The room they gave me was bigger than my entire apartment.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was that it didn't feel like mine.
I stood just inside the doorway, my single duffel bag at my feet, staring at the space like it might rearrange itself if I waited long enough. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a garden so perfectly manicured it looked unreal. The bed was massive, dressed in neutral linens that hadn't been slept in. A sitting area occupied one corner, all sleek furniture and cold symmetry.
It felt like a hotel room designed for someone important.
I wasn't important.
"This is temporary," I whispered to myself, though I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince.
A woman in a black uniform stood near the door, hands folded. She couldn't have been much older than thirty, her expression polite but distant.
"I'm Mara," she said. "I'll be attending to you during your stay."
My stay.
"How long is that?" I asked.
She hesitated, just long enough for me to notice. "As long as Mr. Blackwood deems necessary."
Something twisted in my chest.
"I don't need an attendant," I said.
Mara smiled faintly. "That's not for me to decide."
Of course it wasn't.
She showed me where the bathroom was - larger than my old living room, and pointed out a wardrobe already filled with clothes. New clothes. Expensive ones. The tags were still attached.
I ran my fingers over a soft sweater, my throat tightening.
"I didn't ask for this," I said quietly.
Mara's eyes softened, just a little. "No one ever does."
Before I could ask what she meant, she excused herself, leaving me alone with the silence.
The door closed with a soft click.
Locked?
I tried the handle.
It opened.
Relief washed through me, followed quickly by irritation that I'd even needed to check.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at my hands. They were steady now, but my chest still felt too tight, like I couldn't quite get a full breath.
This wasn't safety.
This was pure control.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Still no signal. I walked toward the window, holding it up, turning slowly like an idiot searching for bars.
Nothing.
I laughed under my breath. "Of course."
A knock sounded at the door.
I startled, heart leaping.
"Yes?" I called.
The door opened and a young man stepped in, carrying a tray. He looked uncomfortable, like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Lunch," he said, setting it on the table. "Mr. Blackwood insists you eat."
I bristled at the word insists.
"Did he?" I asked.
The man nodded quickly and left before I could say anything else.
I stared at the food-beautifully plated, steaming, untouched. My stomach growled traitorously. I hadn't eaten since morning.
I ate standing up, refusing to sit at the table like some obedient guest. Each bite tasted like resentment and hunger mixed together.
Afterward, I wandered the room again, still restless. My eyes kept drifting to the door, half-expecting Lucien to walk in unannounced. The thought made my pulse spike in a way I didn't like or understand.
I shook my head.
Get it together, Elara.
This was temporary. I'd figure something out. I always did.
Hours passed slowly. I changed into one of my old hoodies and jeans, refusing to wear the clothes he'd provided. When evening came, the sky outside darkened into deep purples and blues, city lights flickering on in the distance like a separate universe.
Another knock.
This time, I opened the door without waiting.
Mara stood there again. "Dinner is ready. Mr. Blackwood requests your presence."
"Requests?" I repeated. "Or commands?"
She met my gaze evenly. "You'll find it's easier not to draw lines with him."
That didn't answer my question.
I followed her through the halls, my footsteps echoing softly. We passed rooms I didn't recognise and offices, sitting areas, doors that looked like they hid secrets rather than bedrooms.
The dining room was vast, dominated by a long table that could have seated a dozen people.
Only two places were set.
Lucien stood near the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, jacket gone. The sight of him like that - less polished, more real - caught me off guard.
He looked up as I entered.
"You're late," he said.
"I didn't know there was a schedule," I replied.
"There is," he said calmly. "You'll learn it."
I took a seat as far from him as possible. The distance felt necessary, like a thin barrier between my sanity and whatever gravity he exerted.
Dinner was served in silence. I pushed the food around my plate, appetite gone.
"Eat," Lucien said without looking at me.
"I'm not hungry."
He lifted his gaze, eyes sharp. "That wasn't a suggestion."
Anger flared. "I said I'm not hungry."
He set his fork down slowly. The sound echoed.
"You don't get to punish your body because you're angry at me," he said quietly.
My breath caught.
"That's not..."
"I know what hunger looks like," he interrupted. "And I know what stubborn looks like."
I hated that he sounded like he did know.
I picked up my fork and ate, each bite stiff with defiance.
"Why are there guards outside my room?" I asked suddenly.
Lucien's expression didn't change. "Because there are threats."
"What threats?"
"Ones you don't need to concern yourself with."
"Stop saying that," I snapped. "This is my life."
"It's your life," he agreed. "Which is why I'm protecting it."
I laughed softly. "You call this protection?"
"Yes."
"Feels a lot like prison."
His eyes darkened. "Prisons don't have exits."
I froze. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said evenly, "you're free to leave."
Hope flared before I could stop it. "You just said..."
"But," he continued, cutting me off, "if you walk out those gates, my protection ends."
There it was again.
Protection.
"And then what?" I asked.
Lucien studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.
"Then," he said, "I can't stop what's coming."
A chill crept up my spine.
"You keep saying that," I whispered. "What exactly is coming?"
He didn't answer.
Dinner ended with more silence. When I stood to leave, Lucien spoke again.
"You'll be starting at the university next week."
"That's soon."
"You'll adapt."
"I don't even have my books."
"They'll be delivered."
I clenched my hands at my sides. "You really think you can just rearrange my life like this."
"I already have."
I turned toward the door, then stopped. "Why are you doing this?" I asked quietly. "Really."
Lucien didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was softer.
"Because some debts don't disappear," he said. "No matter how much money you throw at them."
I left before he could say more.
Back in my room, I paced, replaying every word, every look. There was something he wasn't saying, something heavy enough to shape everything around it.
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come.
Hours later, voices drifted through the hallway.
I sat up, listening.
Two staff members stood just outside my door, unaware I was awake.
"…never seen him like this," one whispered.
"After all these years," the other replied. "Bringing her here… it's dangerous."
"She doesn't know, does she?"
"No. And God help us when she finds out."
My heart pounded.
Finds out what?
Footsteps moved away.
I slid out of bed and crept to the door, pressing my ear against the cool wood.
Silence.
I pulled it open quietly and stepped into the hallway.
The lights were dimmed, the house asleep. I moved slowly, following the direction their voices had gone earlier.
I turned a corner,
And stopped dead.
Lucien stood at the end of the corridor, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and tense.
"I don't care what it takes," he said. "She cannot find out."
My breath caught.
"She's already here," he continued. "If she learns the truth about her mother..."
The words slammed into me like a blow.
My mother.
Lucien turned slightly, his gaze lifting,
And locked onto mine.
The call ended abruptly.
We stared at each other across the hallway, the air thick with something dangerous and unspoken.
"How much did you hear?" he asked quietly.
My heart thundered in my ears.
"Enough," I said.
And for the first time since I arrived, Lucien Blackwood looked like a man who had just lost control.