Elena woke to a gray, late-morning light. The bed felt too large and cold with Lisa’s now-empty side. She could hear the shower running, a steady hiss through the arching bathroom doorway. Her body ached with a hollow exhaustion sleep hadn’t touched. Every muscle felt tender, her mind a fog of fractured images—Lisa’s mouth, the shocking cold of the shower, Liam’s hands, firm and final. A note left on the desk. The effects should be gone, and you can take a shower if you please. - Mr. Thorn
A knock came at the bedroom door, soft and precise. She pushed herself up, picking up and adorning the bathrobe, its cool now warming against her skin, calling out a raspy “Enter.”
Presley appeared, a silhouette of impeccable black against the dim room, bearing a small silver tray with a couple of cups of coffee. He set it on the nightstand without a sound. “The master asked me to check on you and ensure you are alright, Miss Rossi.” His eyes didn’t meet hers; they scanned the room, the disheveled sheets, the noise from the bathroom archway, collecting data. After her quick nod, he returned his own shallow bow as he departed, leaving the scent of dark-roasted coffee in his wake.
The steam from the bathroom curled into the bedroom, warm and damp. Elena stepped through the archway. The air was thick, water beating against glass. Through the fogged shower door, she saw the blur of Lisa’s form. For a dizzying second, the silhouette shifted—taller, broader, the shadow of a man standing where Lisa now was. The memory was a hot, unwelcome shock. She blinked, and it was just Lisa again. Elena walked over and sat on the marble countertop, the steam condensing on the mirror as she waited.
The water shut off. Lisa emerged, grabbing a plush white towel and wrapping herself in it, blue and pink streaks on her shoulders. She froze when she saw Elena. “Hey,” she said, her voice careful. “You’re up.” The apology was already in her eyes, a raw, wounded thing. “Elena, about last night… God, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t… we weren’t in our right minds.”
“It’s okay,” Elena said, and meant it. The guilt wasn’t Lisa’s to carry. “It was the drug. It wasn’t us.” She watched her friend’s shoulders loosen, just a fraction. “I just never expected my first time to be with a woman…” Elena let out with a half-hearted laugh.
“Sorry…” Lisa whispered. Not wanting to accept the weight of the situation.
Changing the subject, Elena turned the conversation to other topics. They talked first about art—some of the new creations Lisa had made. Elena shared a new artist whom she thought had great potential. The two immediately returned to their everyday selves. Recovering from the disaster of the night before.
The conversations continued to flow as they danced a delicate dance around the gaping topic in the center of their minds, a man named Liam Thorn. Lisa jumped into talking about the gallery software she’d was troubleshooting. Then shifting and talked about her love of technology. “I’ve always had a thing for digging into systems, you know? Seeing how they’re wired. All of it just a major—.” She cut herself off, her eyes flicking away. “I mean, with graphic design platforms. The code behind the templates.” The cutoff mid-sentence she found strange, but was quickly dismissed as Lisa continued. “I should probably head back today. I’ve got client revisions stacking up.”
“Stay,” Elena heard herself say. The word was quiet, but it hung in the steam-filled room. “Just one more day. Please.” The request came from an internal desire not to be alone. She couldn’t right now, not with what just happened. It was that need for an anchor, for one more day where the world contained something other than the oppressive weight of the manor and the man who owned it. Lisa looked at her, really looked, seeing the exhaustion, the silent plea. She nodded slowly. “Okay. One more day.”
Elena then thinks about how she just threw the offer out without talking to Mr. Thorn first… Her thoughts now running to what new stipulation he would give due to this request.
Slipping back into the bedroom, Lisa rummaged through her bag and pulled out a forest green t-shirt and light blue skinny jeans. The shirt was soft, worn, emblazoned with a graphic designed cat sleeping lazily, its hem cutting off just above the waistband to reveal a sliver of her slim stomach. Elena watched her friend shrug into the clothing, then turned to her own wardrobe. Her fingers brushed past the formal black dress, the crisp casual wear, and found the red sundress. The cotton was soft and gentle against her skin. She pulled on simple underwear and a bra, then let the dress slide over her shoulders, the fabric settling with a light flow that felt like both a comfort and a concession.
