Beneath His Wings

Chapter 18 First Night, First Day

The quiet hum of the mansion followed Beauty as she stepped into what would now be her space. Ethan led the way, his gait steady, his silence commanding. When the double doors of the master suite opened, Beauty froze, her breath caught in her throat.

The room was vast, painted in deep tones of grey and black with streaks of silver. Masculine, refined, intimidating. A king-sized bed sat at the center, its leather headboard towering like a throne. A soft rug sprawled across the polished wooden floor, muffling her hesitant steps.

To the left stood a wardrobe so tall and wide it looked endless. Beauty blinked at the rows of clothes—gowns, trousers, skirts, nightwear, shoes in every style and size, all arranged by color and fabric. She hesitated, then ran her fingers along the silk of a nightdress, unable to believe it was hers.

“This is your wardrobe,” Ethan said evenly, watching her reaction. “Everything you need is there. Nothing more, nothing less. You will dress appropriately at all times.”

She nodded silently, her fingers trembling as she clutched the fabric.

A brand-new phone lay on the bedside table, its glossy black screen reflecting the chandelier light. She turned to him in disbelief.

“Sir… this—this is too much.”

“You’ll need it,” he cut in sharply. “Contacts, schedule, notifications. A wife of mine cannot be unreachable.” His eyes locked on hers, cold, calculated. But deep down, beneath that steel, something flickered—an awareness of her innocence, her fragility. He looked away, pulling off his wristwatch.

Beauty’s gaze drifted around. The suite was divided into sections: a private study lined with laptops and neatly stacked files, its glass doors half-open; a gym room filled with treadmills, weights, and machines gleaming under recessed lights. She swallowed hard—this was another world, and she was expected to exist in it.

“Tomorrow morning,” Ethan said, loosening his tie, “you’ll begin your routine. Gym first, then breakfast. Aiden will not enter this room, nor will the house helps. No one has access here except you. Do not forget it.”

She nodded again, nerves tightening in her stomach.

When she finally entered the bathroom, she froze once more. The walls were lined with marble, mirrors stretched endlessly, and the bathtub gleamed invitingly. She felt awkward, clumsy, as she tried to use soaps and oils that smelled too expensive, too foreign for her skin. Stripping felt strange—like she was trespassing in a world she did not belong to.

Ethan sat on the edge of the bed, pretending to read a file, but every sound—the click of the bathroom door, the rush of water, the faint scent of her shampoo seeping into the air—tested his control. His jaw clenched. He kept his eyes on the papers but absorbed nothing.

When Beauty emerged, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders and her borrowed nightdress brushing against her knees, Ethan felt a sharp pull in his chest. He adjusted his position, masking desire with indifference.

She hesitated by the bed. “I’ll just… sleep here.” She lowered herself to the farthest edge, almost hanging off.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ethan’s voice was low, but firm. “You’ll fall. Sleep properly.”

Her heart skipped. “But… it’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

“Come closer,” he ordered without looking at her.

Slowly, nervously, she shifted toward the center, keeping a respectful gap. Her small frame trembled beside him, her breathing shallow. Ethan shut his file and switched off the lamp. Darkness cloaked the room, but he could hear her every breath.

Control yourself, he told himself silently. This is not the plan.

But as she turned slightly, curling inward, the faint warmth of her presence reached him, teasing his restraint. He closed his eyes, fists clenched beneath the blanket, forcing himself to remain still.

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The next morning, the aroma of food filled the air—rich, familiar, but balanced. Akamu with honey instead of sugar, soft moi-moi made with less oil, vegetable stew simmered lightly, jollof rice prepared with moderation. Meals, familiar to her tongue, but subtly refined to keep them healthy.

Beauty sat at the table nervously, spoon in hand. She expected foreign dishes she couldn’t pronounce, but the sight of plantain beside her plate calmed her heart.

“Eat,” Ethan instructed.

She obeyed, chewing quietly. It was delicious, filling, yet surprisingly light.

After breakfast, Ethan led her to the gym. “Every day,” he said curtly. “Strength. Discipline. Appearance. You must keep up.”

She stared at the machines helplessly, then back at him. “I… I don’t know how to use them.”

“You’ll learn,” he replied, stepping behind her to adjust her stance at the treadmill. His hand brushed lightly against her back, steadying her posture. Her breath hitched. He stepped back quickly, masking his reaction.

“Twenty minutes. No excuses.”

Sweat clung to her skin as she moved, her body adjusting to the unfamiliar rhythm. Ethan watched, cold on the surface, but beneath, his restraint stretched thin. She was raw, unpolished, yet there was something striking about her persistence.

By the time she returned to the master bedroom, exhausted, she collapsed on the bed, her chest rising and falling. Ethan stood by the window, phone in hand, but his eyes flicked to her.

Her hair clung to her damp face, her lips parted as she caught her breath. Innocence and vulnerability radiated from her like a beacon.

He turned away sharply, swallowing hard.

This was only the beginning.