CHAPTER 002
1428 Words
CHAPTER 002
EMMA'S POINT OF VIEW
The car ride felt endless. The town disappeared farther and farther behind us as we drove. The sun was setting, shadows from trees lined the winding road. I held my hands in my lap, trying to keep them from shaking. I felt my stomach churn, not from the motion but from the fear that sat heavy in my chest.
Since Logan’s driver picked me up, he hadn’t said a word. His face was blank, like he’d done this a hundred times before, and he was tall and silent. I’d catch him looking at me in the rearview mirror every so often, but he never smiled. I didn’t ask any questions. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
I leaned toward the window when the car finally slowed. My breath caught.
It was a huge estate, the house ripped straight out of a movie. High stone walls climbed, ivy covered them, ivy that looked like it had been growing for centuries. Iron gates opened on their own, as if they were expecting me, and the driveway curved through them. I swallowed hard.
Logan’s world was not like mine.
We stopped in front of the house. No, not a house. A fortress. The front doors were dark wood, polished so smooth I could see my reflection in them. Before the door opened, I barely had time to take it all in.
And there he was.
Logan Hayes.
His shoulders were broad, his face like stone, but he stood tall. His hair was not long as his, but nicely combed back and his suit fit him perfectly as if made just for him. That piercing cold glare of his eyes met mine, and I swore I could see right through me.
He said, his voice smooth, but distant, as he was experimenting saying my name on his lips. “Welcome.”
I nodded, not sure if I should say something. I stepped out of the car, my legs were heavy, my heels echoing on the gravel. Logan didn’t move closer. He just stood there, staring at me as if he was waiting for something.
I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper, “This is… a lot.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite. “You’ll get used to it.”
I wasn’t so sure.
Logan turned and gestured for me to follow him inside. My heart pounded as I climbed the steps, his presence overwhelming even though he wasn’t touching me. The air around him was heavy, charged with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
The house was even more intimidating inside. Chandeliers sparkled like starlight above us, high ceilings. The floors were marble, polished, and the walls were painted with paintings that were older than anything I’d ever seen. It was cold, but it was beautiful. Empty.
Logan broke the silence with his voice. “This way.”
The sound of my footsteps echoed as I followed him down a long hallway. With every step I felt smaller, like I didn’t belong here.
He looked at me over his shoulder and said, “Your room is upstairs.” Everything you need, you’ll find. Toiletries, clothes, whatever.”
“Clothes?” I asked, frowning. “I already have clothes.”
He said simply, “Not the kind you’ll need here.”
I wanted to argue, but the words wouldn't come out of my mouth. He didn’t say it in a way that was insulting. Just a fact.
Logan pushed open a doorway and we stopped in front of it. The bed was big enough to swallow me whole, and the room was huge. The last bit of sunlight came through the tall windows. Against the wall was a wardrobe, and I could already see dresses hanging inside.
Logan stepped back and said, “This is yours.”
Suddenly I felt defensive and crossed my arms. “Why are you doing all this? Why me?”
Logan’s gaze darkened and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer. He stepped closer, his eyes on mine.
He asked, his voice low, “You think I’m doing this for fun?” I made a choice and you’re here. And so did you.”
I swallowed, my back against the doorframe. He was close now, too close. I could feel the heat of him, I could smell the faint scent of his cologne; cedar and smoke, dark and sharp.
He said it with a soft, but cutting tone, “This isn’t about love Emma.” “This is about survival. For both of us.”
My breath hitched and I stared at him. His words should have made me angry, but they didn’t. They scared me.
“Why me?” I whispered again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Logan’s jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes for a second, an emotion I couldn’t name. Regret? Pain? I couldn't figure it out before it was gone.
Finally, he said, “Because you’re strong.” “Stronger than you think.”
I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make me feel better, but it didn’t.
Logan took a step back, his face unreadable. “Get some rest. “More in the morning,” we’ll talk.”
He was gone, and just like that.
I leaned against the door and closed it, my knees giving out. I heaved through my chest and covered my mouth with my hand, keeping in the sobs that threatened at any second to spill out.
What was I doing here?
I didn’t sleep that night. Every sound made me jump. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that amplified my thoughts. Logan’s words kept playing over and over in my head, and I tried to make sense of them.
This isn’t about love. This is about survival.
What did he mean by that? What was I surviving?
I was still sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping me from floating away, by the time the sun rose.
I jumped at the sound of a knock at the door.
Logan’s voice called from the other side, “Emma.” “Breakfast is ready.”
I didn’t answer.
He said again, firmer this time, “Emma.”
My legs shaky, I stood and walked to the door. I opened it and Logan was there, dressed in another neatly tailored suit. He looked at my face, and for a second I thought I saw concern in his eyes.
He said, “You look like hell.”
I muttered thanks and brushed past him.
The dining room was as intimidating as the rest of the house. The room was filled with a long table, with chairs that looked like they were in a museum. At the head sat Logan, straight upright, commanding.
He gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit.”
I hesitated, but obeyed, my stomach twisting. Eggs, toast, fruit were already on a plate of food waiting for me. But I wasn’t hungry.
Logan said, his voice not allowing for argument, “You need to eat.”
My hands were trembling as I picked at the toast. His gaze heavy, Logan watched me.
His tone was softer now. “I know this is overwhelming.” “But you’ll adjust.”
“Adjust to what?” I slammed the toast down, I snapped. “To being your property? What it’s like to live in a house that feels more like a prison?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed and for a moment I thought I’d pushed too far. He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but then.
He said slowly, “This isn’t a prison.” “It’s protection. For you. For your family.”
“And what about you?” I asked, my voice shaking. “What’s in it for you?”
Logan’s mouth curled in small, cold smile. “You’ve never felt like anyone cares more than you’ll ever understand.”
His words made my spine tingle. I watched him, attempting to determine his features, but it was the same as gazing in the face of a storm, unruly and utterly unforeseeable.
He stood and said, “Finish your breakfast.” “We have a lot to discuss.”
I felt the weight of his words settle over me as he walked away.
What exactly had I agreed to? What kind of world was this?
What would it cost me to survive it?
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