The prescribed outfit was soft as the skirt flowed against her knees. Elena stood in the foyer, the marble leeching warmth through her thin soles, waiting for her friend’s arrival. Her excitement was barely held in as she waited alone in the grand hall.
Two days ago, she had woken in a clinic bed with Liam Thorn’s blood under her nails. The rest came in fragments—the knife, the sound of her own scream, the moment everything stopped making sense—and none of it had settled into something she could hold still in her mind.
She had not seen Mr. Thorn since.
And now she was standing in his house, in clothes he'd paid for, waiting for her best friend to visit like everything was fine, with him nowhere in sight.
She pressed her palm flat against her stomach until the tension eased enough to pass for calm.
The day after the attack had been strange. Elena had woken in her room at the manor, disoriented, her body heavy with the memory of sedatives. She'd lain in bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the knock that never came. No Liam. No summons. No command.
Presley had informed her at breakfast that Mr. Thorn was away on business and that she had the day off. The words had felt foreign. A day off. In this house. She hadn't known what to do with herself, so she'd drifted to the kitchen, where Marta was already reviewing a stack of invoices at the center island.
"You look lost, child," Marta said without looking up.
"I have the day off, and I'm trying to think of something to do."
Marta snorted. "Then stop hovering and help."
Before Elena could protest, Marta slid a clipboard across the counter.
"Delivery order arrives in twenty minutes. Pantry stock. Garden supplies. Housekeeping requested extra linens. Someone has to make sure everything ends up where it belongs."
Elena glanced at the pages. "You run all of this?"
"Someone has to. Men like Mr. Thorn think food simply appears when they're hungry."
Elena laughed at the thought.
Marta's mouth twitched. "Don't tell him I said that."
"I thought you weren't afraid of him."
“Afraid?” Marta finally looked up, unimpressed. “I’ve worked in this house long enough to know better than to be intimidated by him.”
The phrasing made Elena pause.
“Better?”
Marta gave a small shrug, already turning back to her list. “People talk like he’s unpredictable. He isn’t. Not if you understand how this place runs.”
“I don’t think anyone has called Liam Thorn predictable in a long time.”
“That’s because most people don’t bother to understand him,” Marta said simply.
Twenty minutes later, a delivery truck rolled up the drive.
What followed was several hours of carrying crates, sorting inventory, and receiving enough supplies that would easily feed her for a good month. Marta directed the operation with absolute authority.
"Pantry. Cellar. Kitchen.” She would direct each maid and servant helping unload the truck.
“On the shelf. No, child, the other shelf." Elena moved the box from one shelf to another.
"That one there."
"You could have said that the first time."
"But where is the fun in that? "
By midmorning, Elena had stopped arguing and simply followed instructions.
Between deliveries, Marta showed her parts of the manor she hadn't seen before. Storage rooms tucked behind the kitchens. A walk-in freezer larger than Elena's old office. A greenhouse on the west side of the kitchen, where herbs grew year-round beneath glass and carefully controlled heat.
"You actually use all of this?" Elena asked. Thinking of all the food.
"Of course."
"For how many people?"
"Depends on the week." Marta checked an inventory sheet. "Staff. Security. Guests. Sometimes business associates."
Elena eyed another pallet waiting to be unloaded.
"I'm beginning to think Mr. Thorn owns enough food to survive an apocalypse."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Marta says with a smile.
The morning passed more quickly than she'd expected. The work was simple, the conversation easy, and for a few hours she found herself doing something she hadn't done much since arriving at the manor:
Living. Not worrying or planning.
Just living.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of library corners and sketchbook pages. She moved between shelves and sunlit windows, claiming quiet corners of the manor like they were her own. Books were opened and forgotten, sketches started and abandoned, the hours passing easily enough that she stopped noticing them at all.
Now Friday was here, and the clock read eleven forty-nine, and Elena was back in the grand hall, waiting for the first piece of her old life to step through the door.
