009

Aurora’s POV

Callum’s voice still hung in the air.

“What the fuck did you do?”

I stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The marks on my neck felt like they were burning under the collar of the blouse. Staff moved quietly in the background—someone carrying a tray, someone adjusting flowers—but the entrance hall had gone very still.

Callum stepped closer. His eyes stayed locked on the reddish marks.

“Answer me.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind me. Steady. Unhurried.

Gideon came down like the house belonged to the sound of his steps. He stopped beside me. Close enough that the heat of him reached my side.

Callum’s gaze snapped to his father.

“Dad. Look at her neck.”

Gideon looked. His expression did not change.

“I see it.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Callum’s voice rose. “She shows up here with those marks after you took her in, and you just—”

“She is my personal assistant,” Gideon said. His tone stayed even. “She lives under this roof now. She works for me.”

Callum laughed once, sharp and ugly. “Assistant? Is that what we’re calling it?”

Two of the staff had stopped moving. They stood near the doorway, eyes carefully lowered, but they were listening.

Gideon’s hand settled on my lower back. Firm. Possessive. The touch was deliberate and public.

“She is under my protection,” he said. “Whatever arrangement exists between us is not your concern.”

Callum stared at the hand on my back. Color rose in his face.

“You can’t be serious. She’s my ex. She came crawling here for money and now you’re—”

“Enough.”

The single word cut the air cleanly. Callum’s mouth closed.

Gideon’s fingers pressed slightly against my spine. Not hard. Just enough to keep me in place.

“You will not raise your voice in this house,” he said. “You will not speak to her that way. If you cannot manage that, leave.”

Callum’s hands curled into fists at his sides. For a moment I thought he might swing. Instead he looked at me one last time. The disgust on his face was open and raw.

“You’re disgusting,” he said to me. Then he grabbed his bag and walked out. The front door shut harder than necessary.

Silence stretched.

Gideon’s hand stayed on my lower back for another few seconds before he removed it.

“Breakfast,” he said. “Then my office.”

I followed him.

The rest of the morning passed in a strange quiet. He gave me files. Dates. Names. I sorted and labeled and brought coffee when the cup went empty. He spoke in short sentences. I answered the same way. The marks on my neck stayed visible every time I bent or turned.

At noon he stood.

“Come with me.”

I knew the path before we reached it. The long hall. The tall white door. The Red Room.

He unlocked it and stepped aside so I could enter first. The door closed behind us. The lock turned.

I stood in the middle of the room with my hands at my sides. My pulse had already started to climb.

Gideon walked past me and sat in the wide chair near the wall. He looked at me for a long moment.

“You heard what I said downstairs.”

“Yes.”

“I claimed you in front of the staff. In front of my son. Do you understand what that means?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Come here.”

I walked to him. He pointed to the floor between his knees.

“Kneel.”

I hesitated only a second, then lowered myself. The carpet was soft under my knees. I looked up at him.

His eyes were calm. Controlled.

“I defended you,” he said. “I could have let him keep talking. I could have stayed silent. I did not. Do you understand why?”

“Because of the contract.”

“Partly.” He leaned forward slightly. “Also because you belong to me for the next year. Publicly or privately. That is the arrangement you signed.”

My throat felt tight. I nodded.

“I want you to thank me.”

The words hung there.

“For defending me?” I asked.

“Yes. On your knees. Looking at me. And I want to hear it clearly.”

Heat crawled up my neck. The position, the room, the memory of last night and this morning—all of it pressed in at once. But the agreement was still there. I had signed it. I had chosen this.

I kept my eyes on his.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“For defending me. For… claiming me in front of them.”

“Again. Properly.”

I drew a slow breath. “Thank you, Mr. Vale. For defending me.”

Something in his expression shifted. Not softer. Just more focused.

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He unlocked it, opened the camera, and turned it toward me.

My stomach dropped.

“What are you doing?”

“Recording.” His voice stayed even. “Say it again. Clearly. While you are still on your knees.”

My hands rested on my thighs. I could feel a faint tremor in my fingers. The marks on my neck felt hotter under his gaze and the phone’s quiet lens.

I looked at him, not the camera.

“Thank you, Mr. Vale.”

He held the phone steady for another second, then lowered it. The screen went dark.

He set it on the small table beside the chair.

“Good,” he said. “You may stand.”

I rose. My knees felt slightly unsteady. The room was quiet except for the sound of my own breathing.

Gideon stood as well. He stepped closer until there was almost no space left between us. One hand lifted and brushed a strand of hair back from my face. The touch was brief.

“Remember this feeling,” he said. “The next time you wonder what the contract costs.”

I nodded once.

He unlocked the door and held it open.

“Return to the office. We still have work.”

I walked past him into the hallway. The air outside the Red Room felt cooler. My pulse was still elevated. The words I had just spoken stayed in my mouth like a weight.

Behind me, the door shut softly.

I did not look back.

The recording existed now.

And so did the version of me that had thanked him for it while still trembling on her knees.