Mr. Thorn finally leaned back, the chair shifting beneath him as he folded his hands on the edge of the table. "I hope you're hungry, Lisa. Marta has been in that kitchen since noon."
Lisa's eyes lit. "I could eat a horse. Graphic design deadline diet — coffee and spite for three days straight." She shot Elena a grin. "You're lucky you get real food here."
Elena opened her mouth to answer, but the kitchen door swung open before she could form the words. Marta emerged carrying a large wooden tray, steam curling from the plates arranged in neat rows — a ceramic boat of salmon nigiri, another of shrimp, pink and curled like tiny fists. A smaller bowl held pickled ginger and wasabi, the green paste sharp against the air.
"Ah, here she is," Liam said, his voice softening in a way Elena hadn't heard before. "Marta, this is Miss Chen. Elena's friend."
Marta set the tray down with a solid click, then wiped her hands on her apron and extended one to Lisa. "A pleasure. I've heard so much — you're the one who does the graphic work, yes?" Her grip was firm, her eyes warm. "I saved some of my special yuzu kosho for the salmon. Tell me if it's too much heat." She let go and pointed at the dishes. "Soy sauce there, ginger there. Eat while it's warm — sushi waits for no one."
Lisa reached for a piece of salmon nigiri with her chopsticks, dipping it lightly in soy sauce before taking a bite. Her eyes widened. "Oh my god. Marta, this is incredible. The yuzu—it's like a punch in the best way." She swallowed and grinned at Elena. "You've been holding out on me. After all those ramen nights, you never mentioned you had a personal chef who makes sushi like this."
Elena forced a smile, the corners of her mouth tight. "Marta's been feeding me well. I told you the food was good." Her voice came out thinner than she intended, and she reached for her wine glass to cover it. The burgundy liquid caught the candlelight, and she watched Liam's reflection in the curve of the glass as he turned toward Lisa again.
"Tell me more about your graphic design work," Liam said, his tone easy, almost warm. He set down his chopsticks and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Elena mentioned you're freelance. What kind of projects do you typically take on?"
Lisa launched into a description of her latest branding project for a local brewery—labels, social media assets, a website redesign. She gestured with her chopsticks as she talked, her voice animated and unguarded. Liam listened, nodding at the right moments, asking pointed questions about the design process, the client's vision, and the budget constraints. Elena watched the exchange from the edge of her seat, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. The black dress felt like a second skin, a reminder of who she was here—not a guest, not a friend, just the backdrop.
"You've got a sharp eye," Liam said, and when Lisa laughed at something—a dry comment about a client who wanted 'more pop but less color'—he joined her, a low, genuine sound that sent a hot twist through Elena's stomach. He reached for the wine bottle and refilled Lisa's glass without being asked. “Do you usually take on clients outside your city, or do you prefer staying local?”
“I sometimes take cases from other cities or regions, but it depends on the work, and of course there is an extra fee if I need to travel,” Lisa says with a smile.
"I might have some work for you down the line. I'd like to keep your contact information."
Lisa's grin widened. "Sure thing. I'll send you my portfolio. Fair warning—I charge rush fees if you want something in under a week." She nudged Elena's foot under the table, a silent hey-this-is-great, but Elena barely felt it. Her gaze was fixed on the condensation pooling around her wine glass, the way the cold water beaded and ran down the crystal. She was an investment. She was the backdrop. And for the first time, she wasn't sure which one hurt more.
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 from him before. He refilled Lisa's wine glass himself, and she noticed all the attention stayed mostly on her, the conversation bouncing between the two.
Something in Elena’s grip tightened before she could stop it, subtle enough that even she almost missed it.
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. 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. Her business has clients producing work that’s starting to gain real attention. He turned back to Lisa.
Elena pushed back from the table, the legs of her chair scraping against the hardwood. Lisa was already on her feet, stretching her arms above her head with a groan.
"God, I'm stuffed. That was incredible." Lisa grinned, patting her stomach. "I think I ate for three people."
Elena forced a smile, her eyes flickering to Liam. He remained seated, one hand resting on the table, his gaze still on Lisa. The attention curdled in Elena's stomach. Liam's eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. But all she was was his investment.
But none of it reached her anymore. Not the jokes, not the warmth, not even the way he said her name. She wasn’t part of it. She was something else entirely.
Lisa waved at him. "Thanks for dinner, Mr. Thorn. Seriously. Best meal I've had in—" she laughed, "—maybe ever."
"Liam," he corrected, his voice smooth. "And you're welcome, Lisa. I'm glad you could stay."
Elena led Lisa out of the dining room and into the main hall. The old wood creaked under their steps. The single lamp still cast its dim yellow circle on the floor, leaving the rest swallowed in shadow. Elena's heels clicked against the polished boards. She wished she could tear them off.
"Your boyfriend is hot," Lisa said, low and teasing, as they climbed the grand staircase. "Like, stupid hot. The kind of hot where you forget your own name."
Elena's jaw tightened. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Right. Your boss. Who lives with you?" Lisa bumped her shoulder. "I don’t know—this might sound weird. He was listening, yeah—but it felt like he was tracking me, not really engaging with me. Like he was doing it on autopilot." She glanced back toward the dining room. "And every so often, I’d catch him looking your way instead of staying on the conversation. Not obvious. Just… there."
Elena didn’t respond. That wasn’t what she had seen. Liam had been attentive—engaged even—responding to Lisa without hesitation, without pause. If anything, he’d been focused on the conversation.
She swallowed hard, forcing the image to settle. She didn’t trust her voice to argue it aloud. Something tight and hot coiled in her stomach again.
