/Zane's POV/
This is weird, I thought, blinking awake in the middle of the sitting room. That made it the fourth time this week.
While practically living at the office, I'd somehow started waking up here — at the lounge — with no memory of how I'd gotten there. I'd dismissed it as exhaustion at first, but it's been happening far too often to ignore now.
I was still trying to figure out how I ended up here again when Madison waltzed out of the hallway and straight to the kitchen, yawning as she went.
The tank top she had on didn't do much to hide the hickey on her neck—or the one on her arm. And it wasn't the same one from yesterday. This one was new… different too.
Had me wondering who the psycho that kept gnawing at her neck like some rabid animal.
I watched her absentmindedly pour herself a cup of coffee. She looked oddly cheerful, and something about that made my frown deepen.
"Good morning." I greeted, my voice cutting through the quiet.
Despite not having noticed my presence, Madison didn't flinch or jump at my unexpected presence.
"Morning, Zane." She smiled, her eyes instantly returning to the coffee maker to pour me a cup of my own.
"I'd have expected you to be surprised, since you passed right by me without noticing." My tone came out colder than I intended.
"I just woke up, Zane. I'm barely keeping my eyes open." She forwarded me the cup. "That's why I'm making coffee," she added—but still refused to look me in the eye.
One of the few things I'd noticed about Madison was her confident nature. She wasn't the type to say much, but she'd never avoided eye contact with me—not even when things got awkward, which happened most of the time.
She was guilty of something and my bet? She snuck out last night.
I wasn't sure Madison was seeing anyone. She'd been here for more than a couple of weeks, but I'd never heard her call or reach out to anyone. Unlike Allison, who was often glued to her phone, Madison hardly texted anyone at all.
She basically lived a solitary life, which made her perfect for the role I'd given her—almost too perfect. No matter how much I dug, I could never find out what she'd been up to for the past decade, which didn't help my suspicions.
Still, one thing's clear: she cared for her sister. Sometimes I almost regret using her for my plans… but she doesn't seem to mind.
"I'm not really feeling coffee right now." I eyed the cup of black liquid. "I'm meeting a friend in an hour. Aunt Marie will be here early today to clean the whole house, so you might want to stay in your room."
I tried not to let her hickey bother me—or the fact that she'd lied—but I could barely hide the irritation in my voice.
She's a grown woman. If she wants to go out and—My jaw tightened.
Disregarding the cup she still held out, I brushed past her and headed straight for my room.
"What the fuck was that, Zane!?" I groaned, slumping onto the bed and holding my head in my hands, completely embarrassed by my own childishness.
I'm usually good at masking emotion—I even got a nickname for it: the poker-faced CEO. People wondered how I'd managed to charm Allison when I was as stiff as stone, yet I couldn't keep my composure around Madison.
She was a grown woman and had the right to be with whoever she wanted. She probably just didn't like the idea of telling me she was going out for a quickie. I guess two weeks was enough for anyone to get pent-up—but she told me she wasn't seeing anyone.
Technically, she isn't… if it's just a fling. I groaned, shocked by my own thoughts.
It's not like I have any say in her sex life. You could gift her some toys, my mind mocked, and I rolled my eyes.
I couldn't believe I was even thinking about this. As long as she was careful, there shouldn't be a problem—and yet, it still eats at me.
After a cold shower, I finally headed downstairs for a drink. The design of my mansion wasn't simple.
After a shower, I went downstairs for a drink. The mansion's layout wasn't exactly simple—four guest rooms downstairs, a refreshment area with a bar and wine room, a home theatre, a game section, my gym, a poolside, and of course the biggest sitting room and kitchen.
The second floor, though, was practically a separate building — my personal space.
Allison used to throw parties at least once a month, and since I worried about her safety, I suggested she use my place. That's why the entire first floor had been designed around her needs while the second floor was off-limits to guests non-negotiable, except for her and my closest friends.
The upper floor had its own kitchen — coming downstairs every time was a hassle — but that never stopped Aunt Marie from using both. The laundry room was upstairs, since there wasn't much done downstairs. My library was downstairs, but I had a smaller one attached to my study for important files — things I didn't want guests snooping through.
