CHAPTER SEVEN — CLOSE ENOUGH TO BURN
The first week of living in Donovan Tower had taught Emilia one undeniable truth: her life no longer belonged entirely to her.
Every step she took, every word she spoke, was measured, observed, and evaluated—not by society, but by Ares Donovan. And yet, she had begun to see the layers beneath the cold, calculated surface—a man who was not only ruthless, but painfully human in ways no one else would ever witness.
Rule #5: Maintain the appearance of closeness.
Emilia had dreaded this rule at first. How close was "close enough"? Touching his arm? Standing near him at events? Acting as if she belonged in his orbit without overstepping?
Now, after one week, she understood. It wasn't just proximity. It was performance. Presence. And it burned.
A Morning of Unease
The sun rose over the city, golden and cold. Emilia sat at the dining table, coffee untouched, heart still racing from the previous night's near encounter with Lydia's threat.
Ares appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes scanning the room. He didn't speak at first—he never did when measuring a situation—but the moment he spotted the way her fingers trembled around the cup, his jaw tightened imperceptibly.
"You're tense," he said, voice low.
"I'm fine," she replied, though the lie felt brittle on her lips.
His gaze pinned her. Sharp. Relentless. Stormy. "Do not lie to me, Emilia."
She swallowed. Rule #1. Always honesty. "I… I'm just thinking about today's schedule," she admitted.
"Good." His tone softened slightly, just enough to unsettle her. "Focus. Everything else is a distraction."
Arrival at the Gala
By the time they arrived at the evening gala, Emilia was acutely aware of her role. High ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, and the scent of expensive perfume clung to the air like a warning. Guests whispered as she passed, their eyes flicking between her and Ares as if trying to read the invisible line connecting them.
Lydia was already there. She hadn't wasted any time.
"Ah, there you are," Lydia said sweetly, her eyes glinting with calculation. "I see Mr. Donovan's… companion has arrived. How quaint."
Ares didn't flinch. He merely adjusted his cufflinks, his gaze settling on Emilia with subtle dominance. A silent warning. Do not test me.
Emilia's stomach clenched. Rule #5. Maintain closeness. She moved next to him, brushing lightly against his side—not by accident, but by instruction. The sensation was electric, heat flaring up her arms and chest.
Ares's hand hovered near hers briefly—a subtle acknowledgment, a silent communication. She felt it before she could rationalize it. Presence wasn't just proximity. It was intention.
The Dance of Observation
The gala progressed with its predictable rhythm of whispers, handshakes, and smiles. But behind the surface, danger lingered. Lydia was a predator dressed in silk, targeting Emilia's weaknesses: her inexperience, her naivety, her position in Ares's orbit.
Every glance Lydia cast was a test. Every smile, a trap.
Ares's attention never wavered. He leaned close, murmuring instructions, guiding Emilia with subtle touches—arm, elbow, shoulder—a dance of control and warning.
"You're doing well," he said quietly, just enough for her to hear.
Emilia's heart skipped. Not from pride, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way his presence made her pulse a living thing.
The First Real Threat in Person
As they moved toward the balcony for fresh air, a man appeared—a stranger with a familiar, chilling aura. He lingered near the entrance, scanning the crowd. Emilia recognized him immediately from the previous messages, the warnings.
Ares's hand on her elbow was firm, controlling. "Do not move," he commanded.
The man's gaze lingered on Emilia for a moment too long, then he vanished into the crowd.
"You saw him," Ares said, his voice low, dangerous. "Do not approach him. Do not make eye contact. Understand?"
"Yes," she whispered, heart hammering.
Ares's protective intensity was overwhelming, yet she felt something else—something she couldn't name. Desire? Fear? Respect? All tangled into one.
Rules Tested Again
Back inside, they moved through the gala with precision. Emilia's every gesture was measured. Smile, nod, observe, repeat. Rule #5. Rule #1. Rule #2.
She realized that living by the rules wasn't just about obedience. It was about survival—and the stakes were higher than she had ever imagined.
Every whispered conversation she overheard, every subtle glance Ares cast at her, reinforced the unspoken truth: she was part of his world now, and his world was dangerous.
Private Moment — Vulnerability Surfaces
Later, in the privacy of the tower, Emilia sank onto the couch, exhausted. The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the glass, indifferent and glittering.
Ares appeared silently, as always, yet the tension between them shifted. He didn't speak at first, simply studied her—his presence enough to make her pulse thunder.
"You're learning," he said, voice low, almost approving.
"I'm trying," she admitted, voice barely audible.
He stepped closer, close enough for the heat of his body to brush hers. "Trying isn't enough. You must anticipate. You must survive. You must obey. And… you must endure my presence."
Her heart jumped. Endure? Presence? She wasn't sure if she had interpreted him correctly, but one thing was certain: she wanted to endure it, though she didn't dare admit it.
Lydia Strikes Again
The next morning brought an ominous message:
You're intruding where you shouldn't. He's mine. Step aside. — L.H.
Emilia's fingers shook as she handed the phone to Ares. The storm in his eyes was palpable.
"No one threatens you," he said, voice low, deadly calm. "No one. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she said, swallowing hard.
He didn't smile. He didn't soften. He simply held her gaze, unwavering. The weight of his words—and his presence—made her pulse skip. She was learning, painfully, that this wasn't just about rules or survival. It was about being close enough to burn.
That night, as Emilia tried to rest, a knock came at the door. Security? Sloane? Or something… worse?
She opened it to find a small, sealed envelope with no markings except the Donovan crest.
Inside:
We are watching. Trust no one.
Her breath caught.
Ares appeared behind her, stormy and protective, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You're mine. And I will not allow anyone to touch you," he whispered.
Her heart raced, chest tight. Danger was everywhere. Lydia's games were only beginning. And the man from the previous night? Still unknown, still a threat.
One thing was certain: this life wouldn't let her go easily—and neither would Ares Donovan.