The front door was solid oak, dark and heavy, with iron hinges that looked older than the country itself. She stared at it. Imagine Lisa on the other side, probably already buzzing with energy, probably already talking to the gate guard about his haircut or his car or the way the sunlight caught his sunglasses. That was Lisa. She turned every interaction into an adventure.
Elena's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out.
At the gate. This place is INSANE. Tell me there's a moat.
A laugh escaped her, quick and startled. She typed back: No moat. Disappointed?
Devastated. Be there in 2. Prepare for hugs.
Elena smiled, thinking of Lisa’s tight hugs and how she missed them. Pocketed the phone. Took a breath.
The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn.
Liam stood at the base of the grand staircase, one hand resting on the banister, his presence filling the archway like a shadow given weight. He wore a blue suit, tailored as always, jacket open over a white shirt with the top button undone. No tie. The collar sat loose at his throat, and her gaze caught—briefly—on the faint bandage still visible beneath the fabric.
A reminder.
The air seemed to leave her lungs.
“You’re back,” she said, flat enough to give nothing away.
“I am.” His voice was steady, low, unhurried—like nothing had shifted in the world at all. “Are you ready for your guest?”
She gave a small nod. Neither of them moved for a moment, the silence holding until a vehicle sounded outside, drawing closer to the front drive.
Liam came to stand just behind her left shoulder.
Close enough that she felt him before she registered him. His posture was composed, gaze fixed on the grand oak doors, expression set into that familiar, impenetrable calm. The bandage beneath his shirt remained only a suggestion under the fabric, not something he acknowledged.
The space between them should have felt like distance.
Instead, it felt thinner.
Then his hand settled at the arch of her back.
Light. Controlled. Not quite a touch that asked permission, not quite one that needed it.
Elena stiffened at the contact, breath catching before she could stop it. Warmth spread where his fingers rested, an unsettling contrast to the stillness of his expression.
The doorbell chimed—deep, resonant—cutting clean through her thoughts and making her jump.
Thorn pulled his hand back and moved. Not in a hurry, but with quick efficiency. He walked to the door and opened it himself.
Lisa stood on the threshold, a splash of vibrant color against the grey stone and stormy sky. Her black hair was streaked with electric blue and bright pink, hanging loosely over her shoulders and tattered backpack. Her eyes went wide, taking in the soaring ceiling, the crystal chandelier, and the sheer scale of the entryway. “Holy shit, El,” she breathed, a grin spreading across her face. She then looked at Elena, and her eyes went wider. “Oh damn, I don’t think I’ve seen you wear something so cute in your life… What hunk got you to do that?”
Then her gaze landed on Liam. Elena watched it happen. Lisa’s assessing, appreciative look. The slight tilt of her head. The shift in her posture from awed tourist to engaged, flirtatious guest. “You must be Mr. Thorn,” Lisa said, stepping inside and extending a hand. “Elena’s talked so much about this amazing opportunity. I’m Lisa.”
“Please, call me Liam,” he said, taking her hand, bringing it up to leave a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. The sight made Elena twitch. He was being really friendly towards her… His voice was that low, pleasant baritone he used for clients. “Welcome. Elena has been an invaluable addition. He released Lisa’s hand and placed his hands at his sides.
“Lisa. I’m so glad you’re here.” Elena chimed in.
“Are you kidding? This place is insane.” Lisa’s eyes darted around, missing nothing. “An internship? You hit the jackpot and didn’t even tell me the details!”
“It happened very quickly,” Elena said, the rehearsed lines feeling like ash in her mouth. “Mr. Thorn’s company already helps create support for emerging artists. My background lined up with what they needed.”
“She’s modest,” Liam interjected, his hand secretly shifting behind Elena’s form from Lisa’s sight, his thumb making a slow, deliberate arc against her spine. “Her eye is exceptional. I knew I had to secure her exclusively.”
Lisa laughed, a bright, easy sound. “That sounds like Elena. Always the best, but never the braggart.” She looked at Liam, her gaze openly admiring. “And you’re, what, mentoring her? Personally?”