“I’m starving,” Lisa announced, her voice striving for normalcy. “Gonna go scavenge the dining hall. You coming?” Elena said, adjusting her hair into two braids. The Blue and Pink, separating on each side.
“I need to speak to Mr. Thorn first. I’ll meet you down there.” A flicker of concern crossed Lisa’s face, but she just nodded, and the two slipped out the door. The stone floor felt cool on her bare feet. Once the two reached the top of the grand staircase, Lisa descended toward the dining hall, while Elena turned toward Thorn’s study.
Arriving at the grand wooden door. She knocked on the heavy oak door once, holding her breath. No response. She knocked again. Nothing. He must be somewhere else. She could almost always find him in his study at this hour.
Stepping away from the door, she started for the main staircase, her hand skimming the polished railing that overlooked the grand hall and entryway. As she started to step down the stairs, a noise caught her attention as she caught a glimpse from the shadowed archway of the left wing. Her curiosity froze her in place.
From the corridor of the left wing, a young servant girl, no older than eighteen, wearing a maid’s uniform, clean and modest, was walking stiffly; her eyes appeared to be red from crying. Her shoulders shook with silent, hitching sobs, the sound raw and wet in the quiet. Stepping right behind her, Liam Thorn emerged, his presence bringing a sudden pressure into the grand hall.
Elena's body moved, pressing back into the stone balustrade. Looking barely in sight, Thorn’s face was impassive, a mask of detached control as he guided the crying girl, not with a touch, but with the sheer force of his attention, escorting her back toward the servants’ quarters in the lower right wing. Staying still, it appeared he did not seem to notice her.
Elena waited until the hallway was empty, until the only sound was the frantic hammering of her own heart against her ribs. She moved down the remaining stairs, her legs unsteady. What had he done to her? Why was she back in his quarters? The question was a cold stone in her gut. The girl’s tears had been real, the kind that she remembered on her face only nights before.
Elena pushed into the dining hall, where morning light streamed across a long table set with silver and white porcelain. Lisa was already there, her plate piled with pastries and jelly.
Elena took a seat, the carved wooden chair cold and hard. The smell of more coffee and baked bread, usually comforting, now felt cloying. She stared at the space at the head of the table, seeing not the vacant chair, but the image of the weeping girl and the man who had watched her cry with the calm of a glacier. Her hunger had vanished, replaced by a low, humming dread. She had come to ask for a favor, to negotiate another day for her friend. Now, all she could think about was the price she would have to pay, and if she was willing to accept it.
Elena watched as the servant who came to and went, all in quick and direct motions. Appearing more tense than she had before. The young girl she saw with Thorn was not to be seen among them. She forced a bite of croissant into her mouth. The pastry was perfect, buttery and flaky, and it melted on her tongue. She chewed, the soft sound loud in her own skull, and made herself swallow. The food was delicious, but she felt like a heavy lump in her stomach.
Across the table, Lisa chattered away about new devices and technology that had been released, her voice a bright, unnoticing stream of conversation. Elena nodded away, her eyes fixed on the doorway through which the servants and cooks would come. She saw the girl’s shaking shoulders. The wet, silent sobs. Thorn’s impassive face, a monument watching a ruin.
“You’re not hearing a word I’m saying,” Lisa said, her fork clinking against her plate. The sound was sharp, a small violence in the sunlit room. Elena blinked, dragging her gaze back to her friend’s face. Lisa’s eyes were worried, the amused glint gone. “Was it that bad? Asking him for another day?”
“I haven’t asked him yet,” Elena said, her voice low. She traced the intricate pattern of the porcelain plate with a fingertip. The china was cold. “I was unable to find him.” She let out the lie. The image was hers to carry, a new stone in the sack of her lies. Lisa waited, but Elena just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find him after. Don’t worry, I’ll ask.”
