The next day, the penthouse stayed silent until five in the evening, when Georgia briefly returned from a luncheon, dropped off her galleys, exchanged strained words with Noah, and left again for a televised interview. I watched from the kitchen shadows as Georgia left, her shoulders tense, while Noah didn't even rise from his monitors to kiss her goodbye.
The stage was set.
By six o'clock, the blue glow of Noah's screens was the only light in the living room. I had spent the last hour in the kitchen, carefully preparing a meal for him. I had found a stash of prime ribeye in the freezer and russet potatoes in the pantry and soon the scent of searing fat and rosemary drifted through the sterile glass apartment.
I plated the meal carefully, set it on the marble table, then stepped back, visible, but unobtrusive. Noah's mechanical keyboard stopped clicking. He sniffed the air, his head turning like a predator catching a scent.
"Is that… food?" he asked, his voice raspy from hours of disuse.
I stepped into the light, smoothing my apron. "I noticed you didn't have much of a lunch, Mr. Noah. And Mrs. Higgins's notes mentioned you were fond of a proper steak when you're working hard."
Noah pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching. The blue light of the monitors made his skin look sickly, but the sight of the plate brought a genuine spark to his eyes. He sat on the edge of the leather sofa and took a bite. A low groan of appreciation escaped him.
"God, Lizzy. This is incredible. Georgia's obsessed with maintaining the brand, which apparently includes starving us both."
I leaned against the back of a chair, my posture submissive but my eyes keenly observant. "It must be difficult," I said softly. "To have your needs come second to a brand."
Noah looked up, a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth. He laughed. "Second? Try tenth. I'm basically a decorative piece of furniture that she occasionally pays for. She's so wrapped up in being 'G. L. Sterling' that she's forgotten how to be a person. Do you know what time she's getting back tonight?"
"She mentioned the interview could run late, and then there's the after-party for the network executives," I replied.
Noah slammed his fork down. "Exactly. Another night of me sitting here in the dark while she's out being the Golden Goose. She complains about the work, but she loves it. She loves the cameras. She loves people weeping at her feet. Meanwhile, I'm trying to build something that actually matters, something for our future, and I can't even get her to sit down for dinner without her checking her watch every five minutes."
I took a step closer, my voice dropping to a soothing hum. "It's a heavy burden for you to carry, Noah. Supporting someone that successful. Most people only see the money and the fame. They don't see the man behind the scenes who has to deal with the… the temperament. The absence."
Noah leaned back, looking at me with a newfound interest. "You get it. You've only been here two days."
"I see how hard you work," I said, gesturing toward his monitors. "And I see how lonely this house gets when the lights are too bright and the walls are made of glass. It's not a home, is it? It's a gallery. And you're just part of the exhibit."
Noah's expression softened, the anger giving way to a pathetic sort of self-pity that I found revolting and exhilarating all at once.
"A gallery. That's exactly what it is. I'm the tech-genius fiancé on page fifty of her autobiography, but in reality, I'm just waiting for her to have a spare second for me."
"You deserve to be the priority, Noah," I said. "A man with your vision shouldn't be an afterthought."
I moved to the table to pick up a stray napkin, my hand brushing purposefully against his shoulder. He didn't pull away. In fact, he leaned into the touch, starved for a warmth that didn't come.
"Georgia was right about one thing, you are a fan. You actually see what's going on here." Noah said.
"I see you, Noah," I whispered. "That's all."
I retreated toward the kitchen, leaving him with his steak and his bruised ego. As I crossed the marble foyer, I caught my reflection in the glass.
The first crack had formed. Georgia was out in the world, basking in the glow of a thousand spotlights, completely unaware that back in her perfect glass house, the shadows were starting to move.
Noah was the weak point in the hull, the greedy, neglected heart that would let the water in. All I had to do was keep feeding him, steak, comfort, and the poisonous idea that he was a king in a kingdom that didn't appreciate him.
I pulled my ledger from my pocket as I entered my room and wrote a single line:
He wants me. I only need him to say the word and I won't leave him anything to resist.