Sleep well Mrs Reed

Christian pov

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

It had been this way for days no footsteps echoing in the hallway, no scent of her perfume lingering in the living room, no accidental glances. Just silence, and the ghost of her presence moving around me like smoke I couldn't catch.

She’d been avoiding me.

And maybe that was smart. Maybe I deserved it.

She barely came down to eat. She didn’t try to talk to me. She moved like a ghost and I let her.

Because if I confronted her now, I might say something I wouldn’t take back.

Or worse—I might touch her again.

I came home late again, later than usual. I told myself it was work, but it wasn’t. I just didn’t want to face what the air between us had turned into. The look in her eyes that morning—hurt, defiance, and something else I hadn’t dared to name—it hadn’t left my mind since.

I loosened my tie as I walked through the hallway, my footsteps echoing against polished marble. The staff had all turned in.

Nana was nowhere in sight.

Good. I wasn’t in the mood for her subtle disapproval or soft lectures.

She thought I was too hard on Elizabeth.

Maybe I was.

But what the fuck did anyone expect?

I passed her door. Then stopped.

It wasn’t part of the plan to stop.

I told myself I just wanted to make sure she hadn’t run off in the night.

That she hadn’t packed a bag and tried to crawl her way back to that pathetic father of hers.

But that was a lie.

I just wanted to see her.

Pathetic.

My hand was already on the doorknob, turning it.

The room was dimly lit, moonlight casting pale patterns across the floor. I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me softly.

She lay curled on the bed, one leg tangled in the sheets, her lips slightly parted in sleep. Her hair was messy, fanned across the pillow in wild waves. She looked...

untouched, soft.

Like something the world hadn’t ruined yet.

I dropped my jacket on the armchair without thinking.

Why the fuck was I here?

I’d seen hundreds of women naked, models, heiresses, desperate little debutantes clawing at my attention. They all looked the same in the dark—perfect bodies, eager mouths, vacant eyes.

But this—Elizabeth—was different.

She hadn’t begged.

She hadn’t even looked at me properly since I carried her out of that club, slung over my shoulder like a misbehaving brat. No tantrum, no resistance. Just silence.

And that silence was louder than a scream.

I stared at her now and saw the girl in that small room the first day I met her, who had sat quietly, lips tight, back straight, eyes uncertain.

Harper’s daughter but not the one meant for me. The one he threw at Peter Johnson like some leftover offering.

A social climber’s mistake.

Her father disgusted me.

The kind of man who would sell off one daughter for status and the other for cash, all while pretending he was doing them a favor.

And yet here she was. His unwanted, discarded child—sleeping in a bed lined with Egyptian cotton sheets and surrounded by wealth her family could never give her.

Mine.

She belonged to me now, whether she realized it or not.

My gaze dipped lower. The sheet had slipped slightly off her shoulder. Her skin was smooth and golden, like she'd been painted in moonlight. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch her. Just to feel.

I moved closer.

What the hell was wrong with me?

This wasn’t what I did, I didn’t linger. I didn’t stare, I didn’t wonder what a woman looked like when she wasn’t terrified of me.

But I crouched beside the bed anyway.

My fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She murmured something in her sleep, her brow creasing. A soft, breathy sound left her lips.

My chest tightened.

I should have turned around. Should have walked out and slammed the door shut behind me.

This wasn’t who I was. I didn’t sneak into women’s rooms in the middle of the night just to watch them breathe. I didn’t stand still for long enough to memorize the way they curled into pillows.

I didn’t care.

But with her, I was losing my grip on the rules I made for myself.

I thought back to that day again, in that sterile room across from the table, she wore an expression like she was about to be sentenced to prison.

I remembered the way she refused to meet my eyes, the way her fingers twisted in her lap, too proud to beg, too afraid to speak.

Twelve days later, she’d been a completely different woman, wild, drunk,untamed.

I didn’t know which version of her scared me more.

The quiet one… or the one I couldn’t control.

What kind of game are you playing, Elizabeth?

My jaw tightened.

Are you like your father? A manipulator in a prettier dress? Or are you just another broken girl pretending to be brave?

I didn’t have the answers yet.

But I’d find out.

And God help her if she was anything like that pathetic excuse of a man who sold her off like livestock.

I stayed, watching her breath and losing track of time.

And then, because I was a bastard with no self-control, I whispered her name like it meant something.

“Elizabeth.”

She didn’t stir.

Good.

Because if she woke up and saw me here, knees on her bed, my heart in my throat—I wouldn’t have known what to say.

I reached for the ring I’d given her, still snug on her finger.

Mine.

That was what I’d told her.

But maybe I hadn’t realized what I was claiming. Maybe I hadn’t realized what she’d taken in return.

I stood and backed away, quietly, the weight of something I didn’t recognize pressing down on my chest.

Before I closed the door, I looked at her one last time.

Then I whispered into the dark, “Sleep well, Mrs. Reed.”

And I left, more haunted than I had been when I arrived.

I didn’t go to my study. Didn’t go upstairs.

I went to the one place in this penthouse that made sense.

The bar.

I grabbed a bottle of scotch from the glass shelves.

No glass. Just the bottle.

Twisted the cap off and took a long, bitter swig.

The burn settled in my throat, but it didn’t calm the heat simmering under my skin.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I stared at the liquor in my hand like it might have the answer.

But it didn’t.

No drink could fix this.

I wasn’t losing control.

I couldn’t be.