Finishing the meal, Elena pushed her plate away. "I need to find him," she said, the words tasting like ash. Lisa nodded, her gaze followed her as she stood, the red sundress suddenly feeling like a costume for a role she hadn't auditioned for.
The hallway outside the dining hall had returned to silence. Presley came walking down the grand stairway, and Elena approached him. “Presley, have you seen Mr. Thorn?” She nervously asked, doing her best to hide it.
“Master Thorn just entered the library,” Presley said. “You can find him there.”
“Thank you, Presley.” She said. He returned his normal bow.
Sure enough, she found him in the library, just as Presley had mentioned he would be. Liam Thorn sat in a high-backed leather chair by a lit lantern, a heavy ledger open on his knees. The low flames painted his profile in gold and shadow, his expression unreadable as he turned a page. He didn't look up as she entered, but the air in the room changed, thickening with a silent acknowledgment of her presence. Elena’s mouth was dry. "Mr. Thorn."
He closed the ledger with a soft thud and set it aside. Only then did his eyes lift to hers. They were flat, assessing, giving nothing. He didn’t speak. He waited, his hands resting on the arms of the chair, and the silence became a physical pressure against her skin. She saw the girl’s shaking shoulders in the emptiness of his gaze. "My friend, Lisa," Elena began, her voice too quiet in the vast room. "I’d like her to stay another night. With your permission."
Thorn studied her. The fire crackled, a log shifting in a shower of sparks. He leaned back, the leather creaking under his weight. "Of course," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the space between them.
Her eyes opened in surprise. She had expected a deal. A new contract. Something…
"After the events of last night, I want to ensure you both are ok." He said. His voice a little softer than before. “You two were drugged under my care, and that is unforgivable. Please have her stay to ensure she is ok.”
She stood there, shocked. A sense of security started to grow inside her. “Thank you, Sir.” Her voice quickly let out.
“Before you go—” His voice interjected. ”I command. Come before me and kneel.”
With the thought of the last command flashing through her head, she quickly returned before him. Standing for a moment as she thought to resist and say no, but instead she knelt on the ground. Waiting for the next instructions.
As she knelt before him, he reached out. Taking his hand, he gently stroked across her cheekbone, slowly caressing her face. The touch was soft and warm. Calm and Caring. He then moved his hand and placed it on her head. Slowly rubbing. Relaxing.
His hand was heavy and warm against her scalp. His fingers moved through the thick waves of her hair with a slow, methodical rhythm, parting the strands, the pads of his thumbs pressing in small circles at her temples. The silence stretched, filled only by the whisper of his skin against hers. Her knees pressed against the soft rug, but the discomfort was distant, secondary to the hypnotic pull of his touch. She could feel every callus, every ridge of his palm. She closed her eyes, her breath leaving her in a long, shaky exhale she hadn't meant to release.
The tension she’d carried in her neck since waking began to unravel under his hand. It was a freeing, loosening. Her shoulders dropped. The rigid line of her spine softened. The strength of his arms as they moved next to her. She found herself leaning into it. The scent of him—clean linen, expensive soap, something darker beneath—wrapped around her.
He didn’t speak. He just kept touching her, his exploration moving back to her temples to trace the shell of her ear, the line of her jaw. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth as his hand pulled away. Her lips parted. A silent gasp. The air in the library was cool, but where his skin met hers, it burned.
Finally, he stilled. His other hand came up, two fingers tilting her chin until she had no choice but to look at him. The flamelight danced in his flat, assessing eyes. She could see his face, reading hers. The heat from the flush of her cheeks. The deep blue of his eyes was watching hers. The way she could feel her lips tremble.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.
The question caught her off guard. It cut through the drugged haze of his ministrations. Okay?
Only then did the memory of the maid come back to her. In turn, the night before. Flooding back into her head all the stresses she had. Was she ok? No. She wasn’t. How could she be?
“I’m Ok.” She lied, looking for any escape. Who was this man before her, so kind and gentle, yet so fearsome and demanding?
