ch.5

His figure leaves the room and I clutch my head. What did I just do?

I can't be that stupid, I can't move into his house, I can't operate on him, I'm toast. I take a seat at the couch rubbing my thighs up and down.

The nagging feeling that I missed something still lingers even as the hours went by, sleep seemed to elude me that night and the house was loud. Every thought was about Cassian, his smell still lingered and even his eyes were messing with my head.

Morning came quickly and since it was Sunday, I didn't have to report to work. I put the little belongings I had into the boxes waiting for the person who was supposed to come take my things.

A knock echoes through the door and I jump, I touch my chest as I peep through the small hole. It's a man wearing a movers uniform.

“Hello, my name is Anton, I'm here to help you move,” he says, stretching his hand. He was fairly built with a baseball cap covering his red hair. I shake it lightly welcoming him in.

—

The car stops outside a mansion, the black metal doors open automatically as two guards look at us. The huge building behind the high tech large security walls is beautiful. The entrance is marked by two ebony double doors, with intricate carvings of a fox head. A waterfall feature flows beside the entrance, its cascading waters illuminated by subtle golden lighting. The courtyard is paved with polished black stones, leading to a fountain sculpted with obsidian.

“Sir is waiting for you,” the man who picked me up says, I open the double doors and the interior of the huge house comes into view. Inside, the foyer is an architectural marvel — towering ceilings with a custom-designed skylight that allows natural light to pour over the marble floors. An oversized chandelier, composed of hand-blown black crystal, hangs above a grand spiral staircase with iron-and-grand railings. The walls were adorned with abstract paintings, others look like they are worth more than my life.

“Hi,” a voice says, pulling me out of my ogling. It's the guy I helped. Holden.

He wears a grey gym short that hangs loosely around his waist, and sweat trickles from his damp hair to his chest in a way that would make you think he is from a beauty commercial. I tear my eyes away from the layers of muscle before me and respond. “Uh, hi.”

“You're the guest,” he says, giving me a sweep over. I smoothen my shirt as I nod.

“Maya come,” a voice booms through the living room. I look at the end and Cassian stands there in his usual cargo pants and black shirt. My pulse quickens as I walk up to him.

“Get in,” he orders, motioning to his home office. He opens the door to his study and I step in. The place houses a shelf that is packed with books that look like they have never been touched, his desk is cluttered with paperwork and a steaming cup of coffee.

I take a seat at the leather chair, my eyes darting around his office. “I'm glad you didn't do anything stupid,” he says, raking through his files.

“Was I supposed to?” I ask, clutching my bag tighter.

He tilts his head, his lips pursing. “Well, I thought you would.”

“Anyway, here is your contract.”

I take the piece of paper and place it in my bag. He gives me a weird look. “Was I supposed to read it?” I ask, looking inside my bag.

“No you can do that later, for now, we will discuss your living arrangements,” he says, intertwining his fingers that are lined with silver and gold rings.

“Living arrangements?” I ask.

“Yes, you will be staying in the room next to mine.”

My brows furrow. “Why?”

He dismisses my question and continues.

“Our treatment process will start from 6-9 p.m. and beyond that time I have other matters to deal with.”

“What if I want to take overtime?”

He scoffs, crossing his legs together. “You cannot talk about the matters of the house to an outsider or tell anyone about it.”

“How will I research your condition?” I ask, my voice pitched.

“Don't interrupt me again Miss. Sanchez,” he says, his jaw tightening. I sink into the chair not believing the audacity.

“All your devices like I told you will be tapped, and you are not allowed to tell anyone where you live.”

Did he just say allow?

I go to interrupt but his eyes suggest otherwise. “When I have a function in the house you are to remain in your room at all times, if there's nothing you're doing don't roam around the house.”

The need to object fuels each second he speaks and I feel like I'm sitting on a chair with nails.

“You cannot go anywhere until you finish your contract with me.”

“What?” I ask, standing up. He looks taken aback as I bang my hands on the table knocking over the cup of coffee. He catches the cup before it spills on some documents his hand getting burnt in the process.

“Sit down Miss. Sanchez,” he says, his voice low.

“You can't do that,” I shouted, leaning into him. He leans back, his lips set in a thin line.

“I already did, now sit down,” he commands, rubbing his hand. My fists clench at the side but I sit.

“Idiot,” I mumble, my voice barely a whisper. He arches a perfectly raised brow and stands up.

God! Did he hear me?

My heart thuds faster, the look in his eyes telling me to run for the hills. He steps towards me and sits at the edge of the table, facing me. “You may be used to getting your way but this is my house and people do as I say.”

Venom drips in his voice as his unrelenting stare bores holes into my face. “I'm an adult you cannot tell me what to do,” I quip, holding tightly to the arm of the chair.

He scoffs moving closer, his hot breath tickles my face, his presence threatening to overpower me. “You signed that right to me the minute you agreed to operate on me.”

I swallow without breaking a stare. “So the faster you understand who is the boss here the better.”

His thumb runs over my lips before he moves away and for a minute I forget to breathe. “You can move into your room, someone will show you where it is.”

I don't hesitate in stepping out of the room as I try to control my breathing.

What the hell?

The spiral staircase stands like a looming presence as I climb it with hurried steps.

A house help in a black and white uniform comes from the opposite direction. “Uh, where is my room?” I ask, panting.

“You must be Maya,” she says, her voice void of any emotion. I nod, licking my lips, I can still feel his touch. “Come with me.”

I follow her through a hallway wondering how someone can live in such a house while someone else is barely scraping by for food. He stops at a floor with a couple of rooms. She opens the door to one, “this is yours,” she says, walking away.

I enter and she excuses herself. The room yet simple has a king-sized bed draped with brown and white sheets just like the curtains, a television sits on the wall, and below it a desk with a few itineraries. My boxes of unopened items sit near the bathroom door. I sit on the mattress, it sinks, the softness making me moan. I take out my bag ready to go through the contract when I see a figure by the door.

“Maya,” the voice says, Holden appears fully dressed. He is breathtaking.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, leaning on the door.