A Problem
1162 Words
Three days.
That was all it had taken for the Harrison Estate to start feeling less like a prison and more like a battlefield I was learning to navigate.
I woke before dawn, as usual.
Old habits never died—especially the ones built from survival. My body was trained to rise before danger did, before orders were barked, before the world demanded things from me I wasn’t ready to give. I sat up slowly on the bed, the quiet of the room wrapping around me like a thin blanket. The room assigned to me was modest compared to the rest of the estate, but it was clean, functional, and safe. Safe enough.
I reached for my phone.
No missed calls.
A message from Janet sat unread. My chest tightened slightly as I opened it.
She slept through the night. Fever went down. Don’t worry too much.
I closed my eyes, exhaling the breath I’d been holding. Relief washed over me, soft and heavy. Jasmine. My world. My reason. I pressed the phone briefly to my chest before setting it aside.
I couldn’t afford to fail here.
Not now.
I dressed carefully, buttoning my shirt, adjusting my jacket, pulling my hair back into a neat, professional style. Every movement was deliberate. Controlled. I checked my reflection once—only once—before turning away. This wasn’t the place for vanity. It was a place for restraint.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, the estate was already stirring. Male servants moved quietly, efficiently, their heads lowered, eyes averted. I had noticed it the first day—the tension that lived in these walls. The way people moved like they were constantly afraid of triggering something.
Or someone.
I made my way downstairs, mentally reviewing the schedule Miram Harrison had given me. Zayne’s meetings. His departure times. His habits—though “habit” was a generous word. The man was unpredictable, volatile, and entirely too observant.
I reached the foot of the stairs just as laughter echoed from the dining area.
It stopped me short.
Laughter was… rare here.
Curious despite myself, I followed the sound.
Caleb Harrison was sprawled casually at the dining table, coffee in hand, posture relaxed in a way that felt almost rebellious in this house. He looked up as I entered, his face lighting up instantly.
“Well, if it isn’t the woman who scares my brother into silence,” he grinned.
I paused.
Then blinked.
Then, despite myself, I smiled.
A small one—but real.
“Good morning to you too,” I replied evenly.
Caleb leaned back in his chair, studying me openly, not in the assessing, predatory way Zayne did, but with an easy curiosity that felt… harmless. Disarming.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you’re already my favorite person in this house.”
“That’s not saying much,” I answered dryly.
He laughed again, loud and unrestrained. “Fair point.”
I moved toward the counter, scanning the room automatically. No immediate threats. No unusual movement. Just… calm. An unfamiliar feeling here.
“You always this serious?” he asked, watching me.
“Only when I’m awake,” I replied.
That earned another laugh.
Caleb stood, grabbing another cup and pouring coffee. “You drink?”
“Yes.”
“Strong?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He handed me the cup. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”
I hesitated for half a second before accepting it.
Professional boundaries, Anna.
But something about Caleb made those boundaries feel… less rigid. Less necessary.
“Does your brother know you’re this friendly?” I asked.
He smirked. “My brother does know a lot of things.”
I sipped the coffee. It was good. Too good.
“You’re different from what I expected,” he continued, leaning against the counter beside me.
“And what did you expect?” I asked.
“A woman who’d either flirt with him or cry within the first hour,” he shrugged. “You did neither.”
“I don’t cry at work,” I said quietly.
Something flickered in his eyes then. Respect. Maybe even admiration.
“I can tell,” he said. “You’ve got… presence.”
I said nothing.
He tilted his head slightly. “So, Anna, how did you end up here?”
The question was casual.
My guard snapped up instantly.
“I applied,” I replied smoothly. “I was hired.”
He chuckled. “You answer like a politician.”
“I answer like someone who values her privacy.”
“That makes two of us.”
We stood there for a moment, a strange but comfortable silence settling between us. It surprised me how easily it formed. How natural it felt.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said suddenly.
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because this place needs someone like you,” he said simply. “And because my brother could use someone who doesn’t worship or fear him.”
I swallowed.
If only he knew.
Before I could respond, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
My spine straightened automatically.
Zayne.
He entered the dining area, already dressed in his immaculate suit, his presence shifting the air like a storm cloud rolling in. His gaze landed on me first—sharp, assessing—then moved to Caleb.
Then back to me.
Something unreadable flashed through his eyes.
“You’re up early,” he said flatly.
“I like breakfast,” Caleb replied easily. “You should try it sometime. Keeps you human.”
Zayne ignored the jab, his attention settling back on me. “Schedule.”
“Car ready in ten,” I replied promptly. “Meeting at nine. Security cleared.”
He nodded once.
Silence stretched.
I felt it then.
His eyes.
Watching.
Not just observing—but noticing.
Caleb clapped his hands together. “Well! Looks like you two have business. I’ll leave you to it.”
He passed me as he exited, lowering his voice. “Don’t let him scare you.”
“I don’t scare easily,” I murmured.
Caleb smiled. “I can tell.”
When he was gone, the air felt heavier.
Zayne stepped closer. Too close.
“You getting comfortable?” he asked coolly.
“I’m doing my job,” I replied.
“By socializing?”
“By being alert,” I corrected. “Caleb is not a threat.”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t say he was.”
But his tone said otherwise.
We left shortly after, the drive to the office quiet and tense. I felt his gaze on me more than once, but I refused to acknowledge it. I kept my eyes on the road, my hands steady on the wheel.
Three days.
That was all it had taken for Caleb Harrison to treat me like a person.
And somehow… I knew that was going to become a problem.
- Writer
