Chapter 3: Unwanted Proximity

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.