“Enjoy your day, please take it easy.” He said, his voice lower than usual. “You both should feel free to use and wander the premises. Just don’t leave the premises.”
With his release, she got up, trying to be quick without giving herself away. As soon as she exited the library, she started to run to her room. Everything returned. Like the Floodgates she had just built up were now released with his rubs, now bursting back open. Lisa’s lips on her body. The feeling of the drug and the pleasure it brought. The maid sobbed as she left his room. The Ice of the water. Stripping in front of him. One random memory after another rushed through her head as she raced back to her room.
Reaching it, she found the room empty. She rushed to the bed. She buried her face in the cool linen of the pillowcase, the fabric absorbing the first hot tears as they broke free.
A sob shuddered through her, then another, an uncontrolled wave of frustration draining through her cries. She felt the dampness spread beneath her cheek, heard the muffled, ragged sound of her own breathing in the quiet room. The tears traced paths over her skin, salt on her lips, and she did nothing to stop them.
The soft, precise knock came just as the last of her tears soaked into the duvet. Elena didn't move. She heard the door open, the quiet shift of air, the nearly silent footsteps on the rug. Presley set a silver tray on the desk. The porcelain cup clinked softly against its saucer. The scent of bergamot and steam filled the room.
Presley stood in the doorway, his gloved hands holding a tray of tea. He did not enter. “Miss Rossi. Forgive the intrusion. I felt that some tea would help you with your nerves. Chamomile Tea.” He then brings in the tray. “Is there… any way I might be of further assistance?” The question was perfectly formal, but his slate-colored eyes held on to hers.
Elena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The salt of her tears was still on her skin. She looked at him, this man of polished voids. “How does he treat them?” she asked, her voice hollow. “The people who work here.”
Presley’s expression did not change. “The master is a man of exacting standards. He is… strict. But he has always been fair. The house operates with a clarity many would envy.”
“The maid,” Elena said. The words felt like stones in her throat. “The one crying this morning. The one he was walking back to the servants’ wing. What happened to her?”
This time, the hesitation showed in the smallest break in his precision. Presley’s gaze flicked to the door behind him, then back. He took a single, silent step towards her and spoke quietly. “The young woman in question was the individual found in possession of empty vials of Eros,” he said, his voice lowered to a dry whisper. “Discovered during the staff search this morning.”
A cold wave washed through Elena’s stomach. She saw the girl’s shaking shoulders, the raw, wet sobs. “She did it?”
“She swore she did not know how the vials came to be hidden in her quarters. She was… distraught.” Presley’s words were precise, surgical. “The matter was handled personally by the master. He is a skilled reader of deceit. The evidence was compelling.”
“What did he do to her?” Elena’s voice was a thread.
“Administrative discipline is standard in the home,” Presley said evenly. “It is used to maintain order and prevent recurrence. The specifics are handled internally.” But he is not a man of idle cruelty, Miss Rossi. His actions are always purposeful.”
Elena’s knees felt weak. She braced a hand on the desk. The image of Thorn’s impassive face watching the girl cry now had a frame, a reason. The fairness of a judge, the mercy of a guillotine. Purposeful. The dread in her gut solidified into a hard, cold mass. This was the clarity of his house. This was the price of defiance, or even of being in the wrong place.
“Thank you, Presley,” she managed.
He gave a shallow bow. “Of course.” He turned to leave, his hand on the door handle. He paused, his back to her. “Take care, Miss Rossi.” Then he was gone, the door sighing shut behind him, leaving her alone with the tea.
Shortly later, Lisa found her in the sunlit room, daylight now going through a sparsely clouded sky. The storm had cleared, and the blue skies were returning. Sitting on the edge of the bed, the teacup was beside her. “There you are,” Lisa said, her voice cutting through the silence. “I’ve been looking everywhere. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Elena shook her head, forcing a thin smile. “I’m fine. Just… tired.”
