Elara spent the rest of the night shivering in the service stairwell, huddled on a concrete step. She couldn't leave the building; her ID badge was in her purse on the kitchen counter, and the elevators required a thumbprint she didn't have access to for the "down" command after hours. She was trapped in the lungs of the building, listening to the mechanical hum of the Vane Tower, waiting for morning.
As the first gray light of dawn filtered through the small reinforced windows, Elara knew she had to make a choice. She could wait for Julian to leave and try to reclaim her life, or she could find a way to coexist.
By 8:00 AM, the penthouse was silent again. Using the service entrance, Elara peered through the hidden door behind the pantry. The kitchen was a mess—a sharp contrast to the perfection she usually maintained. Julian had clearly searched the place. Her glass was in the sink, and her bag... her bag was sitting right in the center of the kitchen island.
He hadn't opened it. It sat there like a trap.
Beside the bag was a thick, cream-colored piece of stationery with the Vane Corp logo embossed at the top. In jagged, aggressive handwriting, it read:
"I know you're still here. I checked the security logs. No one left the floor after I arrived. Come out, and I might not call the police. Hide, and I'll have the floors ripped up until I find you."
Elara's hands shook. She looked at her bag, then at the pen Julian had left on the counter. She was a nobody—a girl with a mountain of debt and a sick sister. Julian Vane was a man who could erase her with a single phone call. But he hadn't called the police yet. Why?
She realized then that Julian was hiding, too. The news had been full of rumors about his company's failing stock and a private investigation into his disappearance. He didn't want the world to know he was here. He was just as much a prisoner of this penthouse as she was.
She took a deep breath, grabbed the pen, and wrote a reply on the bottom of his note.
"If you call the police, I'll tell the reporters outside that you've been here all night. You want privacy. I want to keep my job. I've lived here for three months and you never noticed. I'm the reason your silk shirts are pressed and your favorite coffee is always in the pantry. Let me stay. You won't see me. You won't hear me. It will be like I'm a ghost."
She left the note exactly where he'd find it and retreated into the shadows of the staff hallway, her heart hammering.
Two hours later, she heard his heavy footsteps. She watched through the cracked door as Julian approached the island. He read the note, his jaw tightening. He looked around the vast, empty room, his eyes dark and piercing. He looked like a wolf scenting the air.
He picked up the pen. He didn't hesitate. He wrote two words and walked away toward his glass-walled office.
Elara waited until the door clicked shut before she crept out to read his response.
"Prove it."
Underneath the words, he had placed a grocery list. It wasn't just a test; it was a demand. He wanted a specific brand of rare Himalayan tea, organic blueberries, and a bottle of expensive Scotch.
Elara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It wasn't a truce, not yet. It was a challenge. He was going to treat her like a phantom servant, and she was going to have to be more perfect than she had ever been.
She grabbed her bag and her phone. She had work to do. But as she turned to leave, she noticed he had left one more thing on the counter: a keycard. It was a high-level pass that gave her access to the private delivery entrance.
The game had officially begun. They were two strangers sharing a palace, separated by walls of silence and scraps of paper. Elara realized with a start that she wasn't just house-sitting anymore. She was living with a monster, and she was the only one who knew he was home.