Book 6

Book 6

The dining room of the Voss estate was a cathedral of excess, under a chandelier that spilled harsh, elegant light over everything.

A table so long it felt like a runway. The help had set the surface with varieties of food Emma had never seen in her life, let alone tasted.

There were platters of roasted chicken glistening in juices, crystal bowls filled with exotic fruits, decanters of thick milk, and mounds of seafood that smelled of salt and butter.

She looked at the spread and realized she had genuinely forgotten the last time she had eaten a meal that didn't come out of a dented can or a greasy paper bag.

For a second, the sheer abundance made her stomach churn with a mix of hunger and resentment. This was the world Julian lived in every day, while she had been counting pennies for bread.

She sat across from Julian, the distance between them at the table feeling like a physical barrier she was more than happy to maintain.

This was her first formal dinner in the estate, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her as she carefully picked up her silverware.

Julian wasn't eating much; he was too busy trying to dismantle the wall she had built around herself. He leaned forward, his sober eyes tracking the way she moved, his voice dropping into a tone that was meant to be intimate but felt like an interrogation to her.

He started asking about her childhood, her dreams, and the exact sequence of events that had led her to the hotel that night.

Emma kept her voice steady, weaving a tapestry of lies with the precision of a master weaver.

"I was just there for the money, Julian," she said, looking down at her plate to hide the cold calculation in her eyes. "It was my first time in a place like that. I didn't know what I was doing. I don't even fully understand how we ended up sharing that room, or that night. It all happened so fast, and I was just... overwhelmed."

She felt the lie sit comfortably in the air between them. To her, Julian was nothing more than a means to an end. He was the shield that protected her from the creditors and her mother’s hands, and he was the sword she was currently sharpening to cut Cal down to size.

As Julian watched her with that intense, sober obsession, Emma kept a silent mantra running through her mind: *Don’t get soft. Don’t fall for the velvet and the silk. This is a job.*

Julian didn't seem bothered by her admission that she had been there for money. If anything, it seemed to satisfy some dark part of him that liked the idea of her being a prize he had successfully bought.

He stood up from his chair and walked the length of the table, stopping behind her. "I want you to be comfortable here, Emma," he said, his hand lingering on the back of her chair after he tucked her in tighter against the table. "If there’s anything you need, anything you want changed, you only have to say the word.

" He reached out, his thumb tracing the shell of her ear with a slow, possessive rhythm that made her skin crawl. She forced herself to sit perfectly still, hiding the disgust that flared in her chest. He was waiting for her to ask for a diamond necklace or a trip to Europe, but Emma’s mind was elsewhere.

She leaned back against the chair, looking up at him with an expression of practiced, wide-eyed innocence. It was the face of the girl he thought he knew, hiding the razor-sharp intent of the woman she was becoming. "Actually, there is one thing, Julian," she said, her tone light and casual as if she were asking for a different brand of tea.

"The staff here... they’re wonderful, but they feel so impersonal. I felt a strange connection to that boy from the hotel—Cal. He was the only one who seemed to notice I was overwhelmed.

I think it would make me feel much more at home if he were assigned specifically to us. As our personal waiter, for our private meals."

Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed the request. He wasn't suspicious; he was just surprised. He didn't see the trap she was setting; he only saw a girl who was intimidated by the scale of his wealth and wanted a familiar face to tether her to reality.

He let out a short, amused laugh and shook his head, clearly charmed by what he perceived as her sweet, naive nature. "If that’s what it takes to make you feel settled, then consider it done. I’ll have him pulled from the general staff and assigned exclusively to this wing. He’ll be at your beck and call, Emma. Anything he can do for me, he can do ten times over for you."

Julian leaned down, his face inches from hers, and the air around them seemed to thicken with his presence.

He didn't just want to provide for her; he wanted to mark her. He pressed a firm, possessive kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering long enough to feel the heat of her skin. "I think I own you now," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying level of certainty. "No one gets to touch you except me. No one even looks at you unless I allow it. You’ve traded that street for this house, Emma, and you’re never going back."

He straightened up, looking satisfied with the claim he had just staked. He called for the head of service right then and there, giving the order to have Cal transferred to their personal quarters immediately.

Emma watched Julian walk back to his seat, a cold, satisfied smirk touching her lips as she picked up a piece of fruit. She could almost imagine the look on Cal’s face when he received the news.

He wouldn't be watching her from afar anymore; he would be standing right there, trapped in the room, forced to witness every moment of the life she had stolen from him. Emma took a bite of the fruit, the sweetness tasting like blood and victory, knowing that the real torture was only just beginning.