That voice was too familiar… Lisa!
“Well,” Lisa said brightly. Her gaze flicked between them, far too delighted. “I do have to say, the chemistry does seem a bit… aggressive.”
Elena struggled under Victor’s hold. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh?” Lisa tilted her head. “Because from this angle, it looks like you got yourself a pretty good package.”
Victor finally released her. Elena sat up, breathless—and suddenly very aware this was the worst possible moment for Lisa to arrive.
Because Lisa never let things go.
Victor stood up and crossed his arms, watching the new visitor approach.
"Holy shit, El," Lisa breathed, her voice echoing slightly. Then her gaze slid past Elena, still on the floor, and landed on Victor. Her grin turned sharp, appreciative. "And hello. You must be the guy in charge of the robes."
Victor didn't answer. His eyes were cold and assessing with a questioning look.
"Oh, don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you… Yet," Lisa said, winking before turning her full attention back to Elena. Her expression softened into real concern. "You look like you just went three rounds with a cement mixer. What the hell have they been having you do for work?"
Elena closed the distance and hugged her. The familiar scent of Lisa's citrus shampoo cut through the garage’s cold air. It was an anchor. "It's a long story. Mostly just trying not to die of boredom."
"Liar," Lisa whispered into her hair, squeezing tight. She pulled back, holding Elena by the shoulders. Her eyes were knowing. "You're all marked up. Your neck. Your arms."
"Training," Elena said, the word too quick. "Self-defense. It's nothing."
Lisa just raised an eyebrow. She looped her arm through Elena's. "Right. Well, this dungeon is creepy as hell. Take me back to where you're being held captive. I was promised robes and, frankly, I feel underdressed." She threw a last, lingering look over her shoulder at Victor. "Coming, robe guy? I could use a strong man to help me take my things from the entryway upstairs.”
"Presley would make sure your belongings have been taken to Miss Rossi's room," Victor said, his tone flat. "I am not a bellhop." He gave a slight, dismissive nod and turned, his boots silent on the stone as he disappeared down a side corridor.
"Ooh, he’s frosty," Lisa murmured, impressed. "Okay, lead the way, Cinderella. I want to see what changes you’ve made to your room."
The walk to Elena's room was a quiet, hurried affair. Elena felt exposed, every sound of their footsteps too loud. She pointed out nothing, just moved. When she finally shut the heavy oak door behind them, she leaned against it, exhaling a breath she felt like she'd been holding since Lisa arrived.
Lisa whistled low, spinning in a slow circle. "Okay, it hasn’t been turned into a dungeon since I left. In fact, looks like almost nothing has changed." She ran a hand over the silk duvet, peering at Elena. "Alright, jokes aside. Spill. I want all the details."
Elena pushed off the door. Oh no… There’s no way she knows. Her body ached, a deep, satisfying throb from the training, giving her the attempt to excuse herself from the prying question. "I need a shower. I smell like gym mat and Victor's disapproval."
"Don't change the subject," Lisa said, but she flopped onto the bed, making herself at home. "Go on. I'll still interrogate you while you sanitize."
Entering the bathroom, Elena stripped quickly out of her sweaty clothing. She turned the water as hot as she could stand, closed her eyes, and stepped under the spray, letting it run all over her. She could hear Lisa attempting to whistle, somewhere in the room. Lisa never could whistle.
Lisa just leaned against the doorframe, a silhouette through the foggy glass of the shower. "You know, for someone who used to change in a locked closet in gym class, you're being very casual about this."
Elena froze, soap in her hands. She hadn't even thought about it. The shyness, the instinctive need to cover up, was just… gone. Her body wasn't just her own secret anymore; it had been seen, touched, known. The memory of Liam's hands, his mouth, his eyes watching her, flashed hot under her skin. She rinsed off, the water sluicing down her back. "It's just you," she said, but the excuse was weak.
"Uh-huh," Lisa said. Her voice was closer now. She'd come in and sat on the counter just across from the shower. "So. How was it?"
The question hung in the steam. Elena shut off the water. The sudden silence was loud. "How was what?"
"Don't. Don't do that. I've known you since you thought boys had cooties. You have a glow around you, El. And not, like, ‘I have a healthier lifestyle glow. A 'I finally got laid' glow. It's practically radioactive."
