Chapter 7
731 Words
Until a violent sound shattered the peace.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound was violent. I jolted awake, my heart hammering against my ribs. Living in shelters and on buses, I wasn't used to the finality of a solid door. The noise felt like an assault.
I scrambled out of bed and pulled the door open. Tina stood there, her face twisted in a sneer, her hand still raised to strike the wood again.
"Get up," she commanded, looking me up and down with disgust. "The Master doesn't pay you to sleep through the afternoon. Move it. You’re wanted downstairs, Personal Maid."
I hadn't slept in a real bed in years, and the comfort had been a trap. I rushed into the small, sleek bathroom attached to my quarters, splashing cold water on my face to chase away the lingering image of my mother’s smile.
Stupid, I scolded myself, fumbling with the buttons of my uniform. You aren't a guest here. You’re an asset. I freshened up in a blur, pulling my hair back into a tight, professional knot. Every second I delayed felt like a mounting debt I couldn't afford to pay.
I hurried down the back staircase, my footsteps muffled by the expensive runners. I followed the scent of fresh coffee and citrus until the house opened up into a sprawling morning room. The walls were almost entirely glass, offering a dizzying view of the waking city below.
Elias was there.
He was seated at a minimalist marble table, the morning sun catching the sharp edges of his profile. He looked even more imposing in the daylight, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that looked like they were forged from iron. He was focused on a newspaper, the pages snapping with a sharp, violent sound as he turned them.
Standing slightly behind him was a man in a sharp grey suit, holding a tablet—his personal assistant.
"You’re late," Elias said. He didn't look up from the paper. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made me freeze in my tracks.
"I... I apologize, Mr. Thomas. It won't happen again," I managed to say, my voice sounding thin in the vast room.
Elias finally folded the paper, the sound of the crisp sheets snapping like a whip. He looked at me then, his ice-cold eyes scanning me with a terrifying, clinical precision. "In this house, Clara, time is the only currency I don't give back. If you waste mine, the consequences will be felt by people far beyond these walls."
The unspoken threat to Lucas and my father hung between us, thick and suffocating.
"I understand," I whispered.
"Good." He turned to Julian. "Is the office prepared?"
"Everything is set, sir," Julian replied, his voice a smooth, robotic monotone. "I’ve arranged a space in the Logistics department. Her access levels are restricted to your personal eyes only. No one in the building knows who she is—only that she is your direct shadow."
Elias stood up, his height looming over the table, casting a long shadow that swallowed me whole. He walked toward me, stopping just inches away. I could smell his scent—something dark, like cedar and rain.
"I have much more... sensitive interests that require a delicate touch. Interests that don't officially exist."
My breath hitched. "What kind of interests?"
He reached out, his hand hovering near my face, but he didn't touch me. He just tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers cold as ice.
"The kind that people get killed for knowing about," he said softly. "But you? You're a Thorne. You were born into a world of secrets. I want to see if you can keep mine, or if you’ll break like your father did."
He turned away abruptly, grabbing his jacket from the chair. "Get your coat. We leave in five minutes. And Clara?"
I looked up, my hand on the doorframe.
You are a slave in this house. Try to act like one."
As I stepped out of the room to grab my things, I saw Tina watching from the shadows of the hallway. Her face was twisted with a mixture of jealousy and something else—something that looked like genuine fear.
What could the look of fear mixed with anger be all about???
- Writer
