Chapter 3: Lily Harper's POV
1042 Words
The house Logan Pierce lived in did not look like a home. It looked like something out of a magazine that had never let a single person actually live inside it.“This will be your room,” he said, opening a door on the second floor without stepping inside it himself. “Renee will help you move your things this week.”“That is it? That is the tour?”“What else do you need to know?”“Where the kitchen is. Whether you have staff who will report everything I do to you. Whether I am allowed to have my sister visit once she is out of the hospital.”Something like amusement crossed his face. “The kitchen is downstairs. There is staff, but they answer to the house, not to me personally. And yes, your sister can visit.”“Thank you,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it.He studied me a moment too long. “You are not what I expected.”“What did you expect?”“Someone more grateful. Someone who would not have argued with me in my own office.”“I am grateful,” I said. “I am also still a person, not a line item in your contract.”He did not answer that. He just turned and walked down the hallway, leaving me standing there with my one suitcase and a room that smelled like it had never known a single memory.At dinner that first night, we sat at opposite ends of a table long enough to seat twelve, passing dishes neither of us finished, the silence between us so complete I could hear my own fork against the plate.That night, unable to sleep, I wandered downstairs for water and found him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, staring at a glass of whiskey he had not touched.“You cannot sleep either,” he said without turning around.“New house. New husband.” I tried to make it sound light. “Give me time.”“There is a storm coming tonight,” he said. “The power in this house sometimes goes out when the wind is bad.”Thunder cracked outside, loud enough that I jumped. The lights flickered once, twice, then went completely dark.“Do not move,” he said, his voice suddenly close. “There is glass on the counter.”I felt his hand find my wrist in the darkness, warm and sure, guiding me carefully around the kitchen island. My heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the storm.“I have candles in the drawer,” he said, but he did not let go of my wrist right away.We stood there a second too long, close enough that if either of us moved even slightly, we would not be standing apart anymore. I could smell rain and something warmer underneath it, and I hated how much I wanted to lean into it.“Logan,” I whispered, and I did not know if it was a warning or an invitation.His hand tightened slightly. “This was not part of the contract,” he said quietly.“I know,” I breathed.The lights came back on before either of us moved another inch, flooding the kitchen with light and putting careful distance between us again.He stepped back first, clearing his throat, and picked up his whiskey like nothing had happened. “Goodnight, Miss Harper.”But his hand was still not quite steady when he lifted the glass, and I could not stop thinking about the way he had said my name in the dark, like it belonged to him already.
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