Elena spent her first night in the new room in a haze. Sleep had been elusive. She listened to the faint creak of the mansion settling, the distant hum of the city beyond the walls. Every shadow seemed to move. Every sound felt sharper than it should. She kept glancing at the door, half-expecting Lucien to appear at any moment. She did not know if she feared him or if she was drawn to him in ways she did not yet understand.
By morning, the mansion stirred quietly with activity. Servants moved through the hallways with careful steps, trays balanced in their hands, eyes darting toward her and then away. Elena kept her hands folded in front of her, standing rigid. She could not forget the way Lucien had looked at her last night. His gaze had carried more weight than any words could have. It felt like a warning, a judgment, and something else she could not name.
She forced herself to move. She could not stay in that room forever. The hallway stretched endlessly before her, polished floors reflecting the sunlight that filtered through the tall windows. Each step echoed in her ears, too loud, too certain. She tried to focus on ordinary things: the ornate paintings on the walls, the soft carpet runner along the staircase, the scent of polished wood and faint perfume lingering in the air.
And still, she could feel it. Someone was watching her.
It was Lucien.
She knew before she saw him. The air shifted, heavier, colder, almost electric. He appeared at the far end of the hall, standing perfectly still, like a statue. His black suit was immaculate, his hair flawlessly combed, his jaw sharp and precise. Every detail spoke of control, of careful construction. But it was his eyes that made Elena's heart race. They locked onto hers, unblinking, and in that moment, her chest tightened. He did not smile. He did not move. He simply watched, and the intensity of his gaze left her trembling.
Elena tried to look away, to pretend she had other things to do. She picked up a vase on a nearby table, dusting it carefully, her movements deliberate. She wanted to seem calm, normal, unnoticed. But she knew he noticed. He always noticed.
"You did not sleep well," he said quietly. His voice was low, clear, carrying effortlessly across the hall.
Elena froze. How did he know? Her nights had been restless, filled with tossing and turning, imagining a thousand ways to escape, imagining a thousand ways he could punish her.
"I… I was tired," she said finally, her voice smaller than she intended.
He stepped closer, and her pulse quickened. His shadow moved across the polished floor, stretching toward her. His eyes never left hers. For a moment, she felt exposed in a way that made her shiver.
"You belong here," he said, not as a threat, not cruelly, but as if stating something inevitable. "And I will know everything you do."
Elena's throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to insist she was not his, that she could not be owned. But the words would not come. Something in him made resistance feel pointless. And yet, part of her felt a curious pull. She wanted to see what he meant. She wanted to understand him, to see if there was anything beneath that cold, impossible exterior.
Over the next few hours, Elena explored the mansion cautiously. She saw servants tucked into corners, glimpsed doors she could not enter, admired chandeliers and the way the marble floors were cool under her bare feet. Every step was careful, measured, as if the mansion itself were waiting for her to falter.
And she felt him there. Everywhere. In the corners of the hall, in the quiet hum of the servants, in the very air. His presence lingered, alive and inescapable.
By midday, a servant brought a tray of food. Elena barely touched it. Her appetite had disappeared the moment she entered this world. She could not eat while he watched. She could not eat while she felt so small, so exposed, yet so drawn.
Then he appeared again. Lucien stood silently by the window, gazing at the city below. He said nothing at first. And Elena felt the pull of his gaze deep in her chest, something she could not name.
"Sit," he said finally, gesturing to the chair across from him. "You will eat."
She obeyed, hands folded in her lap, taking small, careful bites. She tried not to make a sound. Every movement, every gesture, was cataloged in his watchful eyes. It felt suffocating. And yet… it was thrilling in a way she could not explain.
"You will learn quickly," he said, his voice soft but commanding. "You will understand the rules. You will survive if you follow them exactly."
Elena nodded, the weight of his words settling deeper than she expected. Her life had changed. Nothing she had known before mattered now. The world she understood had been replaced by his rules, by his mansion, by his presence.
And yet, beneath the fear, beneath the tension, something fluttered in her chest. Curiosity, fascination, perhaps even a dangerous desire to understand him, to know why he watched, why he controlled, why he obsessed.
She had no answers. She did not even know the questions.
All she knew was she could not stop looking at him. She could not stop feeling the pull of those eyes that followed her everywhere. She could not stop imagining a life inside this world she did not belong to.
As the afternoon sun dipped behind the tall windows, shadows stretched longer across the room. Lucien remained standing, silent but impossibly present. Elena felt trapped. And yet, the pull in her chest only grew stronger.
And in that quiet, charged room, she realized something terrifying.
She could not escape him.