“Personally,” Liam confirmed, his blue eyes holding Lisa’s for a beat too long before returning to Elena. His hand remained. “I take a very hands-on approach with her development.”
“Hands, oh, huh.” Elena could hear Lisa half-mumble, half-giggle under her breath. Something she was unsure if Thorn had heard.
Elena stood between them, wearing the costume, speaking the lines, feeling the memory of his hand burn through the fabric. She saw her oldest friend seeing the beautiful, convincing lie, and the part of her that was still Elena Rossi quietly folded in on itself, becoming part of the scenery.
“Shall we give Lisa the tour?” Liam’s voice cut through the performance. He gestured toward the grand hallway leading deeper into the manor. “The grounds are particularly striking before a storm.”
Lisa beamed. “Lead the way, Mr. Thorn.”
Elena fell into step beside her friend. Liam led them through the familiar spaces—the cavernous, book-lined library, the severe study with its monolithic desk, the formal dining hall with its table for twenty. He narrated with the detached precision of a museum docent. “The foundation’s archival collection,” he said in the library. Lisa oohed at the right moments, but her eyes kept drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the darkening sky beyond.
“And outside?” Lisa prompted, her curiosity piqued.
Liam’s mouth curved into a faint, approving smile. “Of course.” Heading back downstairs, he opened a set of doors in the back of the dining hall, leading onto a wide stone balcony. The wind caught them immediately, carrying the scent of ozone and wet pine. Below, the land fell away to a slate-grey lake, its surface waving around from the approaching storm. It stretched far wider than it ever had from her window—miles of slate water disappearing into the storm. She wouldn’t be surprised to find the lake connecting to the nearby Sea. There was a flagstone path winding down to a private dock, hidden from the view of her room, where a sleek, white, large sailboat strained against its lines. “The estate’s greatest asset is the view,” Liam said, his voice almost lost to a rumble of thunder in the distance.
Elena gripped the cold balustrade. She had seen this vista only from the high windows of her room. Here, exposed, the scale of his world—of her cage—was disappearing—the lake, the forest, the distant mountains, all his. Lisa leaned out, her colorful hair whipping around her face. “This is unreal. You get to look at this every day, El?”
She hadn’t been chained. Not really. The manor had never locked her in, never barred the doors, never forced her to stay within her room. Thinking back, she could move through most of it freely—quiet corridors, the library, the kitchens—like the space had been hers to navigate.
Except once. When she’d drifted too close to the hall leading toward his private quarters, Presley had appeared without urgency or surprise. Calm as ever. He’d simply informed her, politely, that no one entered that section without Mr. Thorn’s direct permission.
And that had been enough.
Before Elena could form an answer, Liam was moving again, guiding them along a covered walkway that skirted the side of the manor. They walked towards the east side of the manor and turned a corner, and Elena stopped. Tucked against the house was a secluded courtyard surrounded by shrubbery. A rectangular pool, its water dark and stirred by the wind, flanked by a sunken hot tub that steamed defiantly into the cool air. Plush lounge chairs and a seating area under a large cantilevered umbrella stood ready, an oasis of leisure she never imagined existed here.
“A more casual amenity,” Liam said, his eyes on Elena’s face, watching her discovery. “Though sadly more rarely used.”
Lisa laughed, walking over to dip her fingers in the hot tub. “Man, if I lived here, I’d be in this thing constantly. With a drink.” She looked back at Liam, her expression playful. “You ever have pool parties, Mr. Thorn?”
“The foundation has hosted benefactor events here,” he said, his gaze sliding from Lisa to Elena. “I plan for Elena to assist with the next one.”
The memory of the swimsuit tightened something in her stomach, its little coverage creating a pit in Elena’s stomach. Now she knew its purpose.
Lisa’s smile didn’t falter, but she seemed to register the tension thrumming in the air beside her. She looked at Elena, really looked, her playful glint softening into concern. “Are you okay? You’re quiet. Quieter than usual.”
