Untitled Episode3
1489 Words
Light stung Isabella’s eyes long before she opened them.
For a moment, in that blurry space between dreaming and waking, she expected to hear her mother humming in the kitchen, the smell of burnt toast drifting through their cramped apartment. She expected the distant shouting of neighborhood kids, the clatter of bikes on the pavement, her father’s uneven footsteps shuffling down the hallway.
But when her eyes opened, none of that was there.
Instead, she found herself wrapped in sheets so soft they felt like clouds, in a bed far too big for one person. The ceiling above her was a smooth stretch of white, framed by a silver trim that gleamed under the morning sun. And the city—New York’s glittering skyline stretched beyond the massive glass wall of her new room.
Her chest tightened painfully.
It wasn’t a dream.
She was still here.
Still trapped.
The numbness she’d fallen asleep with dissolved as memories slammed into her the contract, the mansion, Alexander’s cold eyes, his voice promising safety for her family only if she obeyed.
Isabella sat up quickly, heart thudding.
Her clothes were still the same as last night wrinkled, damp from tears, smelling faintly of the rain. She rubbed her eyes and took a shaky breath.
A soft knock interrupted the quiet.
“Miss Liam? A woman’s voice drifted through the door. Calm. Controlled. May I come in?
Isabella wiped her face and sniffed once. “Yes.
The door opened, and one of the women from last night stepped inside the one with dark hair pulled into a sleek bun. She carried a folded stack of clothes over one arm and a clipboard in her hand.
Good morning, she said, offering a polite but distant smile. I’m Elise. I’ll be attending to your schedule and needs.”
Needs, Isabella repeated softly, her voice dry. “Like a… maid?
More like a personal assistant,Elise replied. Mr. Knight prefers order. And that requires structure.
Her words were smooth, well-practiced. Isabella wondered how many other women she had delivered those same sentences to.
Elise approached the bed and set the clothes down neatly. Your morning routine begins at eight. Mr. Knight expects punctuality.
Isabella blinked. “Routine?
You’ll be briefed on the specifics shortly, Elise said. But for today, breakfast is at eight-fifteen. In the east dining hall.
The east there’s more than one dining hall?
Elise only gave a small nod.
Isabella swallowed. And if I don’t go?
Elise met her eyes for a brief moment.
Mr. Knight dislikes disobedience.
The words were soft. But they carried a warning that made Isabella’s stomach clench.
I’ll be back to escort you, Elise added, stepping toward the door. You have thirty minutes to get ready.
The door closed behind her.
Isabella took in a shaky breath and looked down at the clothes Elise had brought. A cream-colored blouse. A soft beige skirt. Simple but expensive. Modesty sewn with elegance.
Not her style.
Not her choice.
But nothing in this place would be hers.
She stood and walked toward the bathroom, her bare feet sinking into the thick rug. The bathroom lights turned on automatically as she stepped in, illuminating sleek marble counters, glass walls, and a rainfall shower that looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her hair was tangled, her eyes puffy, her face pale. It didn’t look like her. It looked like a girl who had been stolen.
Slowly, she lifted a strand of hair and let out a shaky breath. You can do this, she whispered. Just until you find a way out.
She showered quickly, the warm water washing away the stiffness in her muscles but doing nothing to ease the weight in her chest. When she stepped out, she avoided looking at herself again.
The skirt felt unfamiliar on her skin. The blouse fit perfectly, which made her wonder had they measured her somehow?
The thought made her shiver.
A soft knock sounded again.
Miss Liam, Elise called. May I come in?
Isabella opened the door slowly. Elise scanned her outfit and nodded once, approving.
This way.
They walked through long corridors filled with silent paintings and expensive sculptures. Every few steps, Isabella glimpsed guards stationed at corners. They stood rigid, faces expressionless, eyes alert.
This wasn’t a home.
It was a fortress.
Mr. Knight has a strict routine, Elise explained as they walked. He wakes every day at five. Trains until six. Reviews business until eight. Breakfast at eight-fifteen.”
Trains? Isabella asked.
Yes. Physical training. He values discipline.
Of course he did.
Elise continued, “You will be expected to maintain a routine as well. Meals, activities, movement around the house—they’ll all be scheduled.
So I won't be allowed to move freely?
You can move, Elise said carefully. Within boundaries.
Boundaries?
Elise. A deep voice echoed through the hallway ahead.
Isabella’s heart stopped.
Alexander appeared from around a corner, wearing a crisp dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. The fabric clung to his body in a way that showed the hard lines of muscle beneath. His hair was damp likely from training and a faint sheen of sweat still clung to his skin.
He looked like danger wrapped in elegance.
His cold blue eyes landed on Isabella immediately, scanning her from head to toe. Not in a perverse way. In a calculating, analyzing way. As if she were a puzzle he needed to understand.
“Elise, he repeated, stepping closer. I’ll take it from here.
Yes, Mr. Knight. Elise bowed slightly and walked away, leaving Isabella alone with him.
Her throat felt dry.
Alexander stopped only a few feet from her. She felt him before she smelled his cologne, before she heard him breathe.
The air around him shifted the moment he arrived.
“You slept, he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I… tried, she replied.
“Tried is good.
He began walking, and she realized he expected her to follow. She did, though every step felt heavy.
This house has rules, he said as they turned into another hallway. You will learn them.
What if I don’t? she whispered.
He didn’t slow. Then you’ll learn the consequence.
A chill crawled up her spine.
Alexander opened a door for her and gestured inside.
The dining hall was enormous, its long windows pouring sunlight over polished floors. A white marble table stretched through the center, but only one setting was prepared—directly across from another.
Alexander took his seat. She hesitated.
“Sit, he said.
Her legs obeyed before her courage could argue.
Breakfast was served immediately by silent staff—fluffy eggs, toast, fruit, steaming tea. Isabella’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to take a small bite. She needed strength. Weakness had no place here.
Alexander watched her with unreadable eyes.
I expect obedience, he said suddenly.
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth.
And I expect honesty. Lies irritate me. He sipped his coffee. Fear, however, is natural.
She set her fork down carefully. I’m not trying to lie. I just… don’t know what you want from me.”
His eyes sharpened. Everything.
Her breath hitched.
Alexander leaned back slightly, considering her.
You will eat meals at their scheduled times. You will not leave this house without permission. You will not speak to staff unless necessary. You will follow instructions the first time they are given.
Her heart pounded painfully.
And you will not attempt escape, he finished.
She tried to keep her voice steady. What happens if I do?
He set his cup down.
You won’t succeed, he said simply. But if you try… His voice lowered, calm and deadly. I won’t punish you. Your family will.
Her breath caught in her throat.
And I imagine, he added, you love them too much to risk that.
Tears prickled at her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.
Why are you doing this? she whispered. Why me?
Alexander’s gaze softened not warmly, but with interest. As if her question fascinated him.
I chose you because you were the one thing your father valued most, he said. And I need leverage.
Leverage.
So I’m… a bargaining chip?
Among other things, he replied.
She swallowed hard. And what if I refuse to be anything to you?
A slow smile touched his lips. Not kind. Not cruel.
Just amused.
You are mine already
She pushed her chair back slightly as nausea rolled through her. The room felt too bright, too large, too empty in all the wrong ways.
Alexander watched her, his eyes tracing every flicker of fear that crossed her face.
“Eat, he said quietly.
Her fingers trembled, but she reached for her fork.
After a long, tense silence, he spoke again.
There is something else you should know.
She looked up.
You will not see me as a monster, he said. Not forever.
- Writer