Elena reached for a towel, wrapping it tightly around herself. She stepped out of the shower, the cool air raising goosebumps on her legs. She couldn't look at Lisa. "It's not like that."
"Elena." Lisa's voice lost its teasing edge. It was soft, serious. "Your tells are screaming. You didn't flinch when I walked in. You stood under that water as if you owned it. And you keep touching that spot on your collarbone, right…” she walked up and poked her with a single finger, “…there, like it's a secret rememory."
Elena's fingers dropped from her skin as if burned. She saw the faint, yellowing bruise in the mirror, a souvenir from Liam's mouth. Her face flushed, a heat that had nothing to do with the shower.
Lisa saw the surrender. "So. Victor, then? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent Disapproval? I mean, I get the appeal. He looks like he could break you in half. In a fun way."
"No!" The word burst out of Elena, too loud, too sharp. "God, no. Not Victor."
A slow, wide smile spread across Lisa's face. "Ohhh. Oh, shit. It's the boss. The mysterious Liam Thorn." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You slept with the dragon in his tower. Details. Now. Was it… castle-appropriate? Four-poster bed? Suits of armor watching?"
Elena sank onto the plush bathmat, her back against the cold tub. Water dripping down her skin. She hugged her knees to her chest. "It wasn't like that. It wasn't… a fling."
"Okay," Lisa said, drawing the word out. "So it was terrible. Giant letdown. All brooding, no action."
"No." Elena's voice was a whisper. She looked at her friend, really looked at her. Lisa's teasing mask was down, replaced by pure, unwavering focus. It was the look she got when she was hacking a system, finding the flaw. Elena was the flaw. "It wasn't terrible. It was… everything. It was like being unmade."
Lisa was silent for a long moment, her eyes lighting up in even more curiosity. "Okay," she said again, quieter. "So it's serious."
"I don't know what it is," Elena admitted, the truth a raw scrape in her throat. "He's… he's in pieces, Lisa. And sometimes he lets me see them. And other times, he shoves me into a uniform and acts like I'm just an employee. He's at war with a ghost. And I'm just… here. In the middle of it."
"But you slept with him."
"Yes."
"And…?" Lisa pushed for more details
Elena rested her forehead on her knees. The memory wasn't just visual; it was a full-body echo. The weight of his body against hers. The taste of his skin. The broken sound of his breath in her ear. "And it felt like the only true thing that's happened to me in months. Like, I finally understood what wanting was. Not just… theoretical. It was aching. Needing. It hurt."
"Good hurt or bad hurt?"
"Both. It's all and both with him."
Lisa let out a low whistle. "Well, thank god. I was worried. The only other options I had were the cook I haven't met, or the butler… but he's a bit old for you, Miss."
A choked laugh escaped Elena. It felt strange in her chest. "Presley… Oh god no! He is old. Still kind. In his own way. But no!"
"So it's just the devastatingly rich, probably dangerous, emotionally shattered lord of the manor then. Simple." Lisa stood up and offered a hand. "Come on. Get dressed. You can't have a life-altering sexual awakening sitting on a bathroom floor. It's undignified."
Elena took her hand, letting Lisa pull her up. The simple touch, the normalcy of it, made her eyes sting. "What do I do?"
"About the hot, broken billionaire who owns you and apparently rocks your world?" Lisa shrugged, a glint back in her eye. "I’m sure you’ll do what you always have. You survive, you thrive, and you’ll take notes. For research purposes, I’m sure. Now, show me this shitty wardrobe. I need to see what we can do for you today."
Elena followed her into the bedroom, the towel still wrapped around her. The confession hung in the air between them, a new shape to her captivity. Lisa knew. The one tether to her old life now knew the deepest secret of her new one. It made it real. It made her want for Liam, her confusion, her fear, all of it, terrifyingly real.
Elena stood in the center of the lavish bedroom, the towel clutched to her chest. She felt naked again, in a way the towel couldn’t cover. Her voice was a raw scrape in the quiet. “Am I a fool?”
Lisa stopped her playful march toward the wardrobe. She turned, the amusement draining from her face, leaving something older, sharper. She looked at Elena—really looked—at the sweat-damp hair at her temples, the fresh bruise on her shoulder from the mat, the older, yellowing one on her collarbone, the tremor in her hands. “For sleeping with him? Or for feeling something? Hell no to both!”
