Chapter 4 : The Watcher
1703 Words
I woke up with the strange feeling that someone had been inside my room.
For a few seconds, I stayed still beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling while morning light spilled across the white walls of Room 7.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
Then I noticed the curtains.
I always closed them before sleeping.
Now they were slightly open, letting cold air drift through the room.
A chill crawled over my skin.
Slowly, I sat up.
The book beside my bed had moved too. Last night, I left it face-down on the nightstand. Now it sat neatly stacked.
My bathroom light was off.
I knew I left it on.
Maybe Grace cleaned while I slept.
Maybe I was becoming paranoid.
Living inside this penthouse already felt like living inside someone else's dream—beautiful on the outside, unsettling underneath.
I reached toward the nightstand automatically.
The black coffee cup from yesterday was gone.
My stomach tightened.
Then I smelled it.
Fresh coffee.
I looked toward the door slowly.
When I opened it, a fresh cup sat outside Room 7.
Black coffee.
Still steaming.
No note.
No sound.
No one there.
I stared at it for several seconds before shutting the door again.
Absolutely not.
By the time I reached the dining room downstairs, my nerves already felt raw.
Alex sat at the table in a dark suit, tablet in one hand, untouched coffee beside him. Morning sunlight cut sharply across his face, making him look colder somehow.
His eyes lifted immediately when I entered.
"You didn't sleep."
Not a question.
"I slept fine."
A lie.
Before he could answer, heels clicked against the marble floor.
Vanessa entered wearing cream silk and red lipstick.
Elegant.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
And somehow perfectly awake at eight in the morning.
"Good morning," she said lightly.
No one answered.
Vanessa didn't seem bothered.
Instead, she walked directly toward me and sat beside me.
Not across.
Beside.
Close enough for me to smell expensive perfume and coffee.
"You looked cold this morning," she said while pouring herself coffee.
My body stiffened.
Alex's eyes lifted slowly from his tablet.
"What?"
Vanessa took a calm sip.
"Her curtains were open."
The room went still.
I turned toward her immediately. "How would you know that?"
A tiny smile touched her mouth.
"I walked past your room."
"At six in the morning?"
"I'm an early riser."
Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle.
Alex set his tablet down carefully.
"Vanessa."
Warning.
Sharp.
She ignored him.
Instead, she reached toward me suddenly, adjusting the sleeve of my sweater near my wrist.
The touch lasted barely a second.
Still too long.
"You should wear warmer colors," she said softly. "White makes you look tired."
I pulled my arm back instantly.
"I didn't ask."
"No," Vanessa replied calmly. "You usually don't."
Alex's jaw tightened.
"That's enough."
For the first time, Vanessa actually looked amused.
"I'm being nice."
"That's what worries me," Alex muttered.
The tension between them felt suffocating.
I suddenly wanted out of that room.
"I need coffee," I said quickly, standing.
"There's coffee here," Vanessa replied.
"Not black coffee."
Something unreadable crossed her expression.
I ignored it and walked toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was enormous and spotless. Every cabinet perfectly organized. Every surface shining.
It barely looked lived in.
I searched through three cabinets before realizing there was no sugar anywhere.
Who voluntarily lived like this?
Finally, I spotted a glass jar on the highest shelf.
Of course.
I climbed carefully onto the lower cabinet edge and stretched upward.
My fingers brushed the jar—
Then it slipped.
Glass shattered violently across the floor.
Pain sliced through my palm instantly.
I gasped.
Blood dripped onto the white tile.
"Aria!"
Alex appeared in the doorway almost immediately.
His eyes landed on the broken glass.
Then my hand.
Everything about him changed.
"What were you thinking?" he snapped, crossing the room quickly. "You could've seriously hurt yourself."
"I was looking for sugar, not trying to die."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
For half a second, something almost like amusement flickered across his face.
Then he saw the blood again.
The humor vanished instantly.
"Sit."
Before I could argue, Alex lifted me onto the kitchen counter.
My breath caught.
He disappeared briefly before returning with a first-aid kit.
The entire kitchen fell silent except for the sound of wrappers tearing open.
"I can clean it myself," I murmured.
"No, you can't."
His voice softened slightly at the end.
Alex took my hand carefully beneath the kitchen light.
The cut wasn't deep enough for stitches, but blood still slid steadily across my skin.
His fingers were warm.
Steady.
Gentle.
I watched him clean the wound quietly, his brows drawn together in concentration.
No one had touched me this carefully in a long time.
"You always get hurt trying to handle things alone," he said softly.
Something about the line hit too personally.
"You remember too much about me."
His hands paused briefly against mine.
Then quietly—
"You have no idea."
