Ayla's POV
She sat back at last, one hand tightening around her laptop, that side smirk still curling her lips like she hadn't just rearranged the laws of my existence.
Meanwhile, I stood there, awkward and unsure, wondering if breathing too loudly counted as rebellion.
Finally, she looked up. "There."
Her chin tilted toward a couch, not just any couch, but the kind that belonged in a magazine spread about rich people pretending to relax.
Wide, silky, probably cost more than my family's restaurant rent.
"That's where you'll stay," she said simply.
I blinked. "Here? In the living room?"
She didn't answer at first, just turned her laptop slightly toward herself, fingers tapping away, that faint smirk refusing to leave.
I stood there, still gazing around the massive apartment. There had to be more than three rooms here. So why this? Why the sitting room and not an actual room?
"Or you want to sleep in my room instead?" she asked suddenly, her voice dipping low, casual on the surface but dangerous and threatening underneath.
My brain short-circuited.
"What? No, this is perfect," I said too quickly, forcing a smile. "I mean, this couch is, uh, majestic."
It looked big and soft, sure, but sitting on it felt less like comfort and more like being gift wrapped for display.
I dragged my bag closer, pretending not to care, pretending this was fine.
It wasn't. It looked fine, but fine and safe aren't the same thing.
Just as I sank into the couch, Elena's voice sliced through the silence again.
"Lima."
I looked up. "No, Ayl…" I almost corrected her that my name was Ayla, not Lima.
But luckily, I stopped myself in time, because I was here in the first place because of that damn nickname. If she wanted to rename me after a random city, so be it. I wasn't about to die correcting pronunciation.
"Yes?" I replied quickly, a fake smile twisting my lips.
She stood now, tall, deliberate, like she was about to give a press conference no one dared interrupt.
"There are a few things you should know if you're staying here, no," she corrected herself, "while you're staying here. Because you are staying here."
Oh great. House rules.
Except her tone didn't sound like a dorm leader setting boundaries.
It sounded like a mafia husband warning his new bride not to open certain doors.
Her gaze swept over me, slow and assessing.
"Don't get too close to anyone in this school. Don't go anywhere without telling me first. And don't leave this dorm without my permission. You're not allowed to smile or joke too much with other girls. While you're here, I'm responsible for you. For everything you need, you ask me. I'll give it."
I frowned, caught between confusion and fear.
What in the name of hell is this? Is she taking all my rights away?
She paused, long enough for my heartbeat to get ideas, then said softly,
"And if someone bothers you, anyone, you come to me. Always me. Do you understand?"
"Ehn?" I blurted, my mind screaming, Are you my mafia husband or what?
The look on her face was unreadable, and for a second I wondered,
Is she protecting me or claiming me?
Then, as if she read my mind, her head tilted slightly and she added,
"Don't misquote me. You offended me. So only I get to correct you. No one else touches what's mine."
I swallowed hard.
"Right," I muttered under my breath. "Definitely not caring. After all, you don't look like someone who'd protect me. You'd probably be the happiest person to see me suffering."
She smiled, satisfied, the kind of smile that looked gentle until you realized it wasn't.
Then she picked up her laptop, turned, and walked toward her room, leaving the air heavier than before.
I exhaled and collapsed back into the couch, about to melt into it completely, when her voice called out again.
"Oh, and one more thing."
I froze. "Yes?"
"Don't tie your hair in a ponytail."
I blinked. "What? Why?"
She didn't even turn. "Because I make the rules here. You obey them."
And then she disappeared behind her door.
I stared after her for a full minute, mentally screaming into a pillow I didn't own.
I could've argued, could've asked why my hairstyle was suddenly national security, but I bit my tongue.
Anything to keep my mum and my brother safe.
I was here to study, not start a war.
Finally, I slumped into the couch, staring at the warm light spilling from the chandelier above me.
Maybe if I closed my eyes long enough, I'd wake up in a normal dorm, where my biggest problem was girls who didn't know my name, not one who apparently owned my oxygen.
I reached for the lamp switch, desperate for darkness, for quiet.
That was when her door burst open.
"Leave it on."
Her voice wasn't loud. Just calm. Too calm.
The kind that slides under your skin before you notice you're bleeding.
She leaned against her doorway, one hand on the frame, hair falling loosely over one shoulder.
"I like seeing who I'm living with," she said.
I froze, fingers hovering over the switch.
For a second, I almost said it, I can't sleep with lights on, this is weird, let me breathe.
But then I remembered the secretary's words,
"She can make your life miserable. And your family's more miserable."
I swallowed hard.
"Yes, ma'am," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue.
The door closed again, soft but final.
I lay back, the lamp buzzing faintly, my skin crawling as the silence pressed in.
Then my phone buzzed.
I snatched it like it was a lifeline.
"Hi Ayla!" my little brother's voice chirped through.
Instant smile. "Hey, my little demon. How's home?"
"I just wanted to tell you," he said between giggles, "I've taken over your room. Your bed's mine now!"
"Don't you dare!" I hissed, jumping off the couch. "If I come home and you've touched my things, I swear…"
He laughed louder. "I wish you'd stay there forever. It's so peaceful without you."
"You brat…" I started, but my mum's voice cut in.
"Hello, my princess."
"Hi, Mum," I said, lowering my voice. "You doing okay?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Hope you are too."
"Yeah. Totally. Just thriving."
(Under supervision. In captivity. But thriving.)
"Did you make new friends?" she asked warmly.
I tilted my head toward Elena's room. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Be nice to them," she said. "I trust you."
"Always am, Mum."
"Good. Sleep well, love."
"Night," I said softly, and the call ended.
I set the phone on my chest and stared toward the closed door.
"Friends," I muttered to myself. "Not sure I made one, but at least I can proudly say I made an enemy on my first day and got myself a boss."
A boss and master who said I needed her permission to breathe and that she owned my oxygen.
I stared at the bright chandelier, trying to at least close my eyes and rest after my chaotic first day at school.
But the light wouldn't give me a chance.
And amidst everything, I learned what real power feels like,
not loud, not violent,
just watching you
until you forget how to breathe.