Amara's POV
The silence in the penthouse was starting to feel like a living thing—breathing against my neck, pressing against my chest. Every clock tick echoed like a taunt.
Three weeks.
Three weeks since I moved into this cage of glass and marble.
At first, I thought I could manage it. I told myself it was temporary—just until I figured out how to deal with Alexander, how to survive him. But now, the walls themselves seemed to whisper, You don't belong here.
I'd done everything—read books from his library, cooked, cleaned, tried to fill the space with noise. But there's only so much pretending a person can do before they start feeling like a ghost.
I wanted something—anything—that felt like mine again.
This morning, I found myself sitting by the kitchen counter, arms folded, staring at the bank alert on my phone.
It was supposed to be my "monthly allowance."
A generous cage was still a cage.
"I can't live like this," I muttered, pushing the phone away. "I need to start something. I need to… breathe."
The maid, Maria, glanced at me from across the counter but didn't say a word. She'd learned early that Mrs. Voss wasn't someone to gossip about.
"I mean it," I said louder, mostly to myself. "I can't just sit here, waiting for him to appear like some kind of—"
"Some kind of what?"
The voice came from behind me—deep, smooth, and too calm.
I froze.
Of course.
Of all moments, he had to show up now.
Alexander was home early. His tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, that faint smirk already tugging at his lips like he'd caught me committing a crime.
"Some kind of prisoner?" he asked, stepping into the kitchen.
I straightened. "You weren't supposed to be home till evening."
He shrugged. "The company doesn't ask for your permission, Mrs. Voss."
There it was again—that cool, condescending tone that made my skin burn.
"Maybe if you're done mocking, you can tell me why I'm being treated like a piece of expensive furniture," I snapped. "I can't go anywhere, can't do anything without your permission. Even my money—what am I supposed to do with it? Buy more silence?"
His brow lifted slightly, amusement flashing in those storm-grey eyes. "You sound restless."
"I sound human, Alexander."
The way his name came out of my mouth felt dangerous—sharp and intimate all at once. He noticed it too, because his jaw flexed.
"I want to start my own thing," I said quickly before I lost my nerve. "A boutique, a small shop—something. I don't care what it is. I just need to stop wasting away in here."
He took a long, quiet moment before answering, eyes assessing me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Then—calmly, casually—he said, "You can work for me."
I blinked. "What?"
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You want something to do. I own several businesses. Choose one. I'll have HR prepare your access."
The way he said it made my blood boil. Like he was doing me a favor. Like he was offering me a leash wrapped in silk.
"I don't need your charity," I said.
"This isn't charity," he replied, his tone colder now. "It's opportunity. You said you wanted to work. I'm giving you the chance."
"You mean you want me under your eyes 24/7."
He didn't deny it.
I laughed bitterly. "Of course. You'd love that. The mighty Alexander Voss—keeping his wife where he can control her."
His gaze darkened, but his voice remained maddeningly calm. "You talk like control is a bad thing."
"It is when you use it to choke people."
We stood there—two storms colliding, neither willing to break first.
Finally, he pushed off the counter, closing the space between us until I could feel his warmth. "Fine," he said quietly. "If you want to prove you're more than a pretty cage decoration, come work for me."
"And if I say no?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Then enjoy your silence, Mrs. Voss."
My fingers curled into fists. "You really think I'll crumble, don't you?"
He smirked faintly. "No. I think you'll fight. That's what makes this… entertaining."
I should've been angry. I was angry. But beneath the fury, there was something else—a spark of satisfaction. Because he didn't expect me to agree.
"Fine," I said, lifting my chin. "I'll do it. But not because you said so. Because I need something that's mine."
He stared at me for a long second, the corner of his mouth twitching—half challenge, half approval.
Then he leaned closer, his breath brushing my ear. "Don't expect special treatment. In my world, no one cares that you're my wife."
And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing through the marble hall like the closing of a deal.
I stood there, heart pounding, the air thick with something I couldn't name.
This wasn't a favor. It was a battlefield.
And tomorrow, I'd walk straight into it.
---
Alexander's POV
I should've ignored her.
That would've been the logical thing to do.
But Amara Voss wasn't built for silence—and that, oddly enough, fascinated me.
She didn't understand restraint, didn't understand the art of waiting. She burned through every room she entered, too stubborn to realize she was standing in the middle of a minefield.
And still, she dared.
When she talked back to me today, fire flashing in her eyes, I almost forgot how much she irritated me. Almost.
I'd offered her the position because it was the simplest solution—to keep her occupied, to keep her in sight.
It wasn't kindness. It was strategy.
At work, she'd see what my world really looked like—cold, ruthless, demanding.
No space for rebellion.
No space for softness.
Let her face the whispers, the pressure, the eyes waiting for her to fail. Maybe then she'd understand what control truly meant.
But a part of me—the part I didn't care to acknowledge—wanted to see how long she'd last.
Would she crumble?
Or would she bite back again?
I leaned back in my chair, watching the city lights flicker below the glass walls of my office.
She thought she was free the moment she said yes.
What she didn't realize was that she'd just stepped deeper into my world.
And in my world… only the strongest survive.
I smiled faintly to myself, voice low, almost amused.
"Let's see how long you last, Mrs. Voss"