Elena opened her mouth, a denial ready. But Liam spoke first, his voice a gentle, intrusive blanket. “The internship has been demanding. She pushes herself tirelessly. She has deserved this respite.” He took a step closer to Elena, not touching her, but his presence was a wall surrounding her. “Perhaps we should move inside. The rain is coming.”
With the statement of his words, a few fat, cold drops began to fall, splattering on the stone. Lisa nodded, pulled her jacket tighter, took the lead, and started to head inside. As they turned to retreat into the manor, Liam’s hand came to rest, light and so gentle, on the curve of Elena’s waist. A silent command. A claim. She walked beside him, feeling Lisa’s confused gaze on them, feeling the warmth of his hand pressing against her, guiding her inside.
Liam guided them back into the foyer, his hand leaving Elena’s waist only when Lisa turned to face them. “The conversation can continue over lunch,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of a gracious host. “I’ve had something prepared in the dining room. Lisa, I’d like to hear more about your work. Elena speaks highly of your creativity.”
Lisa’s eyes lit up, the invitation erasing her earlier concern. “I’m a graphic designer. Freelance. Mostly branding for indie bands and small galleries.” She followed him through an archway back into the dining hall with the table set for three. “It’s chaotic, but I love it.”
Lisa took the seat Liam held out for her, the simple courtesy feeling like another layer of the performance. A uniformed staff member served a chilled soup and delicate sandwiches. Lisa dove into stories about difficult clients and last-minute deadlines, her hands painting shapes in the air. Liam listened, his gaze attentive, asking precise questions about software and market viability. He made it sound like a business meeting. Like it was normal.
“And your personal life?” Liam asked, taking a sip of water. “Such a demanding schedule must leave little time for relationships.”
Lisa laughed, a little too brightly. “Oh, you know. Here and there. Nothing serious.” She glanced at Elena, a silent question in her look. “What about you, Mr. Thorn? This incredible house feels… very solo.”
“My focus is my work,” he said, his eyes sliding to Elena as Lisa looked away to take a bite. His glance returned before she looked up. “And the development of my investments. It requires singular attention.”
The word ‘investments’ landed on Elena’s skin like a physical touch. Like a hand slipping across her skin. She traced the rim of her water glass, the cool condensation wetting her fingertip. Lisa, emboldened by the wine she’d been poured, leaned forward. “So this mentorship. Is it, like, all work? Or do you two ever… unwind?”
The air in the room changed. It became still, charged. Liam set down his fork. “Elena is under considerable pressure to excel. Her dedication is commendable.” His voice was smooth, but the subtext was a wall around them. “I have noticed she does need direct guidance. She appears to need order. Routine. Clear boundaries.”
She took a moment to think about his words. She looked at Lisa, who was watching her, waiting for the friend she knew to say something sarcastic, to roll her eyes. Instead, she just watched, slowly sipping soup from her spoon.
Lisa’s playful smile finally faded. She looked between them, the dynamic now clear and unsettling. The charming boss, the silent protégé. The hand on the waist. The rehearsed answers. “Right,” Lisa said slowly. She pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. “Well. It sounds intense.”
Liam observed the shift, the crack in the facade of a pleasant visit. He didn’t seem displeased. He seemed… satisfied. “All meaningful things are, Lisa,” he said, standing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Lisa, please enjoy your visit. I’ll leave the afternoon to yourselves.” He gave a curt, polite nod. “A pleasure, Lisa.”
He left, and the warmth of his presence disappeared. The room felt both emptier and heavier. The silence he left behind was filled by the drumming rain against the windows. Lisa stared at the doorway he’d vanished through, then turned to Elena. Her expression was stripped of all its earlier levity. “El,” she said, her voice low and serious. “What the hell is really going on here?”
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Elena said, the lie smooth and practiced now. She forced a small, tired smile. “A demanding internship with a brilliant, demanding man. I’m just… adjusting.” She traced the condensation on her glass, avoiding Lisa’s searching eyes. Then her mind was thinking: Why did I say brilliant?
