Chapter 27: Meeting the CEO
1571 Words
Walking out of the house, I didn’t see Dominic anywhere. The driveway was empty, the garage quiet. For a second, I hesitated—half of me wanting to look for him, half of me terrified of what I might say if I did.
Before I could decide, a black limo pulled up in front of the house.
The sound alone made my shoulders tense.
As I stepped closer, Anna’s voice came from my side, low but sharp with concern.
“Do you know who they are, Thumper?”
I answered too quickly, the words spilling out like I had rehearsed them.
“Yes. I have an appointment with the owner. Dominic knows. I’ll be back later. Have a good day, Anna.”
She didn’t look convinced. Her eyes lingered on me the way people look when they sense danger but don’t know how to name it. I didn’t wait for her to say anything else.
I stepped forward.
A man dressed in black exited the limo and opened the door for me without a word. His movements were precise. Professional. Empty.
I slid inside.
The door shut immediately behind me, sealing me in with a soft but final click that made my stomach twist.
As I buckled my seatbelt, the contrast hit me all at once. Everything about this felt different from Dominic—too quiet, too controlled, too cold. The people around Dominic felt human. Messy. Warm.
These people felt like walls.
I stared out the tinted window, my reflection faintly staring back at me, and thoughts I didn’t want began to surface.
I wanted to tell Dominic I’d see him soon.
I wanted to ask him why he lied to me.
I wanted to admit that I was lying to him too.
The realization sat heavy in my chest.
Was this really a reality I could live with—half-truths, silence, fear disguised as independence?
The streets outside slowly changed. Familiar roads faded into places I’d never been before. Buildings grew taller. The air felt heavier. With every passing second, my gut tightened, a warning screaming louder and louder in my head.
This is a bad idea.
The driver never spoke. Not once.
And somehow, that terrified me more than if he had.
By the time the limo slowed, my hands were clenched in my lap, my heart racing for reasons I couldn’t explain—but my body already knew.
I didn’t feel safe.
And for the first time since stepping into that car, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get out.
We arrived at a mansion so large it felt obscene, as if it had been ripped from another century and forced into the present without ever learning how to exist among the living.
Every inch of it was flawless.
Black iron gates parted without a sound, obedient and precise. Gravel did not crunch beneath the tires. Tall stone walls rose like judges, their surfaces polished, cold, untouched by time or mercy. The mansion itself loomed ahead—Victorian in structure, cruel in spirit. Needle-sharp spires. Arched windows that looked more like watchful eyes than openings. Heavy balconies wrapped in wrought iron that felt less decorative and more like cages.
Everything was preserved.
Everything was controlled.
And nothing about it felt human.
The colors were deep and suffocating—charcoal, dried wine, rotting green, aged gold dulled by years of power. No sunlight reached the windows. No warmth lingered in the air. It was beautiful in the same way a tomb is beautiful before it’s sealed.
The limo stopped, and before I could move, the door opened.
“Welcome, Miss Thumper.”
The voice was smooth. Polite. Sharpened by discipline.
A man bowed just enough to appear respectful, dressed in tailored black, gloves pristine, eyes calculating. Inside, others waited—maids, attendants, staff—moving in synchronized silence. No one stared. No one whispered.
They didn’t need to.
They smiled the way servants smile when they already know who owns the room.
As if I had always belonged there.
As if resistance was unnecessary.
They called me Miss with reverence that felt rehearsed. Chairs were pulled out before I reached them. Tea was placed in my hands without asking, porcelain so thin it felt fragile enough to shatter if I trembled. Someone removed my coat as if it were expected. Another adjusted the hem of my dress without permission.
Not kindness.
Preparation.
Like I mattered—but only in the way an object matters.
I felt… wrong.
Not unsafe.
Not yet.
Just aware.
Then a man entered.
If I hadn’t known who he was—if I hadn’t known what he had already done for me—I might have swallowed the lie whole.