They reached the second-floor landing. The hallway stretched ahead, lined with closed doors and faded portraits. They both walked to the room at the far end, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Elena’s large bed dominated the space, dressed in fresh new white linens and a thick duvet. A lamp on the nightstand glowed soft amber.
Lisa followed, letting out a long sigh. "Finally. I was dying to get out of this dress." She kicked off her heels—thud-thud—and started unzipping her dress. "God, that's better."
Elena stood by the door for a moment, her arms crossed. The storm outside was building—wind rattled the windows, and a distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
"So," Lisa said, pulling her jeans down and stepping out of them, "what's the deal with you two? Because I'm not buying the whole 'employee' thing."
"It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" Lisa's tone was light, but her eyes sharpened. "Complicated as in you actually like him, or complicated as in you're in over your head?"
Elena's throat tightened. "Maybe. I don’t know." She turned and walked to her wardrobe.
She reached inside and pulled out a pair of pajamas without thinking, taking them into the bathroom.
She changed without thinking. The fabric slid over her skin, soft and familiar—too familiar. When she looked in the mirror, her stomach tightened.
She was wearing the set Mr. Thorn had picked.
"Whoa." Lisa's gaze traveled from the thin straps to the hem of the shorts. She didn't say anything else, but her expression said everything: Since when?
Elena felt heat rush to her cheeks. "I grabbed the wrong ones."
"Uh-huh." Lisa's grin was slow and knowing. "Sure you did."
"It's not—" Elena stopped. There was no point. "Shut up."
Lisa laughed. "I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to." Elena walked past her, back into her room. Lisa padded after her, and they both climbed onto the large bed. The storm was getting louder—rain began to lash against the glass, a steady drumbeat. The wind howled through the eaves.
Lisa settled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow. "So. Tell me everything."
"There's nothing to tell," Elena said, pulling the duvet up to her chest. The silk whispered against the sheets. "I work for him. I live here. That's it."
"Bullshit." Lisa’s voice was soft but firm. "Not the job." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "It’s him. You don’t talk about him normally. You always choose your words around him like you’re measuring them."
"The job." Lisa’s grin faded. "El, I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is… It’s not normal."
Her eyes stayed on Elena’s face. “You go quiet around him. Like you’re waiting for something to happen.”
"I know it's not normal." Elena's voice came out sharper than she intended. "But I didn't have a choice if I wanted to have this job."
Lisa was quiet for a moment. The rain pounded against the window. "You always have a choice," she said quietly. "I just hope you find it’s worth whatever the price you're paying is, and it’s what you want."
Elena stared at the ceiling. The words hit too close. She didn't answer.
"He's got money," Lisa continued, her voice softer now. "Power. And he's clearly into you. But that doesn't make it okay, El. If you're not happy—if you feel trapped—"
"I'm not trapped." The lie tasted sour on her tongue. "I'm... figuring it out."
Lisa let out a breath. "Okay. I'll drop it. For now." She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling too. "But for the record? He's hot, and he's clearly obsessed with you. If I were in your shoes, I'd probably be all over that."
Elena's heart squeezed. There it was. The thing she'd been afraid of. Lisa's attraction to Liam. The way she'd laughed at his jokes, the way she'd leaned into his attention.
"Oh, don’t worry. He's not my type," Lisa added, almost as an afterthought. "Too intense. I like 'em fun."
"He's not that intense," Elena said, but her voice was hollow.
Lisa snorted. "Babe, he looked at you like he was going to eat you alive. And you looked at him like you wouldn't mind."
Elena's face burned. "I did not."
"Did too." Lisa shifted, turning toward her. "When he said we looked beautiful tonight, you literally blushed. It was adorable."
Elena shook her head. Her throat felt tight. He had said it earlier, when they arrived. A simple compliment, shared between them both. She had barely thought about it since.
So why did she suddenly remember feeling her cheeks warm when he said it?
"I think I've had enough for tonight," Elena said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can we get some sleep?"
"Sure." Lisa yawned, settling deeper into the pillow. "Gotta be ready for whatever amazing breakfast in the morning."
Elena smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She reached over and switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness shot through with flashes of lightning. Thunder rolled again, closer now. The storm was directly above them.
She lay on her side, facing away from Lisa. She could hear Lisa's breathing even out within minutes—steady, deep. Asleep. Elena's own body felt wired, every nerve alive. She stared at the dim shapes of the furniture, the rain sluicing down the window, the shadows that seemed to move.
She thought about dinner. The way Liam's eyes had lingered on Lisa. Not hungry. Not predatory. Just… watching. Paying attention in a way that made her skin tighten. And Lisa had basked in it. Laughed. Leaned in. Talked for what felt like hours. And Elena had sat there, a painted doll in a black dress, silent and watching.
She hated that it was there at all. She had no right to it. Liam wasn't hers. He was the man who owned her contract. He was the contract. The rule she lived inside. The reason she couldn’t decide what anything meant anymore.
The storm pressed on. The wind screamed. A crash of lightning split the sky, and for a moment the room was white. Elena's pulse jumped.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand. Just to check the time. The screen glowed, and she saw a notification. A message from a number she'd saved as "Thorn."
Her thumb hovered. Then she swiped it open.
The words were simple. They burned:
“You were beautiful tonight. I’ll thank you properly later.”
Elena's breath caught. The phone trembled in her hand. The storm raged. The rain hammered. But all she could feel was the heat spreading through her chest, her stomach, lower.
She looked at the message again. Her thumb moved, but she didn't type anything. She just stared at the words, the cold promise of "later" hanging in the dark.
Outside, the thunder rolled. And Elena lay awake, the phone still lit in her hand, the storm inside her louder than the one outside.
CURRENT END OF CONTENT - DO NOT READ PAST THIS PART PLEASE.