“Bullshit. But we’re not doing ‘tired’ today.” Lisa’s eyes, always seeing too much, softened. “Come on. Let’s get out of this mausoleum. Let’s go to the lake. Let’s go check it out. Sun. Water. Normal people things.”
Elena let herself be pulled up. The idea was too alluring. Lisa dug into her bag and pulled out a simple blue bikini. “I gotta use the restroom.” She said quickly as she took her outfit with her into the bathroom.
Elena moved to her wardrobe, her fingers brushing past the formal black dress and finding the crimson black single shoulder straped bikini from the boutique. The fabric was sleek, cut low on the thighs, and low in the back. She put it on, the cool material snugging her C-cup breasts and slender frame, the bottoms slipping and wrapping perfectly around her behind and hugging her hips. Slipping the Sundress back on, she took a moment to look in the mirror. The brief flash of Mr. Thorn stood behind her, disappearing as she blinked.
Lisa returned to the room. Her gaze moved from Elena’s face to the sundress, then lingered a moment too long, as if tracing the shape of something hidden beneath it. Her expression sharpened—not unkind, just attentive, analytical. “You’ve got something on under that,” she said lightly, her cheer slipping back into place. “Let me see.”
Elena’s hand moved instinctively to cover her stomach, a useless gesture. Lisa stepped forward, her fingers hooking into the hem of Elena’s skirt. She didn’t yank; she lifted, slow and deliberate, exposing the strip of magma-like fabric riding low on Elena’s hips. The cool air hit Elena’s bare skin, raising goosebumps. Lisa’s breath hissed out softly between her teeth.
“Holy shit, Elena.” Lisa’s thumb brushed the sleek, expensive material where it cut across Elena’s hip bone. The touch was clinical, assessing. “This isn’t from any mall. This is…” Her eyes tracked the line where the fabric dipped, precise and intent. “Extravagant.”
Her gaze lifted slightly, sharpening with immediate certainty. “Liam,” she said, like it wasn’t a question at all. “Of course it is.”
Elena didn’t answer. She stood perfectly still, letting herself be inspected, the silence doing the work for her. The unspoken confirmation hung between them anyway, heavier than anything either of them could say.
Lisa exhaled a small laugh—half disbelief, half resignation—as her hand fell away. “Right.” Her voice brightened again too quickly. “Well, that explains it.”
She dropped the hem of the skirt and turned away, already moving on, placing her old clothes on the desk beside her bag.
The two slipped out the back door, and the sunlight felt almost unreal against Elena’s skin after the heavy dark of the manor. The path to the lake was winding, bordered by manicured hedges that gave way to wilder reeds. The air smelled of damp earth and sun-warmed pine with its hint of saltwater in the distance. Ahead, the water glittered, a vast, blue-black mirror beneath the sky. A long wooden dock reached out into the depths.
At the end of the dock, a large sailboat floated tethered in the still water. One mast rose into the air, sails tightly bound against it, the whole vessel resting in quiet readiness. It looked less like a working boat than something waiting to be used. On its hull, the name came into view: Briar Rose.
To the left of the dock, a small area of sand formed a small, private beach. Four beach chair sitting in the sun. A white metal table with four chairs stood under a striped umbrella, and a cabinet stand sat next to it. Approaching it, they opened it to find stored folded beach towels. A shelf held other supplies, including Aloe and Sunscreen. He has everything… Each pulling out a towel, they grabbed some sunscreen, taking turns to apply it across themselves and each other.
“Perfect,” Lisa breathed, already kicking off her sandals. They set up on the chairs, laying out towels. Elena shrugged off the sundress, the sun hitting her bare shoulders and legs with an aggressive warmth. She sat and lay back on the towel, the rough weave against her skin, and closed her eyes against the bright void of the sky. The heat from the sunlight was a heavy blanket, pushing the light chill in the air from last night’s storm.
She first heard the rustle of fabric, then a whoop. Elena opened her eyes. Lisa was standing at the water’s edge, her blue bikini top and bottoms in a heap on end of the dock. Her B-cup breasts were bare to the sun, her skin pale and smooth. “Skinny-dipping!” Lisa yelled, a wild, free sound, and then she was running, her skinny form a blur as she ran down the dock, and she launched herself into the water with a tremendous splash.
