Bettina didn't even touch the untouched tray of perfectly plated food that arrived shortly after she was dismissed. The delicate silver cover felt like a barrier, isolating her in her beautiful, gilded prison. She thanked the staff member with a distracted wave and turned back to her window, staring out at the expansive but suddenly oppressive grounds.
She replayed the entire drive—the tender look in Erich's eyes that suggested a beginning, immediately followed by the cold, final tone of his command: Go to your room. I need to talk to our guest.
The contrast was like a sudden, painful slap. She was a woman, not a child, and the idea that some secret business was so crucial that she had to be locked away while a strange, handsome man lingered downstairs ignited a fierce resistance within her.
After an hour of pacing, she tried the direct approach. She picked up the ornate house phone and dialed Erich's private line. It rang four times before going to voicemail. She tried his cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. He was shutting her out.
The decision was swift and definitive. She wasn't going to sit here and wait.
Quietly, Bettina opened her door and stepped into the long, silent hallway. The house was enormous, designed for impressive display rather than comfort, and the polished marble floors gleamed in the afternoon light. Every footstep felt loud, accusing. She kept to the carpet runners on the stairs, moving with a cautious speed she hadn't known she possessed, her heart thumping a nervous rhythm against her ribs.
She reached the foyer. The living room doors were closed—the same mahogany doors she had closed on herself barely two hours earlier. She crept toward them, the air growing perceptibly colder as she neared.
She paused just shy of the door and strained to listen. Nothing. No voices, no movement, just a profound, unsettling silence. Hesitantly, she reached for the handle.
Before her fingers could connect, the door swung inward.
Erich stood there, motionless. He looked exactly as he had when he dismissed her—serious, cold, and utterly detached. He wasn't surprised; he simply looked waiting.
"Bettina," he said, his voice flat. "I thought I instructed you to stay in your room."
His tone cut her more deeply than his secrecy. She didn't flinch, standing her ground. "I wasn't hungry, and I couldn't study," she said, managing to keep her voice level, even defiant. "I came down for a simple explanation, Erich. Who was your guest? And why did you treat me like a subordinate the second we walked through that door?"
Erich stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him to ensure privacy, though Bettina had a feeling privacy was the last thing he worried about in his own house. He walked past her toward the far wall, where a centuries-old tapestry depicted a scene of a star-filled night sky.
"The guest, Arnold, was a family member," Erich stated, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. "He had business with me that did not concern you, Bettina. The way I treated you was simply a necessary function of business."
"Necessary?" she scoffed, following him, her frustration bubbling over. "You practically pushed me out of the room! I felt a connection with you in that car, Erich, a genuine moment, and then you just turn it off? I deserve to know why you suddenly become this...chairman figure when we're alone."
Erich finally turned, his silver-gray eyes boring into hers. The look in them was not anger, but a profound, weary intensity that made her instinctively take a step back.
"That connection you felt," Erich said, his voice barely a murmur, "is real. And precisely because it is real, you need to understand the new rules." He took a step toward her, forcing her to look up at him. "There are layers to my life, Bettina, and to this world, that you cannot comprehend. That man, Arnold, was here to remind me of sacrifices I must make, and dangers you cannot face."
He paused, the immense weight of the statement hanging between them. "I was not pushing you away because I don't care. I was protecting you. You are human, Bettina. You are fragile. And if you are going to stay here—which you will—you must learn to obey when I give an order. My decisions are not up for debate. They are for your survival."
Bettina felt a sharp sting of tearstears, not from fear, but from the sudden, stark realization of how vast the gulf between them truly was. "You call me fragile," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But I'm not some glass ornament you can put on a shelf and hide when the world gets complicated. I am part of this, Erich. Tell me the truth. Is this about Bennett Holdings? Or is it something else entirely?"
Erich's jaw tightened. He reached out, his long fingers stopping just short of her cheek. He needed to be cold, he needed to make her leave, but her pain was a physical wrench in his centuries-old heart.
"Go to your room, Bettina," he commanded, his voice rougher this time, laced with a genuine strain she hadn't heard before. "The only truth you need to know today is that I am the only shield you have. Do not question it again."