My possessive actor husband

THE SETUP

Vivienne Vivienne woke up a full twenty minutes before the aggressive, rhythmic blare of her morning alarm had the chance to shatter the silence of the apartment. For a few long, incredibly quiet seconds, she simply lay motionless in the dim space, staring blankly up at the water-stained ceiling as the faint, pale early morning light filtered sluggishly through the gaps in the sheer curtains. Her mind was already violently awake and alert in a way that felt entirely unnatural, buzzing with a nervous energy that suggested her subconscious had been running a marathon long before her physical body had the opportunity to catch up. The sharp, abrasive events of the previous day replayed themselves behind her eyelids in a vivid, unrelenting loop, leaving absolutely no room for hesitation, second-guessing, or the comforting luxury of sleep. Day two. The heavy, unyielding thought settled squarely in the center of her chest like a physical weight. She exhaled a long, slow breath into the quiet room, pushing herself upright with a determined scowl and rubbing her face fiercely as if she could physically shake off whatever lingering nerves remained trapped beneath her skin. "If I am going to survive this psychological warfare of a job," she muttered under her breath, her voice still rough and gravelly from sleep, "then I am absolutely not giving him the satisfaction of starting late." She got ready significantly faster than usual, but despite the early hour, there was nothing rushed or frantic about her movements. Every choice she made in the quiet apartment felt entirely deliberate and calculated. Her selected outfit was exceptionally simple but entirely intentional—clean, unyielding lines tailored in muted neutral tones, representing a wardrobe that did not loudly scream for attention but still held its own in a grand, intimidating room that demanded a commanding presence. When she slipped on her favorite leather loafers, she paused for just a fraction of a second, glancing down at her reflection in the full-length mirror. They were meticulously polished, neat, and quietly elegant in a way that instantly made her feel grounded, prompting a small, almost invisible nod of approval to herself. Good enough. The biting morning air carried a sharp, soft chill as she stepped outside onto the pavement, the city still sleepily waking up in a haze of gray mist around her. She boarded the very first commuter bus heading toward the exclusive, winding coastal roads of Henry's area, choosing a solitary seat by the window as the heavy diesel engine hummed to life beneath her feet. Her fingers rested lightly on the strap of her bag, tapping a restless, absentminded rhythm against the sturdy fabric as her thoughts drifted far ahead of the vehicle. "You are remarkably early," she whispered under her breath to the empty window pane, almost as if she desperately needed the verbal reminder. At least that part of the equation she had handled perfectly. When she finally arrived at the sprawling, modern fortress looked just as deeply intimidating as it had the previous day, perhaps appearing even more hostile under the sharp, unforgiving glare of the morning light. The structure stood tall, cold, and thoroughly unwelcoming against the coastline, its polished concrete and glass exterior reflecting a kind of quiet, wealthy authority that made Vivienne instinctively straighten her posture before she even crossed the perimeter. She made her way upstairs to the heavy timber doors of his private quarters, her fragile confidence holding steady until her hand hovered right over the wood. Then, just for a singular, terrifying moment, she paused. A deep breath in; a long breath out. Gathering her resolve, she knocked firmly. Once. Absolutely nothing happened. She frowned slightly, her irritation flaring as she knocked again, a little firmer and more demanding this time around. A long moment passed in complete silence before a sharp click signaled that the intercom on the ring monitor had been activated. "You should already know the passcode," Henry's voice drawled through the speaker, smooth, entirely unbothered, and echoing with a rich clarity that immediately shifted her mood from professional to defensive. Vivienne's expression flattened instantly, her patience evaporating into thin air. "Let me in, Henry," she replied, her tone already losing any semblance of polite deference. "No." She blinked, completely taken aback by the blunt refusal. "...What? Who the hell puts a lock on their bedroom in a mansion that's already guarded by security?" "I said no," he repeated calmly, his voice infuriatingly steady through the small speaker. Vivienne stared at the expensive wood of the door as if it had personally insulted her intelligence. "s**t," she muttered under her breath, the curse slipping past her lips before she could stop it. "I heard that." his voice came through the monitor almost immediately, carrying a subtle edge of dry amusement. