Elena woke to a gray, late-morning light that felt like a reproach. The bed felt too large, too cold with Lisa’s now-empty side. She could hear the shower running, a steady hiss behind the bathroom door. Her body ached with a hollow exhaustion that had nothing to do with sleep. 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 roast of the coffie in his wake.

The steam from the bathroom curled into the bedroom, warm and damp. Elena steped 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 wrapped in a plush white towel, her hair dripping dark streaks onto 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 released that she thought had great potential. The two imediatly returning to their everyday selves. Recovering from the disaster of before.

The conversations continued to flow as they danced a delicate dance around the gaping topic in the center of their minds 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 cuttoff 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 be alone. She couldnt right now, now 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.

Review Point 1

Back in the bedroom, the air still thick with shared uncertainty, 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.

Turning, she started for the main staircase, her hand skimming the polished railing that overvied the grand hall and entryway. As she started to step down the stairs, she caught a glimpse from the shadowed archway of the left wing, movement catching her eye. Her curiosity froze her in place.

From the corridor of the left wing, a young serving 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 a sudden pressure in the 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. 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. The red dress felt too bright now, a flag of ignorance. What had he done to her? The question was a cold stone in her gut. The girl’s tears had been real, the kind that stripped a face bare.

Elena pushed into the dining hall, where morning light streamed across a long table set with silver and white porcelain. Lisa was already there, piling a plate with pastries.

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 it would have, and what she was willing to accept.

After they got a good meal

Elena 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 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, nervous stream. Elena nodded, her eyes fixed on the vacant chair at the head of the table. 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 saw something. On my way here.” She didn’t elaborate. The image was hers to carry, a new stone in the sack of her debt. Lisa waited, but Elena just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find him after. I’ll ask.”

The door to the dining hall opened without a sound. Presley stood on the threshold, his tailored black suit absorbing the light. His peppered beard was perfectly trimmed, his hands clasped behind his back. “Miss Rossi,” he said, his voice a smooth, neutral instrument. “The master has asked that you and Miss Chen join him in the library at your earliest convenience.” His eyes, flat and observant, touched on Elena’s untouched plate, then on Lisa’s wary face. “He is waiting.”

Elena’s pulse kicked hard against her throat. This was it. The favor would be asked for her, before she could even voice it. The price would be named. She pushed her chair back, the legs scraping on the stone floor. The red sundress felt absurd now, a costume for a play that had just turned brutal. She looked at Lisa, who had gone very still. “Okay,” Elena said, the word dry as bone. “We’re coming.”