Chapter 7- FIRST MORNING, NEW REALITY

(Jane’s POV)

I awoke to utter silence.

Not the comforting kind.

The unsettling kind that made it painfully clear that I was in a place that wasn’t my home… or my life… or anything I recognized.

For a brief moment, I lay still, gazing up at the lofty ceiling. The soft white drapes, the luxurious sheets, and the faint scent of cedar that lingered somewhere out of reach.

Then the realization hit me all over again.

I was in William Martins’s penthouse.

A man who likely hadn’t smiled since he was a child.

A man whose very presence had completely upended my world.

I rubbed my face, flinching as the remnants of yesterday’s stress throbbed at my temples. I’d cried more in just one day than I had over the entire past year combined.

My phone lay dead on the nightstand,perhaps a blessing in disguise. No messages from Daniel. No annoying paparazzi updates. No reminders of the chaos my life had spiraled into.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the plush mattress feeling as if it were trying to lure me back under.

“Alright,” I murmured to myself. “It’s a new day. Time to face the new mess.”

With a reluctant sigh, I forced myself to get out of bed.

As I wandered down the seemingly endless hallway, the distant sound of clinking dishes guided me. The marble floors were so polished that my slippers barely made a noise. Everything around me was immaculate and arranged with precision, giving the place an icy, unfeeling atmosphere as if every corner of the penthouse had been scrubbed clean of any warmth.

Of course, this was how William chose to live.

Finally, I reached the kitchen if it could even be called that. It resembled a high-end showroom, the kind of place where people like to pretend they actually cook.

William was already there.

Dressed in a dark gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair perfectly styled, he was focused on his laptop, typing away as if he were in the midst of a life-or-death situation.

He didn’t bother to look up when I walked in.

Naturally.

“Good morning,” I said quietly, mostly to avoid coming off as rude.

“You’re late.”

I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows. “Late? I wasn’t aware there was a timetable.”

“There is. I sent you an email about it.”

“My phone’s dead.”

“That’s not a valid excuse.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “Excuse me, what did you say?”

He finally turned his gaze toward me. His eyes had that clinical look, as if he were scrutinizing a document rather than a person.

“You're part of the story now,” he said in a calm tone, like he was chatting about the weather. “Order is essential. Consistency is key. Your routine,our routine matters.”

I simply stared at him.

“This isn't just a job, William. My life is in chaos.”

“Do you want it back?” he shot back without missing a beat. “Then stick to the structure.”

I drew in a sharp breath. “You can’t treat me like some intern from your office.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not giving orders. I'm stating a fact.”

I felt the urge to scream.

Instead, I made my way to the counter, snatched an apple, and bit into it with enough force to shatter diamonds.

He observed me chew as if my eating bothered him somehow.

“What?” I snapped.

“Breakfast is ready,” he replied.

I glanced over at the dining area.

A full spread awaited, eggs, toast, fruit, oatmeal , just like something you'd find at a hotel buffet.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“You're going to be staying here. You should be aware.”

A flicker of annoyance ignited in my chest. “Maybe you could try being a bit nicer with your words.”

“I don't do nice. I do accurate.”

I blinked in disbelief.

“How do you manage to keep people from going on a rampage around you?”

He took a sip of his coffee. “They adhere to the rules.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

With great reluctance, I made my way to the dining table. Everything appeared immaculate, almost unnaturally so. Unsure which plate was meant for me, I settled stiffly into the nearest chair.

William closed his laptop with a precise motion and joined me with a mechanical formality.

He ate in silence, each bite taken with a sort of methodical precision, as if he were on a timer.

I was acutely aware of everything around us, the quiet, the distance between us, and how he only glanced at me when there was a specific purpose behind it.

At last, I cleared my throat.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?”

“You’re not a guest.”

His straightforwardness struck me like a slap.

“Then what exactly am I, William?”

His fork froze in mid-air.

“A responsibility.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Is that meant to make me feel any better?”

“That’s just how it is,” he replied.

I placed my fork down, my hunger dissipating. “You’ve turned my life upside down by accident, no less. Not out of concern or a desire to help, but because of one stupid photo. And now I’m just… what? A public relations issue?”

His gaze darkened just a flicker, but I caught it.

“You're here because we need to regain control. We can't have chaos.”

I leaned back in my chair. “My life wasn’t chaotic before this.”

“Your responses were chaotic.”

My heart raced. “I had paparazzi all over me! I was fired immediately! My fiancé left me....”

“None of that would have spiraled out of control,” he interrupted sharply, “if you hadn’t run away.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “You seriously think I’m to blame for this?”

He didn’t flinch or back down. “You panicked. Panic draws attention.”

I could feel my throat tighten. “You can't place the blame on me. You know nothing about who I am.”

He set his fork down and leaned back a bit. “Then why don’t you tell me?”

The atmosphere shifted.

I stopped completely.

He wasn’t angry,not really. But there was a sense of frustration in him, a tension that suggested he was holding something back.

“You're in my world now,” he said quietly. “And this world doesn’t stop for feelings.”

“That sounds convenient,” I replied softly. “Not experiencing anything.”

His jaw clenched. “I do feel. I just know how to keep it in check.”

“Congrats on that,” I shot back. “Because I sure can’t.”

A heavy silence fell between us.

For just a fleeting moment, I thought I saw his expression soften, as if he might reveal a hint of humanity beneath his tough exterior.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped back, reapplying his icy mask.

“You have a security briefing at nine,” he stated. “Don’t be late this time.”

I glared at him,this infuriatingly poised man and wondered how he managed to stay so collected while everything around him fell apart.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll be there.”

I turned to leave, taking the initiative this time.

But I could feel his gaze on my back.

Watching.

Assessing.

Trying to understand....

Or perhaps anticipating when I might finally break