The drive to Kennedy's mansion felt longer than it should have.
The city lights blurred past the window, and the silence inside the car was heavy, the kind that made every heartbeat sound louder.
I kept my hands on my lap, pretending to watch the road, but I could feel his eyes on me from time to time.
Not constantly, but enough to make my pulse trip each time.
When we finally pulled into the driveway, I felt my stomach twist.
His house stood tall and silent under the night sky, its walls gleaming faintly under the soft exterior lights.
It wasn't just big, it was massive, easily twice the size of my father's house. The kind of house that made you feel small before you even stepped inside.
The gates closed behind us with a low metallic groan. My heart sank a little.
Kennedy stepped out first, his movements calm, almost too calm.
The driver disappeared around the side of the building, leaving us alone in the night air.
The mansion loomed above me, its glass windows catching fragments of moonlight.
"Come in," Kennedy said, his voice steady.
I followed him through the front door.
The air inside smelled faintly of cedar and something expensive I couldn't name.
The lights were dim, warm, not bright enough to be welcoming, but enough to show the polished marble floors and tall staircases winding upward.
There were no sounds. No footsteps. No voices.
"You live here alone?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He glanced over his shoulder, his tone even. "My wife and son are abroad. Vacation."
"Oh."
The word felt small, almost swallowed by the silence.
I looked around again. No maids. No guards. No hint of life at all. Just stillness.
It was strange. A man like him, powerful, feared, and yet his home felt empty.
I followed him deeper into the mansion, my heels echoing softly against the marble.
The living room was enormous, the kind you only saw in magazines.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Art that probably cost more than my tuition. Everything was clean, sharp, controlled, like him.
And for a second, I wondered if this was how his mind looked inside too.
Perfectly arranged. No room for mistakes. No room for people like me.
He stopped by the edge of the room and turned slightly. "You're quiet."
"I just… didn't expect your house to be this big."
His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. "You sound surprised."
"I guess I am."
He walked toward the bar counter near the corner of the room and poured himself a drink, his movements deliberate.
The clink of the glass echoed softly.
"You don't have to look so nervous," he said without looking at me. "If I wanted to fire you, I'd have done it at the office."
That should have made me laugh. It didn't. I put my hand in bags as I brought out the reports.
He turned then, his gaze steady, unreadable. "You think I brought you here to talk about files?"
My heart stumbled.
"Actually, I thought it was about this. You mentioned corrections."
He took a slow sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving mine. "Don't be naive, Elena."
Something in the way he said my name made my fingers tighten around the papers.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight, like a warning.
"I don't understand," I said softly.
"Yes, you do."
He placed his glass down, the sound sharp against the counter. Then he walked toward me.
I felt my breath hitch.
He stopped a few steps away.
Close enough that I could catch the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and crisp.
For a moment, he didn't speak.
His gaze moved slowly, studying me, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle only he could see.
"Why are you really at Peter & Co?" he asked suddenly.
The question caught me off guard. My throat went dry.
"What do you mean?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"You're smart, Elena. Smarter than you pretend to be. I've noticed that. But people who hide something usually try too hard to look ordinary."
My fingers went cold. "I'm not hiding anything."
He said nothing for a moment. Then he gave a quiet hum, almost amused. "If you say so."
He turned away, walking toward the staircase. "Come with me."
I hesitated. "Where?"
He looked over his shoulder. "You'll see."
Everything in me screamed not to follow him. But I did.
The staircase curved upward like a silent threat.
The air seemed heavier the higher we went. The walls were lined with framed photographs, some of him shaking hands with powerful men, some of his family. His wife looked elegant, his son cheerful.
I wondered if they knew how cold this place felt without them.
We reached the top floor. He pushed open a door and stepped aside for me to enter.
His room was enormous, easily the size of my father's living room and dining room combined.
The walls were painted in deep tones, the kind that made the light seem softer.
A king-sized bed stood at the center, and near the window, a small bar shelf with a few bottles neatly arranged.
It was beautiful, but something about it made my chest tighten.
"What are we doing here?" I asked quietly.
He looked at me, and for a brief second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes, not anger, but something harder to name.
"Relax," he said, his tone smoother now. "You look like you're about to run."
"I just didn't expect..."
He cut me off. "Whiskey, wine, or coffee?"
"What?"
He moved toward the bar shelf. "You look tense. A drink might help."
"I'm fine."
He poured himself another glass of whiskey and leaned against the counter. For a few seconds, the only sound was the faint clink of the ice in his glass.
"Sit," he said finally.
I hesitated, then walked over to the couch by the window and sat.
The cushions sank softly beneath me. My heart wouldn't slow down.
He took a sip, then looked at me again. "You're not the type who get scared easily, are you?"
"I don't know what that means."
"It means you walked into a restricted room in my company. Alone."
I froze.
He smiled faintly, but it wasn't warm. "You see, Elena, I left that door open on purpose. I wanted to see who'd take the bait."
My blood ran cold.
He set the glass down and took a slow step forward. "And you did."
I swallowed hard. "You, You set me up?"
"I set a trap," he corrected calmly. "And you walked right into it."
He stopped a few feet away, his gaze locked on mine.
"Now tell me… what exactly were you looking for that night?"
My pulse roared in my ears. "I... I was just..."
"Don't lie to me."
The firmness in his voice made me flinch.
I looked down, gripping my hands together. "I wasn't lying."
He studied me for a long moment. Then his tone shifted, lower, quieter.
"You're either very brave, or very foolish."
I raised my eyes to meet his. "Maybe both."
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
He walked closer to me. My heart began to pound. When he got to me, he bent.
He picked up my legs gently, he rubbed his fingers on them slowly.
"Tell me, Do you have a boyfriend?" His focused his eyes on my legs.
"No, I don't," My voice was shaky, I was wondering what he was up to.
"Pretty, smart," He paused for a while like he forgot something, "Curvy... And you don't have a boyfriend,"
"I... I am busy," I paused for a while, "busy reclaiming what's mine..."
"Hmmmm... You have a nice skin, Elena," He raised his head gently as his gaze fell on me, "Never been in a relationship?" His fingers moved slowly upwards, making it's way to my lap.
"No, I have never been in a relationship."
He frowned, something in between surprise and attraction. His fingers stopped moving.
"Virgin?" He asked sharply
I hesitated for a while, "Yes,"
He stood up and stepped back quickly like he had seen a ghost.
"You must have done stuff, at least?"
"No I haven't, I just... I haven't found the right person,"
He gave a slow nod, then reached for his phone on the table.
He typed something quickly, glanced at me once more, and said, "We'll continue this conversation later."
I stood up carefully. "Can I go now?"
He didn't answer right away.
His eyes lingered on me, and then his phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, then at me again.
"Check your phone," he said.
My fingers trembled as I pulled it out of my bag.
A new message blinked on the screen.
Are you home safely?
I looked up, startled. But he was already turning away, his voice quiet as he said,
"Be careful, Elena. Curiosity can be dangerous."