Chapter 7: Lines Drawn
553 Words
“From now on,” Alexander Blackwood said coldly, “you sleep in the guest room on the second floor.”
“Without my permission, don’t enter the master bedroom.”
Lydia Harper nodded.
He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and left.
The moment he was gone, his composure shattered.
Tears poured down her cheeks.
She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking silently.
No sound. Just pain.
After a long while, she wiped her tears.
Then slowly, carefully, she made her way upstairs—to the guest room.
Morning came early.
Sunlight spilled across the floor.
Lydia had always been an early riser. Her internal clock woke her at six.
But when she opened her eyes, she froze.
Alexander stood by her bed.
Silent. Watching.
His expression was dark and unreadable.
Like a shadow from a nightmare.
“Ah—!”
She jolted upright, heart racing.
“You—how did you get in?”
“I locked the door,” he said flatly.
“This is my house,” he added, “I go wherever I want.”
She paused. Right. Spare keys.
Swallowing nervously, she said, “Mr. Blackwood… do you need something?”
He pointed to his forehead.
There was dried blood there.
“What happened?”
Her heart skipped.
“Oh no…”
“You drank too much last night,” she said quickly. “You probably bumped into something.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Really?”
She nodded firmly. “Of course. Why would I lie?”
He studied her silently for a moment.
“Did I… hurt you?”
She waved her hands immediately.
“No. Nothing.”
A beat.
“Want me to get a first-aid kit? I can clean it—”
“No need,” he said dismissively. “It’s nothing serious.”
He turned and walked out. Just like that.
Lydia let out a long breath.
Her legs felt weak.
That was way too close.
If he had stayed any longer… she might have passed out from nerves alone.
She opened the wardrobe.
Inside—clothes. All brand new. All expensive.
She picked a simple T-shirt and light blue jeans.
Then froze at the price tag.
“Five thousand… for this?”
She blinked twice. This is robbery.
What she didn’t know—every piece in that closet was designed.
After getting ready, she went downstairs.
A middle-aged woman stood in the dining room, smiling warmly.
“Good morning, Young Madam. I’m your new housekeeper. You can call me Aunt Zhang. Breakfast is ready.”
Lydia smiled politely.
“Thank you, Aunt Zhang.”
In the dining room, Alexander was already seated.
Reading the newspaper. Eating calmly. As if nothing had happened.
Lydia sat quietly. Picked up a piece of toast. Sipped her coffee. Small bites. No sound.
After a moment, Alexander set the paper down.
“Going to school today?”
“Mm.”
“I’ll drive you.”
She shook her head quickly.
“No need. I’ll take a cab.”
Too obvious. Too much attention.
“It’s on my way,” he said. No room for argument.
Ten minutes later, a black Porsche pulled up outside.
Lydia stared, then rubbed her forehead.
This is way too much.
But she said nothing.
And got in.
- Writer