Lisa watched her for a long moment, then sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Okay. Okay, sorry. I just… you’re so quiet. And he’s so intense. It threw me... But god is he H-O-T!” She pushed back from the table, her playful glint returning. “Can I see your room? I need to see where the magic—or the grinding pleasure—happens.”
“There’s no grinding pleasure, L,” Elena says, letting out a sigh. Using her nickname L when she was being too ridiculous.
Getting up from the table, Elena led her upstairs. Lisa’s gasp upon entering the suite was genuine. “Holy shit, El. Is this a room? For an Intern? This is practically a penthouse!” She rushed to the wall of windows, pressing her hands against the glass. “This view. It’s like you’re living inside a painting. A stormy, terrifying painting based on the looks of the outside.” Sure enough, the storm outside appeared to be intensifying. Water coming down hard, clouds rumbling in the distance.
She disappeared into the bathroom, and Elena heard another, louder gasp and yelling from the attached bathroom. “A soaking tub? And this shower? Your bathroom is bigger than my kitchen!” Lisa popped her head back out, her eyes wide. “Okay, the internship is officially worth it. I don’t care how intense he is. You get to relax in here every day.”
Elena sat on the edge of the vast bed, the duvet impossibly soft under her hands. She felt the ghost of Liam’s thumb on her spine. “It’s just a room, Lis.” Shifting to her more normal nickname of use.
“It’s not just a room,” Lisa mocked, flopping onto a plush armchair. She kicked off her shoes, tucking her feet beneath her. “It’s a statement. And so is he.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So. Spill. There’s something there, right? Between you two? All that ‘hands-on approach’. That did not feel like just boss energy.”
Elena’s heart thumped once, hard. “It’s just professional. He’s my employer. That’s all.” The deflection came out clearer than she expected. So she grasped for a new subject, directing it back to Lisa. “Tell me about the new gallery project you mentioned. The one with the neon installations. How’s the branding going?”
Lisa’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unusual crossing her face before she covered it with a bright smile. “Oh, it’s great! The client is a nightmare, wants everything to ‘vibrate with existential angst’ but also be ‘commercially viable.’ You know the type.” She launched into a detailed story about font choices and color theory, her hands sketching shapes in the air. The details, the frustrations. Elena listened, nodding in the right places, listening to her long story.
Lisa opened up her backpack. It definitely looked worse for wear. The bag looked full as she opened it up and slipped out her fancy laptop. She opened it up and booted it up efficiently. A series of digits and random numbers appeared for a moment, she quickly closed out of it, and shifted to open some of the graphic diagrams she had been working on.
Elena leaned closer, the laptop screen's glow washing over her face, turning the green of her eyes electric. The design was a riot—neon pink slashes cutting through a field of deep violet, fragmented text overlaid on a distorted photograph of a downtown alley. It was raw, ugly in a way that hurt to look at, and absolutely beautiful at the same time.
"The kerning on the manifesto text is too tight," Elena said, her voice barely above a whisper, her finger hovering over the pixel of a stray semicolon.
Lisa grinned, her fingers flying across the trackpad to adjust it. "Knew you'd catch that. You're the only person who speaks font." The compliment landed like a warm stone in Elena's chest, solid and real in a world of silk and shadows.
Lisa launched into the backstory—the client's wife hated the color, the gallery director wanted something "softer," the whole project was a war between commerce and vision. Elena listened, nodding, offering a sharp critique here, a laugh there. She traced the arc of a neon brushstroke on the screen, her thumb pressing against the glass as if she could reach through and touch the world on the other side.
The two talked for hours. Sharing stories back and forth of clients, art, and Lisa talking about the guys and girls she recently had ‘expositions’ with. Art was the one topic the two could go on for hours. Though their tastes were different, with Elena favoring classical and older arts. Lisa loved the modern and vibrant designs, even enough to argue that most graffiti should be legal. As long as it looked good enough.
