Jackson's First Night in Charles's Mansion

The quiet in Charles Thorne's stately guest chamber is made worse by the faint buzz of the city below. The room is spotless, so clean that it seems like a hospital. The sheets are too silky and the bed is too comfy. It feels like I'm lying on a cloud, yet it doesn't help the pain in my chest at all. 

I roll over and think about what happened that day. Charles was cold, bossy, and distant. I couldn't really figure him out. All the money, the power, and the mansion are too much for me. He treated me like an object, like a deal, like I was nothing more. 

I get out of bed and sit up in the dark room, looking out the window at the city lights that are flickering. This is the first time I've ever been in a place like this. It feels like a cage made of gold, and the walls are closing in with every breath I breathe. 

I stand up and walk around the room. I guess I need to leave. But where would I go? If this man doesn't take me in, who else would? 

I say to myself, "Damn it," and run my fingers through my hair. I shouldn't be here. I promised myself that no one would ever control me again. But here I am, in this big house, at the mercy of a stranger. 

I pause at the window and see my own reflection. My face is pallid and my eyes are tired. I don't know who I am anymore. 

My phone vibrating on the nightstand wakes me up from my thoughts. I reach for it, and my heart skips a beat when I see the message. 

It's from Charles. 

"The clothing allowance has been moved." In the morning, more information. 

I stare at the message for a long time, and my chest gets tight. I didn't want clothes. I didn't ask for anything. 

Charles doesn't care about my pride, though. 

I lie back down and look up at the ceiling. The message gets across. He has power over everything. 

I wake up early the next morning, and my mind is still spinning from the night. The mansion is too silent. I get out of bed and stroll to the window, where the strong sun is coming in. From here, the city appears strange, like it doesn't belong to me anymore. 

My phone buzzes again. Charles sent another message. 

I make myself read it even if I don't want to. 

"The clothing are all set for you. Come down when you're ready. 

I put on jeans and a T-shirt, but the attire seems too casual for where I am. But I don't care. I don't want to impress anyone. I have to be here because I have no other alternative. 

I find Charles in his study when I go downstairs. The space is just what I thought it would be: sleek, simple, and frigid. He's standing by the window with his back to me, looking out at the city with that same blank look on his face. 

He doesn't turn around when I walk in, but I can tell he's looking at me. 

I say "Good morning" to try to break the stillness. 

"Good morning," he says, his voice chilly and almost uninterested. 

I can already feel the tension between us in the air. 

I stand there uncomfortably, not knowing what to do next. It feels like I'm not really welcome here. Not yet, anyhow. 

"Sit," he says, pointing to the chair across from him. He glances at the door for a split second, as if he's waiting for me to do what he says. 

I sit down and attempt to hide how scared I am. He looks at me, but I can't tell what he's thinking. 

I want to know why I'm here. I want to ask him what he really wants from me, but I can't get the words out. 

I say, "The clothes..." instead. 

Charles doesn't move. He just nods. "You can find them in the closet." Think of it as part of the deal. "Both of us have jobs to do." 

I feel a flash of anger, but I hold it back. Now is not the time to debate. "Right," I say. 

He goes on in a casual tone, as if he were talking about the weather, "You'll be comfortable here." "Just remember that this is only a short-term plan. And I hope it stays that way. 

His words hurt me more than they should have. He keeps telling me that I don't matter to him other than what he needs from me. That I'm merely a convenience. 

I swallow hard and make myself talk again. "Got it." 

I ride the elevator up to the guest rooms, and my footsteps echo in the quiet. It seems like the mansion is waiting for something. Or someone. Maybe me. 

The room where the clothing are spread out looks like something out of a magazine: clean, expensive, and the more I look at it, the more I understand it's not made for someone like me. 

I put on the fitted slacks and crisp shirt he picked out for me. They fit well, yet I feel like I'm wearing someone else's skin. 

Charles is sitting at the large dining table with a glass of whiskey in his hand as I walk back down. When I go in, he glances up and his eyes move over me. 

He remarks, "You clean up well," with a hint of humor in his voice, but he still seems distant. 

I don't know what to say. I sat across from him instead, attempting to keep some control. 

I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me and judging me in a way that makes my skin crawl. 

"I didn't think this would be so formal," I add to try to break the silence. 

Charles tilts his head a little, as if I'm the one who doesn't belong. "Jackson, this is just business." That's all. 

I nod, but a part of me is screaming to escape. To run. But my feet are stuck to the floor. 

He leans forward and squints his eyes a little. "But I need you to know one thing. There are no feelings here. No attachments. "Just an arrangement." 

My stomach feels like it's tightening. I nod, but it doesn't feel like enough. 

I go outside to get some fresh air later that night. The garden in front of the mansion is full with flowers and plants that look almost too flawless. I walk slowly, my head full of thoughts about what happened today. 

It's insane. This is all so crazy. 

I keep reminding myself that this is only temporary and that I'm only here to stay alive. But something is changing inside me. 

I don't want to care about Charles. No, I can't. But every time he looks at me or talks to me in that calm, distant voice, I feel myself getting pulled deeper. 

I pause in front of a fountain and watch the water flow to try to clear my brain. But it doesn't work. Charles is still on my mind and in my thoughts. 

Do I have feelings for him? 

I can't be. I shouldn't be. 

But every time he looks at me or says something, it is harder to keep the walls up. And the worst part? I don't even sure if I want to. 

I turn around, and my heart is racing. 

I had to leave this place. 

But when I go back inside, Charles is there waiting for me. 

He leans against the doorframe in the hallway, his eyes cold yet hard to decipher. 

When I see him, I freeze. 

“Jackson,” he adds in a low, almost taunting voice. "We need to talk." 

I can feel the tension between us growing again, thick and real. I take a few steps toward him, but I'm not sure what to do. 

"I don't want to talk," I say, my voice cutting, but I can't quite hide how nervous I am. 

Charles stays still. He just looks at me with a serious look, as if he's reading me. 

"You've been disobedient," he says. "I've been keeping an eye on you." I know you're not just a pushover who will do what I say. 

I swallow and attempt to keep my face blank. I say, "I'm not here to make you happy," and my voice is a touch too harsh. 

He says, "I know." "But you're here. And now that you are, you'll do as I say. And I will make sure you know who is in charge. 

I take a deep breath and clinch my hands at my sides. I want to dispute and fight back. But I don't. 

Instead, I stand there, wanting to fight him but scared of what it would cost me. 

He gets closer, and his presence is too much. 

"I think you'll pick it up quickly." You can't get away from this. 

The words are weighty with meaning and hover between us. The stillness goes on, and I can feel the strain in my body and the heat of his eyes on me. 

Then, all of a sudden, Charles leans forward and kisses me on the lips. It was soft, forceful, and unexpected. 

I freeze, and my mind races to figure out what just happened. His kiss is a command, not a plea, and it draws me down in a way that I am not ready for. 

I try to get away, but Charles keeps me there by holding my shoulders tightly. 

When he finally lets go, I can't breathe and my chest feels tight with emotion. 

"I think," he says quietly, "we're about to find out how far you're willing to go." 

And all of a sudden, I'm not so sure I'm in charge anymore.