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, exhaling a sharp, loud breath. "Of course you did." She stepped back from the threshold, dragging a hand through her hair as a wave of intense frustration began to build rapidly in her chest. "Unbelievable," she grumbled, pacing in small, agitated circles within the empty hallway. She reached into her pocket for her phone, intending to call the one person who could bypass his ridiculous games. Tessa. She opened her contact list, scrolling through the names with a rapidly beating heart. Nothing. Vivienne froze mid-step, her eyes narrowing. "...No way." She checked again, scrolling slower this time, her thumb tracking each letter carefully, but the screen remained stubbornly devoid of the manager's information. Her shoulders dropped in sheer disbelief. "s**t. I didn't save her number this morning," she whispered, her voice rising in pitch. "f**k me." She dropped her bag open in a frantic hurry, the various contents shifting and clattering noisily as she searched through the pockets until she finally found the thick schedule file Tessa had handed her the previous morning. "Okay, okay, it has to be written down in here somewhere," she muttered quickly, already flipping the heavy pages open with trembling fingers. The sheets turned too fast, becoming a messy blur of typed text. "Shit... shit..." Her fingers moved quicker, scanning line after line, detail after detail, her eyes jumping frantically from one section of the spreadsheet to another without fully settling. Then—"There. "She stopped abruptly, her expression sharpening as she locked onto a tiny string of digits printed at the very bottom of the corporate letterhead. "Aha," she breathed, a small, triumphant smirk breaking through her irritation. She grabbed her phone, dialed the number immediately, and held it to her ear. The call rang once. Twice. Then, a sharp click. "What exactly do you want, Vivienne?" Tessa's voice came through the line, sounding tired, flat, and entirely unimpressed by the early hour. Vivienne did not waste a single second on pleasantries. "I don't know the passcode to his door." There was a brief, painful pause on the other end of the line. Then, Tessa let out a sharp laugh. Vivienne's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned white. "This is not a joke, Tessa." "I am so incredibly sorry," Tessa said, though her mocking tone made it abundantly clear she wasn't sorry at all. "Check the master schedule." Vivienne stared ahead at the blank wall, absolute disbelief written all over her face. "It took me forever to even find your phone number in this mess." "Good," Tessa replied easily, her voice dripping with corporate detachedness. "Now utilize those same investigative skills for his security code. And I suggest you hurry, Vivienne, because he changes it quite often." There was unmistakable amusement in her voice before the line suddenly went completely dead. Vivienne lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen for a second longer than necessary. "I absolutely hate this job," she muttered to the empty hallway. "And it is only the second day." She opened the folder again, this time consciously forcing her racing thoughts to slow down so she could actually focus properly on the layout of the document. "Think, Vivienne, think," she whispered to herself. Minutes ticked away on her phone screen. Her eyes moved carefully now, scanning each individual line, each encrypted note, and each small, handwritten detail that might have been completely overlooked during her initial panic. Until finally, there it was. Tucked neatly between two standard production entries, subtle but entirely intentional, was a unique sequence of numbers disguised as a film budget code. Her breath caught slightly in her throat. "That absolutely has to be it." She rushed back to the keypad, her movements quick and purposeful as she punched in the sequence. One number. Then another. A brief, agonizing pause. Then—click. The heavy lock mechanism turned, and the door swung open. Vivienne pushed it wide, stepping inside quickly, a little breathless from the frantic rush of adrenaline. And then she stopped dead in her tracks. Henry was already standing right there in the center of the foyer. He was fully dressed, perfectly composed, and entirely ready to leave, looking as though he had been expecting her to burst through the door all along. Her eyes widened slightly at his attire. "Where exactly are you going?" He glanced at her briefly, his expression calm and utterly unreadable. "You are his assistant; you should already know the destination." She blinked, completely thrown off by his cold demeanor. "What?" "And you are technically late," he added smoothly, checking his luxury watch as if it were an indisputable fact. That ridiculous accusation pulled her back to reality immediately. "Late?" she repeated, disbelief and anger coloring her voice. "You literally refused to give me the passcode to your apartment, Henry. I was twenty minutes early." His expression barely shifted under her glare. "This is entirely unfair," she added, her frustration slipping through much more openly now. A small, almost invisible smirk touched his lips for a fraction of a second. Then he turned on his heel and started walking briskly toward the private elevator. "Meet me down in the parking garage," he said casually over his shoulder. "And change the security code before you leave." Vivienne stared after his retreating back. "What?" He did not stop walking. "Be down there in two minutes," he added, his voice echoing in the grand space. "Or I leave you behind." The elevator doors closed behind him with a quiet, expensive finality. Vivienne stood frozen for a moment, completely stunned, her thoughts scrambling wildly to catch up with the sheer speed of what had just occurred. Then she exhaled a sharp, angry breath. "Unbelievable." And then, without wasting another single second, she moved.