Outside, the rain intensified, sheeting down on the window and blurring the world outside into grey and green smears. Lisa’s story wound down. She looked at Elena, her gaze softening. “You love the actual art, El. It’s exactly the kind of raw, boundary-pushing stuff we used to hunt for.” The words ‘used to’ hung in the air, a quiet indictment.
“What makes you think I stopped?” Elena laughed.
“You can tell me, you know,” she said, her voice barely audible over the rain. “If there's something—
*BOOM* - A large crackling sound interrupted her from outside. Both of them looked out the window. The sky was dark, and the weather was bending and pushing the trees heavily. Lisa stood, walking back to the window. She watched the storm for a long, silent minute.
"It's getting bad," Lisa said, her breath fogging the glass. "I should probably head out before it gets worse."
Elena's hand shot out, gripping Lisa's wrist. "No. It's too dangerous. Driving up here in this?" She shook her head, the movement sharp. "I'll ask Mr. Thorn if you can stay."
Before Lisa could object, Elena ran out the door. Starting through the home she found him in his study. With a knock and the sound of a responce, she stepped into a room of work and silence. He looked up from a tablet, his blue eyes catching the low light. “The storm is dangerous.” He starts.
"Yes, thats why Im here. May she stay the night?" Elena stated, her voice measured. Though it wasn't comming accross as question.
Liam considered her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Of course. Hospitality is a given. I do not have a spare room, only servant quarters, which are not suited for a guest, so you will need to share your room with her." He set the tablet down.
“Thank you,” she instinctively let out. Letting out a sigh of relief. Feeling this would be much more difficult. As she started to turn, his voice cut in.
"I command you to wear something nice for dinner. Eight o'clock. The dining room,” he ordered. “I’ve been told by Marta we have a special meal planned for our guest,"
“Ok.” She let out, preparing to turn.
“No.” He interjected, causing her to stop her rotation towards the door. A questioning look spread across her face. “I think you’ve forgotten our agreement. Let this be your one warning; If it happens again, there will be consequences.”
Recalling the verbal contract, she quickly stiffened. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” She said, slightly bowing her head.
“You’re dismissed. See you at dinner.” His tone showed a hint of appreciation.
Returning to her room, she told Lisa the news that she could stay and of the upcoming dinner plans. "Oh, a dinner date! I brought my bag and have something cute to change into! You gotta change too!” She said, skipping over to the wardrobe. Opening it up, she saw all the new items inside. “Oh, My! This stuff is expensive!”
Lisa starts to rummage through the clothing. “The clients I meet are important, so I had to upgrade my wardrobe.” She quickly slipped out of the lie. “This is what’s recommended and provided to suit the job’s needs.”
“What about your other clothing—” She cut herself off as she opened one of the drawers in the wardrobe. Her eyes went wide as she looked into her underwear drawer. “W-what kind of clients do you handle? I’ve never seen you in anything more than plain granny panties and plain bras.”
I've never worn granny panties!” Elena quickly interjects.
“Anyou'rere still saying there's nothing between you two?!?” Lisa asks in full disbelief, her face crossing. “None of this is making sense, El.”
“Alright! I read an article that said wearing sexy underwear would help me feel empowered. So I went and bought a bunch, and you know, it’s working!” She scrounged together another lie. The feeling of all these lies is starting to make her feel horrible. Her frustration with her lies is starting to anger her.
“Woah, Im sorry El!” Lisa quickly says, seeing Elena’s face turning red. “Here, let’s make you look cute.” Pulling out a pair of panties, she reaches back into the hanging clothing and pulls out a dress. The black one from Valerius. Let's get dressed and look cute for our gracious host. We don’t have a lot of time, so let’s work quickly.”
The two girls hop into the shower and quickly wash up. Drying off, they dress in their outfits. Elena, after putting on her panties, puts on the black dress. Its corset front pressed up her breasts. Making them stand firmer than normal.