The air shifted.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
I suddenly became aware of everything:
his loosened tie,
the warmth of his hands,
the way he was standing between my knees now,
the fact that he was staring at my mouth instead of my hand.
My pulse stumbled.
Then a voice cut through the silence.
"She'll reopen the cut if she bends her hand too much."
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
Watching us.
I hadn't even heard her enter.
Alex stepped back immediately.
The moment shattered so fast it almost felt imagined.
Vanessa's eyes moved slowly from his face... to mine... to our hands.
Expression unreadable.
"I said I could handle it," I muttered.
"Yes," Vanessa replied calmly. "And look how that turned out."
Alex closed the first-aid kit harder than necessary.
"Why are you here?"
"To remind you Father expects us tonight."
"We're not going."
"We are," Vanessa corrected smoothly. "Unless you want more rumors about your fake marriage."
The word fake landed badly.
Vanessa noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Then her eyes dropped toward my bandaged hand.
For one strange second, her expression softened.
"He wrapped it too tightly," she murmured.
Before I could react, she walked away.
Her heels echoed down the hallway slowly.
Alex watched her leave with a look I couldn't understand.
Fear.
Anger.
Exhaustion.
Maybe all three.
I slid carefully off the counter.
"I need to visit my mother today."
Alex's expression immediately hardened again.
"No."
I stared at him. "What?"
"You heard me."
"My mother is in the hospital."
"And reporters are already watching that hospital because of our marriage."
"So what?" I snapped. "She's still my mother."
"You don't understand how dangerous attention can become."
"No," I said bitterly. "I understand perfectly. You think locking me in this penthouse solves everything."
Alex's jaw tightened.
"I'm trying to protect you."
"You don't protect people, Alex. You control them."
The words hit him hard enough to silence the room.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then he grabbed my wrist instinctively.
My injured wrist.
Pain shot through my hand.
I flinched sharply.
Alex released me immediately like he'd been burned.
Something that looked dangerously close to guilt crossed his face.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know."
But suddenly I felt exhausted.
Completely exhausted.
"I just want to see my mother."
Alex looked away first.
"That conversation is over."
Then he walked out.
I stood alone in the kitchen trying very hard not to cry.
Later that evening, someone knocked softly on my bedroom door.
I opened it expecting Grace.
Instead, Vanessa stood there.
For once, she wasn't wearing heels.
Somehow that felt stranger than anything else.
Without speaking, she walked inside and placed a folder on my bed.
Hospital visitor clearance.
Private transport approval.
Security authorization.
I blinked in shock.
"You arranged this?"
Vanessa crossed her arms loosely.
"You looked miserable."
"Why help me?"
A tiny pause.
Then—
"Because contrary to popular belief, I don't enjoy watching women cry."
For the first time since meeting her, her voice sounded almost gentle.
Then she ruined it immediately.
"Especially over my brother. It's embarrassing."
I almost laughed despite myself.
Almost.
As Vanessa turned to leave, her eyes dropped toward my bandaged hand.
She stepped closer suddenly.
Close enough for me to stop breathing.
Her fingers brushed lightly against the bandage.
Too brief to mean anything.
"He cleaned it badly," she murmured.
Then she walked away before I could answer.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and exhaustion.
Home.
My mother looked smaller than I remembered.
That realization nearly broke me.
The second she saw me, her tired face softened.
"There's my girl."
I smiled instantly, moving toward her bed carefully.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a bus."
That made me laugh weakly.
Then her eyes dropped to my hand.
And the ring.
Silence filled the room.
"Aria," she said quietly, "what is that?"
My chest tightened instantly.
I looked away.
"It's complicated."
Her expression changed slowly.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
Just worried.
"Are you happy?"
The question hurt more than it should have.
Because I didn't know the answer.
By the time I returned to the penthouse, it was almost midnight.
The second I stepped inside, I knew Alex was furious.
He stood near the windows in the dark living room, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight.
"You disappeared for four hours."
"My mother needed me."
"You bypassed security."
"Because you wouldn't let me leave!"
Alex crossed the room toward me quickly.
"And what happens if someone uses you to get to me?"
"Maybe I'm tired of being treated like your hostage!"
Silence crashed between us.
Then his eyes dropped suddenly to my hand.
Blood stained the edge of the bandage again.
His anger vanished instantly.
"Damn it," he muttered softly, reaching for my hand carefully.
The sudden gentleness made my chest ache.
Vanessa appeared in the hallway behind him.
Watching.
Silent.
Then calmly, she said:
"You should really tell her about the medication, Alex."
The room went still.
I looked between them immediately.
"What medication?"
Alex's expression darkened instantly.
And for the first time since entering the penthouse—
he looked trapped.
- Writer
