Morning Light

Liora's POV

Sunlight pierced the heavy velvet curtains like it had no right to be there.

I hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt that icy gray gaze dragging over my body in the study.

The silk robe still lay draped over the chair where I’d dropped it last night, a silent reminder of how little protection I had left.

My bare feet touched the cold marble floor. The same heavy scent of roses lingered in the air, sweeter in daylight but no less suffocating. I padded to the connecting door and cracked it open.

Alora was already awake.

She sat in the middle of her big bed, dark curls messy, clutching her stuffed bunny tight against her chest. Those big brown eyes found mine immediately.

“Mommy… where are we?” Her voice was small, but curious. Not crying. Not yet.

My heart squeezed so hard it hurt.

I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms, breathing in her warm, sleepy scent. “We’re staying here for a little while, baby. It’s… a big house. With lots of rules.”

She nodded against my shoulder, then pulled back to look at me. “The tall man from the rain? Is he nice?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Nice. The word felt ridiculous for the devil who had bought me with my dead husband’s debt.

Before I could answer, a soft knock sounded on the main door.

Maria entered again, the same crisp uniform, the same distant politeness. She carried a tray with simple breakfast — fresh fruit, toast, juice. “Master expects you both downstairs in the dining room in thirty minutes. He does not like to be kept waiting.”

She set the tray down and left without waiting for a reply.

Thirty minutes.

I helped Alora wash up quickly in the luxurious bathroom. The water ran hot and endless. Everything here screamed wealth I could never afford on my own. But the price tag on all of it pressed heavy on my chest.

We dressed in the clothes that had mysteriously appeared in the closet overnight — simple but soft cotton for Alora, a modest but fitted black dress for me that hugged my curves just enough to feel intentional.

My hands shook as I brushed Alora’s curls.

“Mommy’s scared,” she whispered suddenly, looking up at me with those trusting eyes.

I knelt so we were face to face. “I know, baby. But I’m right here. We stay together. Always.”

She gave me a tiny nod and slipped her small hand into mine.

The hallway felt longer in daylight. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, making the marble floors gleam.

A guard led us down the sweeping staircase and into a formal dining room.

He was already there.

Seated at the head of a long dark-wood table, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other. Sunlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the dark ink peeking from his cuff.

He looked even more commanding in the morning light — broad shoulders filling the tailored shirt, presence filling the entire room.

Our eyes met the moment we stepped inside.

Silence stretched again.

His icy gray gaze flicked from me to Alora, then back to me. Slow. Assessing. Like he was measuring exactly how much of last night still clung to my skin.

Alora’s fingers tightened around mine.

He folded the newspaper with deliberate calm and set it aside. “Sit.”

His voice rolled out low, accented, leaving no room for argument.

I guided Alora to the chairs on his right. She climbed up carefully, eyes wide on the spread of food — fresh pastries, eggs, fruits she rarely saw at home.

I took the seat beside her, spine straight even as heat crawled up my neck under his stare.

“Rule number four,” he said, picking up his coffee without breaking eye contact with me. “Breakfast is at eight sharp. Every morning. You will both be here. No excuses.”

Alora reached for a strawberry. Her small hand hovered.

He noticed.

“Eat,” he told her, tone cooler but not cruel. “All of it. You’re too thin.”

She glanced at me. I gave a tiny nod.

She took the strawberry and bit into it, juice staining her lips.

I forced myself to pick up a piece of toast, though my stomach twisted too tight to swallow.

The silence in the room felt heavier than last night’s study. Every clink of silverware sounded like a warning.

His eyes stayed on me more than the food.

“You slept poorly,” he stated, not a question.

I didn’t answer. Rule number two still burned in my ears — speak only when spoken to.

A faint curve touched his lips. Not quite a smile. “Smart girl.”

Alora looked between us, confused but quiet. She leaned closer to me, her small shoulder pressing against my arm for comfort.

He watched that too. Something flickered in those cold eyes — not softness, but recognition. Possession.

“After breakfast, Maria will show you the grounds,” he continued, voice dropping lower. “You may walk them. But you do not leave the gates. Ever.”

The command settled over me like another chain.

I met his gaze for one brave second. The air between us crackled — fear, power, and something darker I refused to name.

He set his cup down with a soft click.

“Welcome to your new life, Liora.”

The words landed final. Heavy.

Breakfast continued in thick silence, but I felt every second of his attention like hands already on my skin.