Elena followed Victor down the long corridor in silence, her footsteps echoing against the marble floor. The staff parted subtly as they passed, eyes lowered, movements respectful. It was clear to her now—this house revolved around him. Every breath, every sound obeyed Victor Hale's rhythm.
They stopped in front of a large wooden door at the end of the hall.
Victor opened it and stepped inside. "In."
Elena hesitated only a second before obeying.
The room was a study—dark shelves lined with books, a heavy desk near the window, leather chairs arranged with precise order. The air smelled faintly of paper and wood and something unmistakably male.
Victor closed the door behind them.
The click echoed louder than it should have.
"This is where I work," he said calmly. "And where I correct problems."
Elena's stomach tightened. "Am I a problem now?"
He turned to face her slowly. "You're becoming one."
Her pulse spiked. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"No," he agreed. "Not yet. But you're thinking about it."
She stiffened. "You don't know what I'm thinking."
A slow smile curved his lips. "I know you're not as obedient as you pretend."
He walked closer, stopping a careful distance away. Close enough that she could feel his presence, but far enough that the lack of touch was deliberate.
"I saw it at breakfast," he continued. "The hesitation. The questions in your eyes. You're testing limits."
Elena lifted her chin. "I'm allowed to think."
"Yes," he said softly. "But actions matter more."
He gestured toward a chair in front of the desk. "Sit."
Her fingers curled at her sides. "Why?"
Victor's gaze darkened. "Because I asked."
The tension stretched between them, tight and fragile. Finally, Elena walked to the chair and sat, her back straight, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
Victor leaned against the desk, arms crossed.
"Rule number four," he said. "You do not challenge my authority in front of others."
"I didn't," she protested.
"You did," he countered calmly. "With your silence. With your body language. People notice those things."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
"Rule number five," he continued. "You don't forget why you're here."
Her throat tightened. "I haven't forgotten."
"Say it," he demanded quietly.
She hesitated.
"Say it, Elena."
"I'm here because I signed the contract," she said stiffly.
"And?" His eyes locked onto hers.
"And because you control the situation," she added reluctantly.
Victor straightened, clearly satisfied. "Good."
He stepped closer now, invading her space just enough to make her breath hitch.
"You're not weak," he said, voice low. "Weak women cry and beg. You watch, you think, you resist."
"That doesn't sound like something you want," she said softly.
"It isn't," he replied honestly. "But it's something I respect."
Her heart skipped traitorously.
Victor reached out—not to touch her, but to rest his hand on the back of the chair, close to her shoulder.
"Don't mistake that respect for softness," he added. "I won't tolerate defiance."
She looked up at him. "And if I disobey?"
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then returned to her eyes.
"Then I remind you who you belong to," he said quietly.
Heat spread through her chest, sharp and confusing. "You keep saying that."
"Because you keep forgetting."
Silence fell between them, heavy and charged.
Finally, Victor stepped back. "Stand."
Elena rose slowly, her knees slightly unsteady.
"You'll attend another event this weekend," he said. "Smaller. More private."
Her brows furrowed. "What kind of event?"
"Dinner," he replied. "With people who matter."
She swallowed. "And what do you expect from me?"
He looked at her for a long moment before answering.
"Composure," he said. "Grace. And loyalty."
She nodded. "I can do that."
"I know," he said. "What I'm unsure of is whether you can do it without provoking me."
Her heart pounded.
Victor moved past her, opening the door. "Lesson over."
Relief washed through her—followed by an unexpected wave of disappointment.
As she walked past him, his voice stopped her.
"Elena."
She turned.
"You're learning faster than I expected," he said quietly. "That makes you dangerous."
Her lips parted. "And you?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "I've always been dangerous."
She left the study with her heart racing, her thoughts tangled, and her body humming with things she didn't want to admit.
This was no longer about rules.
It was about control.
And the terrifying truth was—she wasn't sure who would lose it first.