Chapter 6: Day 1
1376 Words
Day 1 of the challenge started with a disaster.
Fiona woke up at 5AM because “snooping” required discipline. By 5:15AM she was lost. The Griffon mansion was a maze with expensive taste and zero signs.
By 5:30AM she heard it.
The sound of fists hitting something. Heavy. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat.
Gym. Had to be.
She followed the sound like it was a lifeline. Slipped past two guards who were too busy yawning to notice her in Mark’s oversized shirt. Pushed the door open just a c***k.
And forgot how to breathe.
Mark was there. Alone.
No shirt. No mercy.
Sweat ran down his chest, over the hard lines of his abs, down to the low waist of his training pants. Muscles moved with every punch he threw at the heavy bag. Controlled violence. The kind that made you understand why people feared him.
But his face... his face was focused. Not cruel. Just... concentrated. Like this was the only thing in the world.
Fiona didn’t mean to stare. She really didn’t. But then he turned, caught her, and stopped mid-punch.
The bag kept swinging. Mark didn’t.
For three seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Mark grabbed a towel, wiped his mouth, and smirked. That slow, knowing smirk that should be illegal.
“Well,” he said, voice rough from exertion. “You’re early, little bird.”
Fiona’s face went nuclear red. “I was just... looking for breakfast.”
“At 5:30AM. In my gym. While I’m shirtless.” Mark tossed the towel over his shoulder. He didn’t put a shirt on. Didn’t even seem to care she was seeing him like this. “Bold day one.”
“I’m not looking,” Fiona lied. Her eyes were definitely looking. “I’m investigating.”
Mark crossed his arms. The muscles flexed. “Investigating what? My abs?”
“I’m investigating YOU,” she snapped. Too fast. Too loud. “For the bet. Remember?”
“Ah,” Mark nodded, like he’d forgotten. He hadn’t. “So you thought the best way to find my truth was to watch me sweat?” He took a step closer. Then another. “Interesting strategy.”
Fiona backed up until her shoulders hit the doorframe. Trapped. But not scared. Not with the way he was looking at her. Like she was the challenge, not the other way around.
“You said the truth wasn’t in files,” she said, voice smaller now. “It’s in you. So I’m... observing.”
Mark’s eyes dropped to her lips. Then back up. “Observing, huh?” He leaned one hand on the doorframe beside her head. Caging her in without touching. “Tell me what you’ve observed so far, little bird.”
Fiona swallowed. “You... you work out angry.”
Mark blinked. “Angry?”
“You hit harder when you think no one’s watching,” she whispered. “But you stop when you hear someone come in. Like you don’t want them to see you tired.”
Silence.
Mark’s smirk faded. Replaced with something softer. Something real.
“Observant,” he said quietly. “One point to you.”
Fiona’s heart did a stupid flip. “One point?”
“Day 1. You get one point for noticing I hate being seen weak.” He leaned in closer. She could smell sweat and his cologne and something warm. “Your turn to show me something.”
“What?”
“Take off the shirt.”
Fiona froze. “What?”
“The shirt you’re wearing. It’s mine,” Mark said. Casual. Like he was asking about the weather. “I want to see if you look better in something that actually fits.”
Fiona clutched the fabric tighter. “I’m not taking my clothes off in a gym, Mark Griffon.”
Mark grinned. “Didn’t ask you to. Just the shirt. I’ll give you one of mine. Unless you’re scared.”
She was. Terrified. But not of him. Of how much she wanted to say yes.
Before she could answer, footsteps in the hall. Mrs. Eliza.
The door swung open without knocking. The older woman stopped, took in the scene - Mark shirtless and crowding Fiona against the door - and grinned like it was Christmas.
“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t know you were... exercising,” Eliza said. She absolutely did not look sorry. “I brought Fiona breakfast. Thought she might be hungry after her... early investigation.”
Mark didn’t move. “Eliza.”
“Mark,” she replied, tone pure mischief. She set the tray down, eyes twinkling. “You know, I’ve worked for you ten years. Never seen you let anyone in this gym. Never seen you stop training for anyone.” She looked at Fiona, then back at Mark. “Interesting day one.”
Fiona wanted to melt into the floor. Mark just looked amused.
“Mind your business, Eliza,” he said. But there was no bite to it.
“My business IS you, dear,” Eliza winked at Fiona. “And I like this one. She has fire. You need fire, Mark. You’re too cold otherwise.”
Fiona choked on air. Mark rubbed the back of his neck. For a mafia boss, he looked almost... embarrassed.
“Eat,” Mark told Fiona, nodding at the tray. Then to Eliza: “She needs clothes that fit. The shirt swallows her.”
Eliza gasped. Dramatic. “Are you buying her clothes, Mark Griffon? The man who owns three countries but wears the same black suits?” She clapped her hands. “This is better than the gossip channels!”
“I’m buying her clothes so she stops wearing mine,” Mark said flatly. “Nothing more.”
“Sure,” Eliza said, dragging the word out.
“Nothing more. Except the way you’re standing, except the way you stopped punching, except the way you said ‘my shirt’ like you meant it.” She picked up the tray. “Breakfast in the dining room. Then we go shopping. My treat. I know a boutique that won’t ask questions.”
Mark opened his mouth to argue. Eliza cut him off. “You need her to stay, right? For your bet? She can’t snoop in a shirt that falls off her shoulder every five seconds. It’s distracting.”
Fiona’s face burned. Mark’s jaw ticked. But he didn’t say no.
Two hours later, Fiona was in the back of a black SUV with tinted windows. Mark beside her. Eliza in front, giving the driver directions and gossiping to the guards on comms.
“Day one and he’s already taking her shopping,” Eliza told someone. “I’m telling you, this is different. He didn’t even blink when I suggested it.”
Fiona kept her eyes on the window. Mark kept his eyes on her.
The boutique was private. No name on the door. Just dresses, jeans, soft sweaters. Things that didn’t scream “prisoner” or “hostage.” Things that looked like... her.
Mark sat in a chair, arms crossed, while Eliza and Fiona moved through racks. He didn’t look bored. He looked like a king watching his
kingdom.
Fiona held up a soft blue dress. Simple. Not flashy. “This one?”
Mark’s eyes darkened. “You’ll wear that to dinner tonight.” Not a question. A statement.
Eliza cackled. “He’s picking your outfits now? Day one record, Mark!”
Mark shot her a look. Then back at Fiona. “Try it on.”
In the fitting room, Fiona stared at herself in the mirror. The dress fit. Not too tight. Not hiding. Just... her. For the first time in months, she looked like a person, not a secret.
When she stepped out, Mark stood up. Slowly.
His eyes traveled from her face down to her shoes and back up. No words. Just that look. The one that said he was memorizing her.
“Good,” he said finally. Voice lower than before. “Buy it. Buy all of them.”
Fiona blinked. “All of them?”
“You need clothes,” Mark said, like that explained spending thousands in ten minutes. “And I like seeing you in colors that aren’t mine.
- Writer
