Living together sounded simple on paper.
In reality, it felt like walking through invisible lines Lina couldn't see.
The house followed his rhythm. Breakfast at seven. Silence until noon. Meetings, calls, footsteps echoing through marble halls. Lina learned quickly where she was allowed to be—and where she wasn't.
The study was off-limits.
One afternoon, she wandered too close.
"Don't go in there."
His voice stopped her mid-step. Calm. Controlled.
She turned. "You didn't say it was forbidden."
"I didn't think I had to."
Something sharp flickered between them.
"This is my home," he continued. "And our agreement is simple. You stay out of my work. I stay out of your past."
Lina folded her arms. "Then don't watch me like I'm about to break something."
For a moment, he said nothing.
"I'm not watching," he replied quietly. "I'm measuring."
She didn't ask what that meant.
But that night, lying in her unfamiliar bed, Lina realized something unsettling.
He noticed everything.