the
Caden, surprisingly, kept his distance. He watched me, I knew, felt his eyes like a physical touch, but he didn't approach. It was a strange kind of freedom, and a new kind of terror. What was he planning? Was this his way of seeing if I'd break on my own? He probably thought I would. By Friday afternoon, my nerves were frayed. My last class felt like it lasted forever. I walked home on autopilot, the world feeling muted around me. Mom was coughing more, Jasper was drawing quietly on the floor, and the hospital bill sat like a monster on the kitchen counter. It reminded me why I was doing this. --- The air at The Onyx on a Friday night was always thick with a mix of expensive perfume, stale smoke, and loud music. Tonight, it felt heavier, almost suffocating. I went through the motions of getting ready, pulling on the familiar black wig, painting my face into Eve's confident mask. This time, however, the usual shimmer of my dancing outfit felt less like a costume and more like a un
The message to Mr. Thorne sat in my 'sent' box, a glowing confirmation of the new, terrible path I was about to take. My stomach was a tangle of nerves and grim resolve. There was no going back now. Jasper's breathing was too shallow, Mom's cough too deep. The next morning at Oakridge High, the air between Nova and me was thick with unspoken words. She tried to catch my eye in the hallway, her expression a mix of hurt and worry, but I kept my gaze fixed ahead. I couldn't afford to break, not with the new weight on my shoulders. I was already juggling Caden's demands, school, and my shifts at The Onyx. Adding this new "Special Client Engagement" role meant I needed to be tougher, colder, than ever before. Lunchtime arrived, and I made my usual quick escape to a quiet corner of the library. I pulled out my sandwich, but the thought of eating made my stomach rebel. My phone vibrated. A text from an unknown number. My heart leaped. It was Mr. Thorne. Mr. Thorne: "Meet me at The Onyx af