I wasn’t sure if it was the architecture of Xavier’s fortress of a mansion or some strange electrical current running through the walls, or if I was just starting to lose my mind. It had only been four days…. four days since I walked into this house. Four days of silence, stiffness, and eyes that followed me like shadows I couldn’t shake.
Xavier didn’t speak to me unless it was necessary, but he looked at me. God, he looked at me. Whenever I passed the sitting room where he read the paper, when I stood in the kitchen pouring coffee I didn’t even want, when I wandered into the library and pretended I didn’t feel his presence before I saw him, there was always that brief pause, that moment of stillness, like he was fighting something and losing.
I wasn’t winning either.
I wore shorts to breakfast, tiny ones, black and soft, clinging to my hips like a second skin. I paired them with an oversized white t-shirt that hung off one shoulder, exposing the strap of my bra. Let him say something, I dared silently. Let him try.
I walked into the dining room like I belonged there, like I hadn’t spent half the night replaying the sound of his voice when he told me this was survival.
Xavier sat at the head of the table as usual, reading the morning paper like some brooding CEO straight out of a thriller novel. He didn’t look up at first, but when he did, his eyes dragged over my legs. No expression. No reaction. But I saw the way his fingers tightened slightly on the paper.
I smiled sweetly. “Good morning.”
He folded the paper slowly, set it aside, and gestured to my seat with a flick of two fingers.
“You’re late.”
“I didn’t realize punctuality was your kink.”
His eyes met mine.
“I have many kinks,” he said softly. “But obedience is top of the list.”
My cheeks flared. I hated that.
“Too bad I’m allergic,” I snapped, sliding into my chair.
He didn’t reply. He just watched me while I poured myself a glass of orange juice with hands I tried to keep steady. We ate in silence after that, but the kind of silence that had teeth.
Later that afternoon, I found the piano. It was tucked into a sunlit room near the back of the house, black, glossy, and untouched. I ran my fingers over the keys but didn’t press down. I hadn’t played since I was sixteen.
I sat down anyway and played a melody I didn’t know the name of, one I’d made up when I was younger and angry and tired of pretending I wasn’t drowning in my father’s expectations. The last note echoed into the silence.
“You play well.”
I didn’t turn.
“Don’t sneak up on people, Xavier. It’s creepy.”
“You were in my music room.”
“Didn’t see that on the rule sheet.”
He stepped closer. I still didn’t turn.
“I thought you hated noise.”
“I hate chaos.”
His voice was closer now.
“I hate lies.”
Closer.
“I hate things that don’t belong where they are.”
His hand brushed my back as he passed by. Light. Barely there. But my entire body tensed like he’d branded me.
I stood up too fast, knocking the bench backward. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised a brow. “Did I?”
“You think this is a game?”
“No,” he said simply. “I think you’re playing one, and I’m deciding how to end it.”
Then he left me standing there, heart thudding.
That night I couldn’t sleep again, so I wandered barefoot, wearing one of the silk robes I found in the closet tied too loosely around my waist. I didn’t know what I was looking for until I found it, a door. Heavy, dark wood, brass handle. Locked. I tried it gently, nothing. But I heard something on the other side, a low voice. Xavier’s voice.
I pressed my ear to the door.
“You said she wouldn’t be a problem.”
A pause. Another voice I didn’t recognize responded.
“She’s not. Yet.”
My breath caught.
“I can’t afford loose ends. She’s already digging.”
“You knew this would happen, Xavier.”
“I didn’t expect to like it.”
Silence.
My stomach twisted.
I stepped back, nearly tripping over the hem of my robe. Ran to my room and slammed the door behind me.
When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of his hands, not hurting me, not pushing me, touching. And when I woke up breathless and aching, I hated myself because for the first time I didn’t want to follow his rules. I wanted to break them and make him punish me for it.
There’s a thrill that comes with rebellion, not the loud, reckless kind, but the kind where your hand hovers over a line you know you shouldn’t cross and then crosses it anyway.
I woke up with that thrill crawling under my skin. His voice from the night before echoed in my mind: I didn’t expect to like it. He was talking about me, and I needed to know more.
The house was too quiet. Xavier had left early for a meeting, his schedule pinned to the kitchen corkboard by the chef who never actually cooked for us, just prepped things and vanished like a ghost. He wouldn’t be back until evening, which gave me exactly five hours.
I walked straight past the West Wing. Tempting, but too obvious. He expected me to try that door. Instead, I turned toward the hallway I wasn’t allowed in, the one that led to his office. Rule number five: do not attempt to access my office. I didn’t just attempt. I succeeded.
The door was unlocked, which pissed me off like he wanted me to go in, like he was baiting me. I stepped inside. It was dark, wood-paneled, masculine in the way of cigars and bloodlines. A massive desk stood in the center. On it were files, labeled, neat, perfect until I got my hands on them.
I flipped open a folder. My name. Not just mine, my father’s. Documents, transactions, photos, one of me at a coffee shop last year. What the actual hell?
“Enjoying yourself?”
I froze and turned slowly. Xavier stood in the doorway, arms crossed, calm, icy, deadly.
“You weren’t supposed to be home,” I said.
“That much is obvious.”
I took a shaky breath. “Why do you have surveillance on me?”
He stepped inside and closed the door.
“You think your father didn’t have enemies?”
“That doesn’t explain the pictures, the records, the obsession.”
His gaze darkened. “You don’t get to talk about obsession, little girl. Not when you’ve been walking around my house dressed like bait.”
