Relocation

The boys were already at school by the time Piper arrived home. Still, she knew something was wrong the moment she turned the door handle and opened the door to her room the next morning.

Empty.

The bed was stripped down to its bare mattress. The curtains were gone. Her suitcase gone. Drawers pulled out and abandoned. Her shoes, alongside everything she owned were no where in sight.

Even the framed sketch she’d leaned against the wall, unfinished charcoal lines of a woman mid-breath, was missing.

For a second, her mind refused to catch up.

She step into the room slowly.

“Where the heck are my things.” She spoke into the empty room.

She walked back into the hallway, pulse roaring in her ears. A young housekeeper stopped when she saw her.

“Where are my things?” Piper asked. Her voice coming out louder than intended.

The girl hesitated. Looked past Piper’s shoulder. Lowered her eyes. “They’ve been moved, ma’am.”

Piper frowned.

“To where?”

Another pause. “The… east wing ma'am.”

Piper’s stomach dropped.

“That’s not a guest area,” she said quietly.

“No, ma’am.”

"Mr. Anderson's wing." Piper said. It wasn't a question.

The maid nodded. Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic. “Yes, ma’am. Everything’s been placed neatly. Mr. Anderson said… you'd be informed.”

Her heart dropped.

she barely nodded before her fingers began quivering from the information. That was Thomas's side of the house, a place she had never stepped foot in since she arrived the Anderson's home.

Piper’s stomach turned. Forcing herself forward, she stepped into the new corridor. The carpet swallowed the sound of her steps like the house itself was complicit. She stopped in front of a door she’d never been invited to open before.

Hesitated.

Then knocked.

Thomas opened the door.

The room smelled like him—expensive, familiar. His cologne reached her first, unmistakable, lingering in the vast air.

She swallowed hard.

Her suitcase had been placed with care at the foot of the walk-in closet, aligned as though it belonged there. Inside the custom cabinetry, her clothes now hung among his—rearranged, spaced, meticulously placed.

Her sketch rested on the broad desk near the window, angled deliberately to show it's presence.

This man was strange, she thought—and not in ways she understood yet.

Thomas didn’t look surprised to see her.

“You moved me,” she said quietly, almost apologetically.

“Yes.” He replied. No explanation.

She noticed her hands were unsteady, and forced them still. “Why?”

He fastened his cufflinks with measured calm. “You no longer require separation.”

“But I prefer my room.”

He glanced at her then, eyes cool, assessing. “You agreed to a contract, I don't recall where it says that I have to please you."

“This wasn’t in—” she stopped.

“You don’t need privacy anymore,” he interrupted. “You’ve already sold it.”

The words landed like a slap.

She swallowed hard. “Thomas, I’m not your—”

“You’re in my house,” he said, voice level. “Under my name. Under my terms. If you're not okay with it, see yourself out."

He faced her squarely

"Before stepping out the door, I expect a refund of my money."

Her heart plunged, breaking as it fell.

“You could have told me.” Her words came quieter, flattened, as though she’d already accepted the answer.

“I didn’t need to.”

His silence lingered. It pressed against her skin, made her swallow and look away, made her feel foolish for having spoken at all.

“So that’s it,” she said quietly. “You decide. I obey.”

Her breath slipped out, thin and tired.

A faint twitch touched his mouth—not a smile. Something colder.

“You wanted my money,” he said evenly. “This is the price.”

She stood there as he readied for work. Her belongings staring back at her like proof she no longer had the illusion of choice.

Footsteps suddenly sounded against the carpet through the wing corridor. Piper’s head lifted, tension twisting her gut.

Paige.

The sound of her heels muffled slightly as she glided in like she owned the wing, eyes scanning everything around her.

Piper shrank slightly back, sensing the storm.

“Oh,” Paige said, brows lifting slightly, her tone smooth with feigned surprise. “You’re coming into his room now?”

Before Piper could answer, Paige crossed the space toward Thomas. “Hey, babe,” she said lightly, as if nothing were amiss. She leaned in and kissed him. Deliberately making her lips linger enough that Piper felt her body go rigid.

Paige pulled back and let her gaze drift, slow and assessing. It caught on the open closet, the rearranged shelves, the unmistakable signs of someone else’s presence.

“I just got in,” she said, frowning faintly. “What’s… what’s going on?” Her eyes returned to Piper. “Why is Piper in your room?”

Thomas’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He stepped back, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Go to your room. I’ll meet you shortly.”

Paige tilted her head, lips curling in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not asking,” Thomas said evenly, tone final.

Her gaze snapped to Piper, sharp and cutting. Something volatile stirred beneath her calm, a restrained fury pushing toward the surface.

“Oh,” Paige said softly, stepping closer, “so now she’s allowed in here? Really?”

Her mouth curved—not a smile, but a promise of damage, before she walked out of the room, the weight of her presence trailing after her.

The door shut with a soft click, and silence settled back over the room. Piper exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing.

Thomas’s gaze finally shifted to her. His eyes scanned her, assessing, cold but not without thought. “Do you understand?” he asked quietly, almost conversationally.

Piper’s lips pressed together. She wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, to cry, but her voice came out small. “Yes.”

“Good,” He turned, to finish getting ready for work.

Piper watched him. Her belongings were in his room now, yet she didn’t feel secure—just exposed, like an actor caught mid-performance.

She took a small step toward him. “Thomas…”

He didn’t look at her. “You’ve had your moment,” he said, voice flat but edged with finality. “It’s done.”