Lines We Don't Cross
Lily woke up with a plan.
That alone should have warned her it wouldn't go smoothly.
She stood in front of the mirror, tying her hair back with more determination than necessary. The mansion was quiet, the kind of quiet that made her feel like a guest instead of a resident.
I won't disappear, she reminded herself.
By the time she reached the dining room, Adrian was already there, reading reports on his tablet while sipping coffee.
"I'm going out today," Lily said.
He didn't look up. "You have no scheduled appearances."
"I know."
That got his attention. He lifted his gaze. "Where are you going?"
She pulled out a chair and sat. "To see my old neighborhood."
Adrian's expression tightened. "That's not advisable."
She frowned. "I didn't ask for advice."
"You'll attract attention," he said. "Especially after yesterday."
"I won't bring cameras," Lily replied. "I won't post anything. I just want to go."
"Alone?" he asked.
"Yes."
"No," Adrian said immediately.
The word landed hard.
Lily leaned back. "Excuse me?"
"You'll take security," he clarified. "At least two."
Her jaw clenched. "I said alone."
"This isn't negotiable."
Something inside her snapped.
"Do you hear yourself?" Lily demanded. "You sound like you own my movements."
"I'm responsible for your safety," Adrian replied coolly.
"I didn't ask you to be my jailer."
"That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?" she shot back. "Because it feels like I traded one kind of vulnerability for another."
Silence filled the room.
Adrian set his tablet down slowly. "You're being emotional."
She laughed bitterly. "And you're being controlling."
His eyes darkened. "Careful."
"No," Lily said firmly. "You be careful. I agreed to a contract marriage, not a gilded cage."
"You don't understand the risks," he said. "People are watching you."
"I know," she replied. "That doesn't mean I stop being myself."
Adrian stood. "This discussion is over."
Her heart sank—not because of his words, but because of how easily he shut her down.
"Fine," Lily said quietly. "Then I'll go another day."
She stood and walked out before he could say anything else.
She didn't go to her neighborhood.
Instead, Lily spent the afternoon wandering the garden, restless and frustrated. The air was warm, but she felt cold.
This is the problem, she thought. He decides. I adapt.
By evening, she had cooled enough to feel something worse than anger—doubt.
Had she pushed too hard?
Dinner was tense.
They sat across from each other, the long table suddenly feeling even longer. Conversation was minimal. Polite. Distant.
Adrian didn't look at her much.
Neither did she.
Afterward, Lily retreated to her room, heart heavy. She tried reading, then scrolling, then staring at the ceiling.
Nothing worked.
A knock came at her door.
She hesitated. "Yes?"
Adrian entered, his expression unreadable.
"I overreacted this morning," he said.
She sat up. "That's it?"
"It's not easy for me," he continued, ignoring the question. "Letting people move freely."
"That's not an excuse," Lily said softly.
"No," he agreed. "It's an explanation."
She studied him. "You don't trust the world."
"I trust systems," he replied. "And control."
She sighed. "I can't live like that."
He looked at her sharply. "You think I don't know that?"
Silence stretched between them.
"I won't take security tomorrow," Lily said. "But I will tell you where I'm going. And I'll check in."
Adrian considered.
"That's reckless," he said.
"And this," she replied, "is compromise."
Their eyes locked.
Finally, he nodded once. "One hour. Not more."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Adrian said. "Just don't make me regret it."
That night, Lily lay awake longer than usual.
She realized something unsettling.
Adrian wasn't cruel. He wasn't careless.
He was afraid.
And fear, wrapped in power, was far more dangerous than anger.
As for Adrian, he stood in his study long after midnight, staring at the city lights.
He hadn't lied to Lily.
But he hadn't told her everything either.
Because the truth was simple and terrifying:
The more independence she claimed,
the more he feared losing her.
And that fear was something no contract had prepared him for.