Chapter 2 – His Rules
663 Words
Eli Moretti turned away first.
“You’ll stay,” he said, as if the decision had already been made hours ago.
Leah blinked. “Just like that?”
“Yes.”
No explanation. No discussion.
He moved past her with controlled strides, his cane tapping softly against the marble floor. Leah hesitated only a second before following him deeper into the house. The walls were lined with artwork she couldn’t begin to afford, the silence broken only by the sound of their footsteps.
“You’ll have a room in the west wing,” Eli said. “Breakfast is at seven. Dinner at eight. I don’t eat lunch.”
“Why not?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He paused.
Leah braced for irritation.
Instead, he said, “Because it’s inefficient.”
She frowned but said nothing.
They stopped at the base of a wide staircase. Eli rested his hand on the railing, his fingers curling around the wood with familiarity. Leah realized then that he knew every inch of this house—where to step, where to turn, where not to trust.
“I don’t need constant help,” he said. “I need someone who knows when to be present and when to disappear.”
“I can do that.”
“Most people say they can.”
His head tilted slightly. “But you listen. That’s different.”
Her chest warmed at the unexpected observation.
“There are rules,” he continued. “You don’t enter my bedroom without permission. You don’t touch my things unless asked. And you don’t ask questions about my accident.”
Leah nodded. “Understood.”
“And,” he added, his voice sharpening, “you don’t leave the estate without telling me.”
That made her pause. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes.”
Something in his tone warned her not to push further.
He turned then, facing her fully again. “If you’re uncomfortable with authority, say so now.”
She met his gaze, even though she knew he couldn’t see her eyes. “I’m uncomfortable with chaos. Not structure.”
A quiet exhale left him. Approval—or something close to it.
“Good,” he said. “Then we won’t have problems.”
They started up the stairs. Halfway up, Leah misjudged a step and stumbled forward with a soft gasp.
Eli reacted instantly.
His hand closed around her wrist, firm and steady, stopping her fall.
The contact sent a shock straight through her.
Neither of them moved.
His thumb rested against the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse betrayed her. Leah was suddenly too aware of how close he stood, how easily he could pull her closer if he wanted to.
Her breathing faltered.
“So,” he murmured, “this is what your fear feels like.”
She swallowed. “Let go.”
He didn’t. Not immediately.
Instead, his grip loosened slowly, deliberately, until his hand slipped away entirely.
“You should be careful,” he said softly. “I won’t always be close enough to catch you.”
Something about the words felt layered. Heavy.
They reached her room moments later. It was simple but elegant, sunlight spilling through tall windows that overlooked the olive trees.
“This will do,” Eli said.
“Yes,” Leah replied. “Thank you.”
He turned to leave, then stopped at the doorway.
“One more thing,” he said.
She looked at him.
“I don’t trust easily,” Eli Moretti continued. “But once I do… I don’t let go.”
Her breath caught.
He left without another word, the sound of his cane fading down the corridor.
Leah closed the door behind her, her heart pounding.
She pressed her fingers to her wrist, where his touch still burned.
And for the first time since arriving, she wondered—not if she could survive this job—
—but if she could survive him.
- Writer