“That’s not what I mean.” Elena’s throat tightened. “I’m here for work. Everything else… the sex, the… moments… It just makes things too complicated. A dangerous one. So am I a fool for letting it happen? For wanting it?”
Lisa walked back to her, her steps silent on the rug. She didn’t touch her. She just stood close, her gaze level. “Let me get this straight. You, who turned down every guy in college because they ‘distracted from the business plan,’ finally meet someone who cracks you open. And you’re worried you’re the fool?” She shook her head, a single dark strand falling across her cheek. “El, the fool, is the one who never feels anything. You’re in a bit of a fucked-up situation. That doesn’t make your feelings invalid. It just makes them messy.”
“Messy,” Elena echoed, the word tasting like ash. Messy was a spilled coffee. This was a freefall. If only she knew his world could destroy me.
“Yeah,” Lisa said, bluntly. “But remember, you can’t have fun without getting a little messy,” Lisa says with her smile. “And from what you’re not saying, I’m certain he’s just as wrecked by you.” She gestured to the room, the manor, the invisible weight of it all. “This isn’t a normal dating scenario. So stop using that ruler. The question isn’t ‘are you a fool?’ The question is, ‘What are you going to do with the pieces?’ Enjoy the puzzle, El! It just makes life better.”
Elena let out a shuddering breath. The directness was a cold splash, bracing. She’d wanted absolution or condemnation, and Lisa gave her neither. Just a mirror. “I don’t know how to be with someone like him…” Someone who is at war with the world.
“Then don’t ‘be with’ him,” Lisa said, shrugging. “Just be. Take what you need. Learn what you can. And for god’s sake, get dressed. Strategic planning requires pants.” She turned and flung open the wardrobe doors with a flourish.
The inside was a silent explosion of wealth. Silk, cashmere, linen, wool, all in muted, expensive colors. Dresses that cost more than Elena’s first car. Tailored trousers. Soft sweaters. Lisa attempted her failed whistle, not even coming close to sounding right. “Okay, so the dragon has expensive taste. Or his stylist does. This is all… a lot.”
“I don’t feel it’s me,” Elena said, the words small. Thinking of all the options.
“Then we find what is.” Lisa began rifling through the hangers, her movements efficient. “This is too corporate. This is for a gala you’re not invited to. Ah.” She pulled out a simple item: a pair of soft, charcoal-gray leggings and an oversized sweater in a heathered oatmeal. “These. Basics. Neutral territory. Put these on. At least there’s some normal options in here.”
Elena took the clothes, the fabrics impossibly soft under her work-roughened fingers. She dropped the towel. The air was cool on her skin, on the marks the training mat had left. She didn’t hurry to cover herself. Lisa didn’t look away. It was an assessment, not a judgment.
“The big man did a number on you,” Lisa observed quietly, her eyes tracking the constellation of light bruises.
Elena pulled the sweater over her head, the fabric swallowing her. It smelled of cedar and lavender—manor linen closet, not Liam. Not all of these are from Victor… She thought about the rough nights with Liam. “I’ve been training with Victor.”
“Training for what?”
“Self-defence.” Elena stepped into the leggings, pulling them up. The answer was insufficient, even to her own ears. “I needed something active to do around here, to help with sometimes feeling couped up, and Victor’s been willing to train me.”
"What would you be training for?" Lisa repeated, her gaze sharpening. She leaned against the wardrobe door, arms crossed. "And don't give me the 'cabin fever' line again. You look like you went ten rounds with a brick wall. I’ve never seen you so physical. What are you really doing here, El?"
Elena finished pulling up the leggings. She had to find a way to get Lisa off her back. She busied herself smoothing the sweater, avoiding Lisa’s eyes. The question hung, a hook in tender flesh. "Things just changed after I got to be with him. I’ve felt more active.” She said, then working to deflect, “We have talked a lot about me, now what about you? How’s work? How’s… everything out there?"
Lisa’s eyebrow arched. "Nice pivot. Clumsy, but nice. Work is work. I’m designing logos for a new kombucha brand that thinks it’s a revolution. The outside world is still spinning. My love life is, as ever, a series of fascinating disasters. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the fact that my best friend is living in a gothic romance novel, getting manhandled by the help, and fucking the emotionally unavailable master of the house. So. Training for what?"
"It’s not like that," Elena said, but the protest was weak, airless.