Lisa pulled out a red party dress. Its top has an even V-line with the gap down between the breasts, going straight up over the straps on her shoulder. The back revealing down to the center of her back. The skirt of the dress is coming down to her knees. The arms had their own sleeves that were connected to the sides of the dress, but left the shoulders revealed, the sleeves a sheer fabric stretching down to a ring that looped over her middle fingers.
Both girls stood in front of the mirrors, having just finished putting on jewelry from the jewelry box in the bathroom. “Damn, we look amazing,” Lisa said, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” she said, letting out a sigh of her own. The sight of the two of them, dressing up for her boss… The man who’s taken everything from her.
But has he?
The thought came uninvited, settling into her chest before she could push it away.
He hadn’t locked her in her room. Not really. The door had never been barred. The windows had never been sealed. She had stayed because… because there was nowhere else to go. Because it was easier. Because he had made it easier.
He gave her space. Gave her clothes. Gave her food that tasted better than anything she’d had in months. He spoke to her like she mattered—like she was something worth refining, worth investing in.
And he had protected her.
The memory of the man with the knife flickered, sharp and sudden. Liam had stepped in without hesitation. Without fear.
Her grip tightened slightly in her lap.
A captor wouldn’t do that, she thought. But the thought didn’t settle the way she wanted it to.
Because captors didn’t usually ask. They didn’t guide. They didn’t make it feel like a choice. Her stomach tightened.
He hadn’t needed to lock the doors. He had just… removed the idea of leaving.
Walking into the dining room, Elena finds Liam Thorn already standing behind a chair, two spots prepared in front of him. One set on the other side. Elena looked at him with surprise on her face. He was wearing something he had never seen before.
Liam had changed into a dark green sweater that softened the lines of his shoulders, his figure still standing strong. When he saw them both, his eyes opened in surprise, a full break in his normal poker-faced facade. His attention shifted to Lisa. Looking over her form in the red dress.
“You both look beautiful.” He proceeds to pull out the chair in front of him. First, letting Lisa sit, then pulling out the chair for Elena. Walking around the table, he sat down across from them.
Dinner was served: Marta brought out amazing-looking sushi with fresh-caught salmon, shrimp, and tuna. Presented with a side of rice and fresh steamed broccoli.
Conversations flowed in and out of different topics. The entire time, Mr. Thorn seemed to be invested in Lisa. Getting to know about her graphic design work and projects. Photos being shared of her projects. Even going as far as to collect her phone and contact info so he could call on her if he found a need for her work.
He laughed at her jokes and comments, a low, warm sound that Elena had never heard. Relaxing her. He refilled Lisa's wine glass himself, and she noticed all the attention stayed mostly on her, the conversation bouncing between the two.
Elena sat in the black dress, its fabric whispering against her skin, leaving a reminder of its purchase and of him. She traced the stem of her wine glass, the edge of her finger rubbing with its own soft ring. She continued to eat while the two conversed away. Now she was just art on the wall, or an accessory. Maybe just an "investment", and she was just the backdrop. Every time Lisa laughed, a hot, sharp coil tightened in Elena's stomach.
Dessert was brought out, a fresh sorbet with fresh cookies. Lisa looked at Elena with a glance of excitement.
"You have a fascinating mind, Lisa," Liam said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze appreciative. "Chaotic, but brilliant. It's a rare combination. I can see why you and Elena are such great friends.” Elena blinked, pulled back into the present at the mention of her name, barely listening to the conversation.
Lisa flushed, waving a hand. "It's just messing with pixels. Elena's the one with the real eye. She could look at a blank canvas and tell you the artist's soul." She turned to Elena, an offering. "Right, El?"
Liam's eyes slid to Elena, finally. They held no warmth, only assessment. "Elena does have an amazing eye for art. The clients she has with her business have work that is shown to help bring great forward, wonderful pieces of work, and are promising artists.” He turned back to Lisa. "Tell me more about your work.'"