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 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 roast of the 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 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 immediatly returning 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 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.
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 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 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. The red dress felt too bright now, a flag of ignorance. 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 what if she was willing to accept it.
Elena watched as the servant who came to and fro, 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 the fire, 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, final 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 beforehim. Standing for a moment, 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 leaned 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, 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 firelight 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 felt strange. 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 wasnt. 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. “Feel free to use and wander the premises. Just don’t leave.”
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 he had just built with his rubs, now bursting back open. The maid sobbed, leaving his room. Lisa’s lips on her body. 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 was a physical thing. 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 master conducted the interrogation himself. He is a skilled reader of deceit. The evidence was compelling.”
“What did he do to her?” Elena’s voice was a thread.
“Administrative punishment is standard in the home. Used to maintain discipline. To serve as a deterrent.” Presley’s eyes were empty pools. “The specifics are not my province. 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 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 back 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 dropped from Elena’s face to the sundress, then down, as if she could see straight through to the swimsuit she hadn’t yet put on. Her eyes narrowed, not with judgment, but with the focus of a graphic designer assessing a foreign asset. “You’re wearing something under there already,” she stated, her voice returning to its cheer. “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 traced the line where the fabric dipped, a whisper from the jut of Elena’s pelvis. “Extravagant. Who bought you something like this?” She asked, though Elena was sure she already knew the answer.
Elena stood perfectly still, letting herself be inspected. Leaving the question hanging in the air, heavier than the silence before. Lisa’s eyes traveled back up, taking in the imagined lines of the top beneath cotton, the way it would hold and present. Her gaze was a physical pressure.
“Well, if you're not going to answer, I’m only going to assume the worst.” She says with her cheer, dropping the skirt. She turns and places her old clothes on the desk next to her bag.
The two slipped out the back door, the sunlight a physical shock after the previous night’s gloom. 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 in the water, tethered to the dock. Two large masts raised above it into the air, its sails pulled in and secured. The boat had a large deck, including an area that appeared to go inside. One, she was sure to help escape the weather. It looked magnificent. On its side, the name was now seen. 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. Each taking turns helping apply it across themselves and eachother.
“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. The silence leaves its own peaceful presence.
The cold of the lake had seeped into Elena’s bones, a pleasant 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 gulf between them like a physical ache. 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 quiet 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, freezing everything else. The system thinks it’s working, but it’s just… spinning. Waiting for a kill command.”
Elena’s fingers tightened on the rough wood of the dock. The analogy she found strange, but something about it landed in her gut and stuck there. What was the bad code inside her?
Lisa finally turned her head. Water droplets clung to her eyelashes. “Sometimes, the fix isn’t rewriting the whole program. 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 unwavering, the perpetual amusement gone, replaced by an almost brutal clarity. “The trick is finding the person who can see it for you.”
The silence that followed was different from the peaceful quiet of before. This silence was charged, like the air before a lightning strike. Elena could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She looked down at her own hands, pale against the dark wood, and wondered what the fatal line of code in her life even was. 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 and they may be able to help.” Lisa leaned in and gave a friendly kiss on the cheek. One that felt like her sealing the message.
The two continued to enjoy the waterside, sitting on the dock.
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 landed with a hollow thud.
Back in Elena’s room, the facade began to crack. Lisa went straight for her overnight bag, a practical black duffel beside the desk. She unzipped it, then stopped, her hands going still on the fabric. Her head cocked. “Huh.”
“What?” Elena asked, shrugging off her sundress, the expensive bikini feeling suddenly garish under the room’s electric light.
“Nothing. Probably nothing.” Lisa’s fingers traced the zipper’s teeth. “Just feels… off. My stuff. The placements are different.” She shook her head, the colorful streaks in her hair catching the light. “Paranoid. This place is making me jump at dust motes.” She laughed, but it was short, airless.
She pulled her sleek laptop from the bag, set it on the desk, and flipped it open. The screen bloomed to life, bathing her face in a cool, blue glow. Her fingers flew across the keys, the clicks rapid and precise. Then they stopped. All the animated cheer drained from her expression, leaving something stark and professional in its place. Her eyes scanned lines of text, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“Shit,” she whispered, the word a flat exhalation. She looked up at Elena, the glow of the screen etching shadows under her eyes. “I have to go. I have to be back home in the studio by the morning. There’s a server— a major client who needs an emergency project designed ASAP. They need me in the office by ten tomorrow morning.”
The words landed in Elena’s stomach like stones. The fragile ceasefire of the afternoon was shattered, leaving the raw, familiar walls of the room pressing in. The escape had been an illusion. A temporary pardon. “Okay,” Elena heard herself say, her voice distant. “Work is work.”
Lisa was already moving, repacking with a frantic efficiency. “I’m sorry, El. This timing is fucking apocalyptic.” She shoved clothes into the bag, not folding them. “You’ll be okay here? With… everything?” She didn’t say his name. She didn’t need to.
Elena stood by the bed, the cold from the stone floor seeping up through her bare feet. She watched her friend prepare to leave her alone in the belly of the house. The dread was a physical weight, a lead cloak settling over her shoulders. “I’m under contract,” she said, the words tasting like ash. “I’ll be fine.”
Lisa zipped the bag shut with a final, sharp sound. She crossed the room and pulled Elena into a hard, holding hug. Elena could feel the frantic beat of Lisa’s heart through her shirt. “You’ll be ok,” Lisa murmured into her hair, her voice fierce and low. “I have to go, but make sure not to ignore that phone!” Then she let go, shouldered her bag, and was at the door. “I’ll text when I land.”
The door closed. The silence that followed was absolute, a living thing that filled the space Lisa had vacated. Elena was alone again. The room, with its lavish bed and silent mirrors, began to feel again like the walls of a very elegant cell.