I used to stay downstairs when I lived alone, but with Madison staying here now, I hadn't in a while.
I had to today though, since I was expecting a guest. Even though I'd told Madison I was meeting someone, I hadn't mentioned it would be here at the house. I'm not sure why I entertained the thought — maybe I wanted to test her. I just couldn't help myself. I needed to confirm my suspicion.
"Sir," Jeff called, stepping into the house to announce my expected guest. "You have a visitor."
"I know. Let him in, Jeff," I said with a nod.
Moments later, Jeff returned with Jones.
"Hello, Jones. To what do I owe this unpleasant visit?" I greeted flatly. Normally, I'd offer a polite business smile, but this one was cold — devoid of even the tiniest warmth.
I poured myself a drink — whiskey — and crossed to the living room where Jones stood, fidgeting like a kid about to be scolded. I didn't say a word, forcing him to speak first. By the time he finally did, I was on my third glass.
"I'm very sorry about what happened," he blurted as I poured myself another. My eyes lifted to his pathetic, cowering frame. I scoffed and gently lowered the bottle.
"Are you kidding me, Jones?" I demanded, my expression tight, eyes flaring. "I'm curious though, what exactly were you expecting when you pulled that crap" His face fell as he muttered another apology.
"Did Damian put you up to this? Did he tell you to grovel so I'd forgive you?"
Damian was a friend and investor. We'd known each other since college—he graduated earlier and inherited his father's corporation. He wasn't a billionaire, but he was an heir to a massive fortune.
He was also the one who made teaching this idiot a lesson easy. I could've done it myself, but where was the fun in that? I wanted Jones to understand helplessness —what it meant to be shut out—not by me, but by everyone.
The punishment, however, caught an innocent in the crossfire — the writer. When I convinced the investors to pull their funding, the film's production halted immediately. Without the permits for location shoots or the money to back it, the project died before it started.
"Why did you do it?" I demanded. His head hung low in shame. "We had an agreement. Why break it? Was it because of Darlington?"
"No!" His response was sharp and instant. "I won't deny they approached me—they opened my eyes. But this has nothing to do with them."
My frown deepened. What the hell did he mean, opened his eyes? Were they ever closed?
"All they did was hand me a recording of actress Allison."
"What?"
"It's nothing incriminating, I swear—it's just a clip of her criticising the writer's work. Honestly, I've always thought she wasn't the best fit for the female lead."
My face turned blank.
"You're also a professional in this field, Mr Antler. You have an eye for talent. Allison's a great actress—she's brilliant in romance, thrillers, even horror—But with action—no offence—she's just not built for it."
"She's only ever acted in one. You can't judge her by that," I said, irritation leaked into my voice.
"I know. I thought we could get past it, and I even hired her without an audition because I trusted her abilities. But even at the table read, she didn't seem invested in the script. I just couldn't shake the feeling I'd regret it if she led the movie."
Jones made his case while I tapped the armrest thoughtfully. There was always a team that screened scripts for our actors, but in the end, I personally picked which projects Allison starred in.
Because I knew her strengths and weaknesses, I hadn't picked Jones's movie.
In the end, though, I gave in — she'd assured me she could handle it. She insisted, guessing that had to do with fans calling her roles predictable and repetitive.
I'd hesitated because I knew how much she hated physically demanding roles, even with a stunt double. But she was adamant. So I let her.
So what was this about her dissing the writer's work?
I turned back to Jones, who was still waiting for a response.
"You still have that footage?" I asked.
He handed me a USB. "Here."
"I'll be in touch," I said curtly, already dismissing him.
"Mr Antler—"
"I'll give you a response once I've looked into it." My voice ended the conversation for good. Jeff escorted him out.
If the man was truly acting in his crew's best interest, I couldn't exactly blame him. But he should've been fucking straight with me.
I returned upstairs to review what he'd given me—but something pulled me toward Madison's room.
I knocked a few times. No response.
Using the master key, I let myself in.
It was just as I suspected.