Chapter 10-The Penthouse

The drive back to New York took four hours.

Elara spent most of it staring out the window, watching the landscape shift from Boston's brick buildings to highway monotony to the familiar skyline of Manhattan rising like steel teeth against the grey sky.

Sebastian worked on his laptop beside her, the quiet click of keys the only sound in the car besides the hum of the engine.

He didn't try to make conversation.

Didn't ask questions.

Just let her exist in silence while her mind raced through every possible outcome of the decision she'd just made.

One week.

Seven days to figure out if she could survive in his world.

Seven days to decide if the safety he offered was worth the price of letting him in.

Around hour three, exhaustion finally pulled her under.

She woke to Sebastian's hand on her shoulder, gentle.

“We're here.”

Elara blinked, disoriented.

Through the tinted window, she saw a building. Not just any building- a tower of glass and steel that seemed to pierce the clouds themselves. The entrance was flanked by doormen in crisp uniforms.

“This is where you live?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Of course it was.

The car pulled into an underground garage. Sebastian got out first, then offered her his hand.

Elara stared at it for a moment before taking it.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and steady.

They took a private elevator. The kind that required a keycard and went directly to the penthouse without stopping at any other floors.

Elara watched the numbers climb: 45... 50... 55...

The elevator stopped at 60.

The doors opened.

Directly into an apartment.

No, not an apartment.

A palace.

Elara stepped out slowly, her mouth falling open despite herself.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, offering a view of Manhattan that looked like something from a movie. The furniture was all clean lines and expensive fabrics. The floors were dark hardwood that gleamed. Everything was white and black and chrome  and glass.

It looked like a magazine spread.

Perfect. Untouchable. Cold.

“This is…” She couldn't finish.

“Home,” Sebastian said quietly.

Elara looked down at her worn coat and scuffed shoes and felt like a stain on the expensive carpet.

“I don't belong here,” she whispered.

“You do now.” He moved past her into the apartment. “Come on. I'll show you your room.”

He led her down a hallway lined with abstract art that probably cost more than most people's houses.

He stopped at a door and pushed it open.

The room beyond was bigger than the entire apartment Elara had shared with her mother.

A king-sized bed dominated one wall, dressed in soft grey linens. There was a sitting area with a couch and chair. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Central Park. A door that led to what looked like a massive ensuite bathroom.

“This is mine?” Elara asked faintly.

“Yes.” Sebastian set her suitcase down near the closet. “The bathroom is through there. Towels are stocked. If you need anything else, just ask.”

Elara walked slowly to the window.

Below, the city sprawled in every direction. Tiny cars. Tiny people. All of them living lives she would never understand from up here in the clouds.

“I thought…” She turned to face him. “I thought I would be in a guest room or something.”

“This is a guest room,” Sebastian said.

Elara's eyes widened. “This?”

“The master suite is down the hall.” His expression was unreadable. “You have complete privacy. I won't come in here unless you invite me in.”

“Oh.”

She didn't know why that disappointed her slightly.

Sebastian moved toward the door. “Get settled. Dinner is at seven.”

“Dinner?”

“I have a chef who comes in most evenings.” He paused. “Do you have any dietary restrictions? Allergies?”

“No, I... no.”

“Good.” He started to leave, then stopped. “Elara?”

“Yes?”

“You belong here,”  he said quietly. “Don't let anyone, including yourself tell you otherwise.”

Then he was gone.

Elara stood alone in the enormous room, listening to his footsteps fade down the hall.

She walked slowly to the bathroom.

It was marble. Actual marble. With a soaking tub the size of a small pool and a shower that had more jets than she could count.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Pale. Exhausted. Hair a mess. Eyes still red and puffy from crying.

She looked exactly like what she was: a poor girl playing dress-up in a billionaire's world.

Elara turned away from her reflection and went back to the bedroom.

Her suitcase sat pathetically small against the massive closet.

She opened it.

Everything she owned: three pairs of jeans, five shirts, underwear, a single pair of pajamas, and the envelope with her mother's funeral receipts.

That was it.

That was her entire life.

Elara sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

The mattress was so soft she almost sank into it. The kind of comfort she had never experienced. The kind people like her weren't supposed to know existed.