"Then what is it like?" Lisa pushed off the wardrobe and took a step closer. The firelight caught the colorful streaks in her hair, making them look like wounds. "You’re marked up. You’re jumpy. You just had sex so intense it ‘unmade’ you. And you’re in a house owned by a rich, handsome man. Connect the dots for me, Elena. Because from where I’m standing, I’m not seeing any issues here."
Elena’s hands went still on the hem of the sweater. Lisa’s gaze was a physical weight, pinning her to the spot. The truth was too much—Liam’s war, Stern, the debt, the training that she wasn’t doing for fitness but for survival. She couldn’t give it. Not all of it. The fear was too thick, the shame too hot. She needed a door out of this interrogation. “It’s just training, Lis. Really. But… you’re right. I’m being boring. Tell me about your tech. What’s the latest disaster you’ve hacked together?”
Lisa’s eyes narrowed, seeing the deflection for exactly what it was. But the bait was too shiny, too perfectly her. Elena knew she couldn’t resist. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Oh, you want to play that game? Fine. But this isn’t a disaster. This is a goddamn masterpiece of personal security.” She hoisted her worn, canvas messenger bag onto the bed with a heavy thump. “You think I came to the dragon’s lair unprepared? Please.”
She grabbed for her bag, the fabric torn in spots and looking like it was barely holding together. She first pulled out her always-too-shiny matte-black laptop. Setting it aside. Then came the rest, laid out on the rug like a surgeon’s toolkit: odd shapes in neutral plastics and brushed metal. “You’re living in a thriller, El. So I brought thriller gear!”
Elena sat on the edge of the bed, the tension in her shoulders loosening a fraction as the focus shifted. “What is all this?”
“This,” Lisa said, holding up a tube of lip gloss in an innocuous pink, “is a stun gun. Fifty thousand volts. Kiss with confidence.” She tossed it to Elena. It was heavier than it looked, cold.
Elena finched as she tried to catch it, then turned it over in her hands once she felt it was safe. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.” Lisa picked up a compact, flipping it open to reveal a regular mirror. “Signaling mirror. Or, you know, for checking your teeth.”
Next came a small, cylindrical device. “Personal alarm. One-forty decibels. It’ll make a grown man’s ears bleed.” She set it down.
“And cool escape tools! Hairpin lockpick set. For when you need a more elegant exit. Climbing grip cream to climb the castle walls. And a flashlight so bright it can temporarily blind someone.” She arranged them in a neat row. “A spy’s best friends.”
Elena stared at the collection. The ordinary objects rendered sinister. A laugh bubbled up, edged with hysteria. “Where did you even get this stuff?”
“The internet is a wonderful and terrifying place.” Lisa’s smile was sharp. “And I have skills. I just wanted to show you my new collection. For my friend in the gothic romance.”
The humor was a thin veneer. Elena picked up the lockpicks, the metal pins fine as needles. “When did you learn to pick locks?”
“Yep, I learned in high school,” Lisa said, her voice losing its theatrical edge. She swept the other gadgets back into her bag with quick, efficient motions—the stun gun, the alarm, the mirror. Only the lockpick set remained between them on the rug. “And right now, I think you should, too. Basic life skill. Like changing a tire.”
She sat cross-legged opposite Elena, took the picks, and selected two. “Tension wrench. Pick. The wrench is your feel, the pick is your touch. You’re not forcing anything. You’re listening.” She handed them to Elena. “Here, I brought a lock set too. Let’s start there.”
For the next half hour, the world narrowed to the lock and the faint click of tumblers. Lisa talked her through it, her instructions blunt and clear. “Pressure, but not too much. You’ll feel it bind. There. That’s one. Now search for the next. Slow. It’s not a race.”
Elena’s brow furrowed, her entire being focused on the tiny feedback in her fingers. The first successful open came with a soft, satisfying clunk. A startled laugh escaped her. “It’s easy.”
“It’s a simple lock,” Lisa corrected, but a smirk played on her lips. “But yeah. It’s easier than people think. Most security is about the illusion of safety. Try it again. This time, don’t look.”
They practiced until the motion became fluid, until Elena could pop the lock in under thirty seconds with her eyes closed, the metallic scent of the tools and the dry wood-dust smell of the door filling her senses. It felt like a secret. A small, potent power in her hands.