Elena sat up, watching the rings spread across the still surface. Lisa surfaced farther out, laughing, her black hair plastered to her skull, colorful streaks shining. “It’s incredible! It’s a little cold; it steals your breath at first, then you get used to it. Come on in!”
Elena stayed on the chair. The water looked inviting, a chance to wash everything away. But the thought of stripping naked, of being that exposed here, on his land, felt like it would be too much. She hugged her knees, the crimps of the swimsuit digging into her thighs. “I’m good here,” she called back, her voice barely carrying over the water.
Lisa swam closer, treading water. “Suit yourself.” She dove under again, a pale flash beneath the surface. Elena watched her, the easy freedom of her body, the way she owned the space around her. A pang of longing, sharp and clean, cut through Elena’s numbness. She wanted that. To be careless. To be just a body in water, to let go.
Lisa emerged nearer the shore, water streaming down her face. She walked out until she was waist-deep, her bare breasts glistening, nipples tight from the cold. She didn’t cover herself. She looked at Elena, her amused glint replaced by something quieter, more serious. “You know,” she said, her voice clear in the still air. “For an intership, this place has a hell of a view. You hit the jackpot, El.”
Elena met her gaze. The sun shining from above, Lisa, cast her in silhouette. The water dripped from her hair and beaded on her dark nipples. The ache in Elena’s chest wasn’t just envy. It was a recognition. This was a moment outside of time, outside of contracts and punishments. A stolen, shimmering thing. And it was the most terrifying thing she’d felt all day, because she knew it would end.
Elena finally stood, the lounge chair creaking. She walked to the shore’s edge, the sand warm and rough under her bare feet. She didn’t undress. She just took a few steps, letting her feet and ankles feel the light waves of the water. The shock of cold climbed her legs, a refreshing feeling that helped everything feel right. She exhaled, a real breath for the first time in hours.
Looking around at the beauty of the water, movement caught her eye from the ledge above. Up towards the manor, she could see a man, relaxing, leaning against the railing, looking out into the water. He didn’t appear to be looking down at her, just gazing out into the distance. After a few minutes, he turned and disappeared from view, appearing to head back to the manor.
Lisa and Elena spent the afternoon like that, suspended in time. Lisa swam lazy laps. Elena eventually lay back in the beachchair, the sun baking her skin through the swimsuit fabric, the plastic pressing into her back. They talked about nothing—stupid movies, a food truck they’d loved in college, the particular smell of rain on hot asphalt. Normal things. The words were light, but the space between them was heavy with everything unsaid. It was a ceasefire. A shared, silent agreement to pretend, just for these hours, that the world ended at the water’s edge.
When the sun began to dip, casting long, cool shadows from the trees, Lisa hauled herself onto the dock beside Elena. They sat shoulder to shoulder, skin damp and cool, watching the light die on the water. Even the quiet felt steady here.
The cold of the lake had seeped into Elena’s bones, a counterpoint to the sun-warmed skin of her shoulders. She watched Lisa, the way her friend existed in her body without apology, and felt the distance between them tighten in her chest. Lisa was all fluid motion and easy laughter; Elena was a locked room, the key thrown away.
“You get stuck in a loop, you know?” Lisa said, her voice cutting through the soft lap of water against the dock. She wasn’t looking at Elena anymore, but at the horizon where the trees met the sky. “Bad code. It runs and runs, eating memory until everything else slows. It just keeps spinning.”
Elena’s fingers tightened on the rough wood of the dock. The analogy felt strange, but something about it landed anyway. What was the bad code inside her?
Lisa finally turned her head. Water droplets clung to her eyelashes. “Sometimes, the fix isn’t rewriting everything. It’s just one line. One stupid, simple line you’ve been staring at for so long you don’t even see it anymore.” Her gaze was steady now, the usual amusement gone. “The trick is finding the person who can see it for you.”