I bristled. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He moved faster than I expected. One moment I was holding the file, the next he grabbed it from my hands and shoved me back against the desk. His body didn’t touch mine, but it hovered close enough to make me forget how to breathe.
“You broke a rule,” he said.
I swallowed hard. “So? Going to lecture me again?”
He leaned in, his breath hitting my cheek.
“No. I’m going to punish you.”
My stomach flipped.
“I’m not scared of you,” I lied.
“I don’t want you scared.”
His hand caught my wrist, firm, not cruel, controlled.
“I want you to understand what happens when you defy me.”
He pulled me from the desk, spun me, and pushed me down onto the leather chair. I gasped, not from pain, but from the heat curling deep in my belly. His hand pressed to the back of the chair beside my head.
“You want answers?” he asked. “Earn them.”
I twisted to face him, defiant. “What exactly do you want from me?”
He bent down, nose brushing mine.
“Everything.”
And then he stepped away, just like that, leaving me breathless, furious, aching.
“You’re confined to your room for three days,” he said as he reached the door.
“You’re not my father!” I shouted.
“No,” he said quietly. “He’s dead. And now you belong to me.”
He walked out, leaving the door open. I sat there
shaking, not from fear, but from the unbearable truth.
I wanted him to come back.
Sophia’s POVI stepped into the dining room and froze. Xavier was already there, watching me like he could see everything I was trying to hide.“Sleep well?” he asked, voice casual, but there was something in his tone.“Perfectly,” I replied, forcing a smile.He didn’t move his eyes away from me. “You look flushed.”My fork slipped. I caught it quickly. “Must be the weather.”He smirked slightly. “Or the dreams.”I tried to keep my voice steady. “I don’t dream about you.”He folded the paper slowly. “Good to know.”He gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit.”I sat, but I could feel his gaze drilling into me.“Anything you want to confess?”“No.” My voice was sharper than I wanted. “Why would I?”He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Because I like confessions.”I looked away. “You should be careful what you wish for.”He chuckled quietly. “That depends on who’s confessing.”Breakfast was a silent battlefield. I escaped to the garden as soon as I could.A bench, a qu
Sophia’s POV Three days.That’s how long I was supposed to be confined to my room.But punishment doesn’t work the way Xavier thinks it does.Isolation? Silence? A room with a view of the ocean, soft sheets, and a bookshelf full of vintage poetry?That wasn’t punishment. It was preparation.Because the longer I sat in that gilded cage, the more I realized something terrifying.He didn’t just want control.He wanted submission and submission wasn’t in my blood.By the second day, I’d stopped pretending to read. The books blurred in front of me. My mind circled one thing over and over like a shark circling a drop of blood in open water.The office. The file. The photos.The way his voice changed when he said I belonged to him.I kept replaying the way he’d pinned me without touching me. The threat of something more in every word. The heat that surged inside me when he got close.And worse, how much I wanted more of it.That realization made me furious.So on the third night, I changed
I wasn’t sure if it was the architecture of Xavier’s fortress of a mansion or some strange electrical current running through the walls, or if I was just starting to lose my mind. It had only been four days…. four days since I walked into this house. Four days of silence, stiffness, and eyes that followed me like shadows I couldn’t shake.Xavier didn’t speak to me unless it was necessary, but he looked at me. God, he looked at me. Whenever I passed the sitting room where he read the paper, when I stood in the kitchen pouring coffee I didn’t even want, when I wandered into the library and pretended I didn’t feel his presence before I saw him, there was always that brief pause, that moment of stillness, like he was fighting something and losing.I wasn’t winning either.I wore shorts to breakfast, tiny ones, black and soft, clinging to my hips like a second skin. I paired them with an oversized white t-shirt that hung off one shoulder, exposing the strap of my bra. Let him say something
Sophia POV The gates opened, black and heavy, as Xavier drove through. I sat in the back seat, arms crossed. He hadn’t said a word the whole ride.When we stopped, he got out, slammed his door, then opened mine.“Move.”I grabbed my duffel bag. “You’re a real charmer.”“Inside,” he said, already walking ahead.We went down a long hall. I asked, “Where’s the staff?”“You don’t need them.”He stopped at a door, opened it. “This is your room.”I stepped in, glanced around. “Not much color. You allergic to it?”He didn’t react. Instead, he handed me a folded paper.“What’s this?”“Your rules.”I skimmed them, no West Wing, no guests, curfew, mandatory meals, no office access, no purchases, no media, no speaking unless spoken to.I laughed. “You’re kidding.”“You live here under my terms. Disobey, and I’ll make you regret it.”“Do all your prisoners get a list like this?”“This isn’t prison.”“Could’ve fooled me.”He stepped closer. “Push me, little girl, and I’ll push back harder.”“I’m
Sophia POVThe church was half-empty. Not that I expected a crowd. My father wasn’t the kind of man people loved, he was the kind they feared, respected and tolerated at best.The air was thick with incense and fake condolences. I sat on the front pew, stiff in a borrowed black dress that clung too tightly to my chest, and tried not to choke on the weight of silence around me. When the priest mumbled the final amen, I stood before they even lowered the casket, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. If I didn’t leave, I’d scream. Or laugh. Neither would go over well.“Miss Sophia,” a man in a charcoal suit stepped into my path as I reached the doors. “Mr. Hartwell’s office is ready for you.”Of course. The will was the real reason I showed up in this funeral dress. Closure didn’t matter. Money did. I didn’t have enough left to pretend otherwise.I followed him into a sleek black car waiting at the curb, and twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a leather chair opposite my