A soft knock at the bedroom door made them both jump. Lisa swiftly palmed the picks as Presley entered, carrying a silver tray laden with sandwiches, a pot of tea, and a bowl of fruit. His expression was, as ever, politely blank.
“A light lunch, Miss Rossi,” he said, setting the tray on a low table. “Is there anything else you require?”
Lisa didn’t miss a beat. She took a huge bite of a chicken salad sandwich, speaking around it. “Yeah. Is Dracula Castle’s pool available? I could use a swim.”
Presley’s eyes flickered to Elena, then back to Lisa. “The outdoor pool is just outside the east wing. I shall have it prepared. Will half an hour be sufficient?”
“Perfect,” Lisa said, swallowing. “We’ll be there.”
As the door shut behind him, Lisa dove back into her bag, digging past the tech to pull out a bundled blue bikini. She took another savage bite of her sandwich. “Come on, eat. Then we’re getting wet.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes as they shifted around, preparing swimsuits. Her mind was still on the lockpicks, the simple mechanics of bypassing a barrier. Lisa finished first, stood, and grabbed her swimsuit. “Bathroom’s mine. You find yours. Don’t tell me a place like this doesn’t have a spare suit buried in that wardrobe.”
Elena rummaged through the drawers, finding a simple molten crimson bikini. She held it up, thinking of Liam and how she had last worn it for him. The memory of her and him on the boat.
In the bathroom, Lisa was already shimmying into her bright bikini bottoms. The fluorescent light glared on the pale tile. “You’re thinking too hard, I can hear it from here…” Lisa said, not looking at her directly as she tied the strings at her hips. “It’s a swim. Not some treaty negotiation.”
Elena changed quickly, the cool nylon clinging to her skin. She avoided her reflection in the mirror, the bruises on her ribs and thighs standing out like smudges of ink against her skin. Lisa caught the movement, her eyes hardening for a fraction of a second before she tossed Elena a towel. “Ready?”
The east wing corridor was silent, their footsteps muffled by a runner of dark carpet. The air grew warmer, humid, carrying a faint scent of chlorine. Presley stood by a set of double doors, holding one open. “Enjoy your swim, ladies.”
The pool room was a cavern of green-veined marble and glass. Steam rose from the water’s surface, curling toward a domed glass ceiling that showed a flat, gray afternoon sky. The only sound was the gentle lap of water against the tiles.
Lisa dropped her towel on a lounger and walked to the edge without hesitation. She dove in, a clean slice that barely made a splash. She surfaced, pushing her dark blue and pink hair back, the blue of her suit violently bright against the turquoise water. “Oh, it feels nice and warm! Get in.”
Elena sat at the edge, dipping her feet in. The warmth was relaxing and enveloping. She slid in slowly, the water closing over her shoulders, her hair fanning out around her. The stillness in the water was different. Softer. It pressed in all around her, taking some of the weight from her.
Lisa swam over, the water parting in a smooth V behind her. She flicked a spray of warm droplets at Elena’s face. “Stop floating like a corpse. Race you to the other end.”
Elena pushed off the wall, the sudden burst of motion a relief. Her body cut through the heated water, muscles burning from the morning’s training, the chlorine sharp in her nose. She reached the far edge a second behind Lisa, gasping, her laughter echoing off the marble. Lisa grinned, treading water. “Again. The loser takes an extra drink later.”
They raced until their lungs ached, the competition a simple, clean thing. They splashed water at each other, trying to soak the other more. Then floated on their backs in the deep end, the steam a low ceiling above them. The silence between them now was comfortable, filled only with the sound of their breathing and the gentle slap of water. Elena closed her eyes, the heat seeping into her sore muscles, the tension in her shoulders beginning to unknot for the first time in weeks.
The comfortable silence was shattered as the double doors at the far end of the pool room opened. Liam stood there, a white towel slung over one shoulder. He wore only white swim trunks, and the light reflecting off the pool etched every hard line of his torso—the defined cut of his abdomen, the powerful slope of his shoulders, the dark trail of hair leading down. Elena’s breath caught, the water suddenly too warm against her skin as a flush of heat crawled up her neck and into her cheeks, her mind flooding with the raw, recent memory of that body moving over hers, inside hers.
He walked to the pool’s edge, his footsteps silent on the wet marble. His gaze, cool and assessing, swept over them before settling on Elena’s flushed face. “May I join you ladies,” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the humid air, “in my pool?”