The silence felt different—tight, waiting. Elena could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She looked down at her hands and wondered what line she couldn’t see anymore. Signing the contract? Walking through Thorn’s door? Her brother’s debt?
“My point is, don’t let yourself get caught up in your head. Let others help you.” Lisa leaned in and kissed her cheek—quick, casual.
The two stayed there a while longer, sitting on the dock as the light faded from the water.
The sun was a dying ember on the water when they finally gathered their towels and made their way back up the path to the manor. The warmth of the day fled before a rising evening chill, the shadows between the hedges deepening into pockets of cold. Inside, the grand foyer felt like a tomb after the open air, the silence thick and watchful.
Presley met them in the dining room. Two places were set at the table. Steam rose from a tureen of soup. “A simple supper, ladies, after your afternoon. Roasted tomato and basil, with sourdough.” His voice was the same polished monotone, his eyes giving nothing away as he held Elena’s chair.
The soup was rich and acidic, the bread crust crackling under Elena’s fingers. She ate mechanically, the food tasting of nothing. Lisa devoured hers, talking between mouthfuls about the cold shock of the lake, the way the light had looked on the water. Her words were bright, normal bullets fired into the oppressive quiet of the room, each one landing with a hollow thud.
Back in Elena’s room, the façade began to crack. Lisa went straight for her overnight bag, the black duffel sitting beside the desk. Her hand paused on it for a fraction longer than necessary. Her head tilted slightly, like she was listening for something just out of reach.
“Hm.”
“What?” Elena asked, shrugging off her sundress, the expensive bikini beneath suddenly feeling out of place under the room’s electric light.
“Nothing.” Lisa opened the bag, then stopped again, fingers hovering just inside the opening. Her brows drew together. “It just… feels like—”
She broke off, exhaling through her nose, shaking it off too quickly. “Probably nothing. Paranoid.”
But her hand lingered as she shifted things inside the bag, slower now, more deliberate. Her expression tightened for a moment—focus narrowing, attention pulling inward as if following a thread she couldn’t quite catch. Then she let out a short, forced laugh. “This place is messing with my head.”
She reached in and pulled out her laptop.
The moment it opened, the room shifted with the soft bloom of blue light. Lisa’s expression changed with it—subtle at first, then immediate. The casual brightness drained from her face, replaced by something precise, alert. Her fingers moved across the keys in a rapid, practiced rhythm, too fast to be casual typing.
Then she stopped. Her eyes fixed on the screen. A faint pulse of notification light reflected in her pupils.
“Shit,” she said quietly.
For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t look at Elena. When she finally did, her expression was already rearranging itself—controlled, professional, sharpened at the edges.
“I have to go.”
“What? Now?”
“There’s a—” She hesitated, just long enough for the word to fracture before it formed. Her hand closed the laptop with a decisive snap. “Something’s come up. I need to be back on an emergency project.”
She was already moving, packing faster now, efficiency replacing hesitation. “Uh, this is a big client we’ve been trying to handle for a bit now.”
The explanation was thin to Elena, but the urgency behind it was not.
“I need to be back at the studio by morning,” Lisa added, not slowing. “I’m sorry, El. This timing is fucking catastrophic.”
She shoved the last of her things into the bag without folding anything properly. “You’ll be okay here? With… everything?” She didn’t say his name.
Elena stood by the bed, the cold from the stone floor seeping into her feet. “I’m under contract,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
Lisa zipped the bag shut hard enough that the sound cracked through the room.
Then she crossed the space and pulled Elena into a tight hug. Elena could feel it now—the shift already happening in her, the mental distance forming before she even left the room.
“You’ll be okay,” Lisa murmured into her hair, low and certain. “Don’t ignore your phone. I mean it.” Then she was already at the door. “I’ll text when I’m out.”
And then she was gone.
The silence that followed was absolute. The room, with its mirrored surfaces and soft wealth, felt once again like a beautifully maintained enclosure.