She pulled out her phone.

No messages. No calls.

Just the date staring back at her: November 15th.

Her mother died exactly one month ago today.

Elara pressed her hand to her mouth, fighting back fresh tears.

“I wish you were here," she whispered to the empty room. “I wish you could tell me what to do.”

But her mother was gone.

And Elara was here.

Alone in a gilded cage with a man she didn't understand and a future she couldn't predict.

She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

One week.

She could survive one week.

—

At exactly seven o'clock, there was a soft knock on her door.

“Miss Moore?” An unfamiliar voice. Female. “Dinner is ready.”

Elara opened the door to find a woman in her fifties, neatly dressed, with kind eyes.

“I'm Helen,” the woman said with a warm smile. “Mr. Vale's housekeeper. I'll be showing you to the dining room.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Helen led her through the penthouse to a dining room that looked like something from a movie. Long table. Crystal chandelier. More windows showing the glittering city below.

Sebastian stood when she entered, buttoning his suit jacket in an automatic gesture.

He had changed. Dark slacks, white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. No tie.

He looked... human.

Almost.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

Elara sat.

A moment later, Helen appeared with plates. Seared salmon, roasted vegetables, some kind of grain Elara didn't recognize.

It looked like restaurant food.

“I didn't know what you liked,” Sebastian said. “So I had Gregory make something simple.”

“Gregory?”

“The chef.”

Of course he had a chef.

Elara picked up her fork with trembling hands.

They ate in silence for several minutes.

Then Sebastian's phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, frowned, and stood. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”

He walked to the window, phone pressed to his ear.

Elara couldn't hear most of the conversation.

But she heard the end clearly.

“I don't care what the board says," Sebastian's voice was cold and final. “She stays. End of discussion.”

He ended the call and turned back to the table.

Their eyes met.

“The board?” Elara asked quietly.

Sebastian sat down.  My company's board of directors. They have... opinions. About my personal life.”

“About me.”

“Yes.”

“They want me gone.”

“They want a lot of things they won't get.” His voice was flat. “You're staying. That's final.”

Something warm unfurled in Elara's chest.

He was protecting her.

From his own company.

From his own world.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Sebastian's expression softened slightly. “You don't need to thank me.”

“Yes, I do.”

They held each other's gaze for a long moment.

Then Sebastian cleared his throat and went back to his food.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “I've arranged for Dr. Bennett to come here. She's an OBGYN. One of the best in the city.”

Elara's hand moved instinctively to her stomach. “You don't have to…”

“Yes, I do.” His tone left no room for argument. “You need prenatal care. Regular checkups. I want to make sure you and the baby are healthy.”

“I can go to a clinic.”

“No.” The word was final. “You're not going anywhere Cassandra's people might find you.”

The name sent a chill down Elara's spine.

“Has she... has she tried anything else?” Elara asked.

Sebastian's jaw tightened. “She's looking for you. Marco's been tracking her movements. So far she hasn't found this address.”

“But she will eventually.”

“Maybe.” His eyes met hers.  But by then, I'll have made sure she can't touch you.”

The promise in his voice was absolute.

Terrifying.

And somehow... comforting.

After dinner, Sebastian showed her how to use the entertainment system, the automated lights, and the temperature controls.

Everything in the penthouse was controlled by technology. Voice commands. Touch screens. Apps on her phone.

It was overwhelming.

“If you need anything,” Sebastian said as they stood in the hallway outside her room, “I'm just down the hall. Master suite. Last door on the left. 

Elara nodded.

An awkward silence fell between them.

“Well," she said finally.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Elara.”

She started to turn toward her door.

“Elara?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

Sebastian looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. “I'm glad you came back.”

Something in her chest tightened. “Me too.”

Then she slipped into her room and closed the door behind her.

She leaned against it, heart pounding, and pressed her hand to her stomach.

“What have I gotten us into?” she whispered.

But there was no answer.

Just the sound of the city humming sixty floors below.

And the knowledge that somewhere down the hall, Sebastian Vale lay awake too.

Both of them wondering the same thing:

What happens next?