He looked like a fairytale rewritten by someone who hated happy endings. Dark suit cut to perfection. Silver cufflinks gleaming like quiet warnings. Hair styled with intention. A smile warm enough to invite trust, practiced enough to weaponize it.
“Thumper,” he said softly, tasting my name like it belonged to him already. “My name is Mario, please. I hope your journey was comfortable.”
He pulled out my chair himself.
Prince Charming, if Prince Charming learned how to collect people.
We talked business.
He spoke of opportunity, structure, vision—words chosen carefully, designed to soothe. He never raised his voice. Never interrupted. Asked questions that felt like concern but landed like assessments. He listened just long enough to make me forget how rigid my spine was, how quiet the room had become.
For a moment… I almost believed the act.
Almost mistook control for safety.
Then I asked the wrong question.
“And the payment?” I said quietly. “I need to know how I’ll be paid. I can’t work without knowing that.”
The room didn’t shift.
It tightened.
Mario’s smile stayed in place—but it hardened, like porcelain about to crack.
The warmth in his eyes vanished, not completely, just enough to leave something colder behind. No one else noticed. They weren’t meant to.
I did.
“Payment?” he echoed, folding his hands together with deliberate calm. “Oh, Thumper. You’re thinking far too small.”
My stomach dropped.
He leaned closer, still smiling, still refined, still perfectly composed—but suddenly the room felt enormous. The doors felt distant. The silence pressed in like weight.
“You’re already taken care of,” he continued smoothly. “People in my position don’t bargain over numbers. Comfort is provided. Security is guaranteed.”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“Please don’t worry,” he added softly.
“And never ask me again.”
The words landed like a threat wrapped in silk.
“What is mine,” he finished, voice pleasant, final, “is always taken care of.”
My breath stalled in my chest.
This wasn’t Dominic’s warmth.
This wasn’t choice.
This wasn’t protection.
This was possession wearing a gentleman’s face.
And for the first time since arriving, fear didn’t whisper.
It settled.
Cold.
The way he spoke to me—measured, indulgent, dismissive—was the same tone my ex-husband used right before everything went wrong.
The difference was that my ex had hidden the violence longer.
Mario hadn’t.
Dominic would never allow me to stay here.
Anna was right.
Dominic would come for me.
He would take me home.
Or… he would abandon me, like everyone else eventually had.
The thought clawed at my chest, but one truth cut through the panic with terrifying clarity:
I did not want to be here.
“Yours?” I said, my voice shaking but still standing. “I don’t belong to you. The court ruled it as a donation to my outstanding debts. I wasn’t purchased. I’m not here because you—”
I didn’t get to finish.
Mario’s hand closed around the teapot.
It flew across the room and shattered against the wall, porcelain exploding like a gunshot. The sound echoed through the mansion, sharp and final. Before I could react, he grabbed the plate from the table and slammed it down onto my hand.
Pain tore through me.
I gasped, instinctively pulling back, my fingers screaming as heat flooded my skin.
His voice never rose.
“You will behave,” he said calmly, stepping closer. “Or you will learn—very quickly—that I do not negotiate with little lambs.”
My heart hammered so hard I thought I might pass out.
Then he smiled.
“Now,” he continued, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve, “do me a favor and end whatever pathetic arrangement you have with that wolf mutt you’re living with. I don’t enjoy complications.”
The word wolf meant nothing to me then.
Mutt even less.
But the intent was unmistakable.
Control.
Ownership.
Threat.
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t scream.
I took the moment he turned away as the opening it was meant to be.
I walked.
Not fast. Not frantic. Calm enough not to provoke him again. Every step carried one thought and one thought only:
Get out.
I didn’t know how Dominic would react.
I didn’t know if he would come.
I didn’t know if he would believe me.
But I knew this—
I was going home.
And for the first time since stepping into that mansion, fear didn’t freeze me.
It focused me.
Because now I understood exactly what I was up against.
- Writer
